《Legendary Tinker (Worm/LoL)》


 1.1 Call

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    Call 1.1


    3 BN: Khom, Pre-Noxus


    A man with skin of ocean-blue sank to his knees as the world tore itself apart. His bald head and shirtless torso were covered in ancient scripts, a language only he now knew. Tyrus, his master, could read it; he was the one who carved these very runes onto a young Ryze, but Tyrus was dead. Ryze gazed down at his hands and mourned. He could practically see his master''s lifeblood staining them.


    And all around, Khom, his birthplace, burned.


    "The World Runes are power incarnate," his master had said with a voice like gravel and filled with warmth. "They are fragments of creation, crystallizations of celestial might. Once, all the world was empty and these five runes transformed fields of barren stone into wonders of life and magic. Theirs is the power of creation, of life itself."


    Ryze could picture the face of his master, so easily wrinkled with smiles for his young apprentice, turn solemn and serious as he spoke in warning. "All that creates can destroy, Ryze," he''d said. "All that gives life can take it away. Theirs is the power of creation, but terrible is that same power when turned towards destruction. Theirs is the power to carve mountains, drain oceans, and burn skies."


    And all around, his home burned.


    "Master," he choked back a sob. "Why?"


    In the distance, the earth sank into the sea and the sky wept mana. Tremors shook the land, as though Runeterra itself was undergoing its death throes. Ryze stared at the body that had once been Tyrus, a mere husk of dried and mummified flesh. Both men had heard the Call. The World Runes beckoned. They promised an end to the fighting. They promised peace. They promised life, reborn anew from the ashes of the Rune Wars. They promised hope, if only a man of supreme will and unshakable virtue would wield them.


    Ryze resisted while his master failed, and so Tyrus died by the hand of his student.


    And so, Khom burned even as Ryze watched his master''s body age a thousand years in a blink, the mana of his very soul drawn out to become a catalyst for two of the World Runes. A man touched the power of the gods and was found woefully wanting.


    "You were the one who taught me¡­ warned me¡­" His hands reached out and grasped the robe his master once wore. They crumbled to ash, even such perfect mortal enchantments unable to withstand their power. "Tyrus¡­ master¡­ father¡­"


    Runeterra shook itself apart. Khom burned. And for once, Ryze couldn''t give a damn.


    Yet he stood. There, before him was ultimate power, two World Runes, one an ominous red and the other a tranquil blue reminiscent of the cloudless sky. He wanted nothing more than to throw them away, to leave them in the depths of the earth as Runeterra yawned to its core. Still, he took them in hand and bid his master farewell.


    Thus his quest began.


    X


    97 AN: Howling Abyss, Freljord


    Ryze stood at the northernmost edge of the world, a gaping chasm that imprisoned terrors even gods feared. A century after his quest began, he was at his journey''s end. The magic of the World Runes flowed through him despite his utter loathing for them. The raw mana they exuded was enough to change him, make him more than mortal, an archmage with one foot into the realm of gods.


    The Rune Mage stood at the edge of the world and held the five keys to unlimited power for one last time. They were beautiful, utterly breathtaking even. Five gems bound in Petricite pyramids, the only way for Ryze to hold them for an extended period without being driven mad with power.


    They sickened him.


    Yet still they beckoned.


    With them, he could forge a new era. He could guide the fledgling kingdoms into an age of peace and prosperity like none other. He could see it now, harmony among the nations and peoples as far as the eye could see, a world where no one would go hungry, where no injustice would go unpunished, where-


    Ryze flinched back as though struck and the World Runes fell into the Abyss. He shook his head as he strode away.


    "The only power I truly have¡­ is the strength to let go."


    X


    Void


    The Watchers saw all. They were there before Runeterra began, before all but the eldest celestials came into being. They would persist long after the stars burned out.


    They saw.


    They saw, but could do nothing.


    The bonds of the Forgelord were absolute, should have been absolute. Would have been absolute, unbreakable even to the gods of the Void, had it not been for the Third Sister. Her enchantment entombed the Watchers, but also ate away at the bridge, weakening the Forgelord''s work. One day, the bridge would fall and the Watchers would among mortals once more.


    Yet, today was not that day.


    And so the five World Runes fell. The passed the Watchers and crossed the Void into the space between worlds. There, they scattered like birds into cosmos unknown.


    Each World Rune traveled aimlessly through the space between worlds, until one met a soul, all but expended and ready to fade. The probability of this meeting was infinitesimally small. The probability of that World Rune meeting this specific soul even more so. And yet, the probability was not zero and so, in the space between worlds, the Rune of Inspiration found a master.


    X


    1999, November 2: Busan, South Korea


    I was drowning. I''d never been much for waterpsorts. My father and uncles loved to fish; they even owned a dingy little boat for the purpose back in California. I knew how to swim, or at least how to float and doggy-paddle, but I was woefully unprepared for the storm that took the cruise ship. To be fair to myself, neither was the captain.


    So, my Korean-American ass swam for his life like a rat in a toilet bowl, thrown from the ship my sister and her husband had promised would be so fucking fun.


    We were off the southeastern coast of Korea, near Busan, when the storm hit. It was supposed to be a cruise around Korea, Japan, and the Philippines, a vacation within a vacation as we visited our relatives in the motherland. God obviously had other plans. Of mice and men and all that¡­


    I was drowning. Then, there was blackness and a flash of blue, purer than the cloudless sky. After that, everything felt detached, as though in a fever dream.


    "I''ve got you!" someone shouted over the howling wind. He must have been a giant because his forearm wrapped around my entire torso with ease.


    We were lifted by helicopter, the rescue worker holding me in one arm while he grabbed on to the rope ladder with the other. Mad respect for that, the upper body strength was damn impressive. ''I didn''t even know the cruise ship had a copter; Guess I didn''t give the crew enough credit,'' I thought as I shivered in his arms.


    Then, the copter rose higher and I saw just how fucked Busan was. The streets were flooded, water extending as far as the eye could see. Even as I watched, waves upon waves and torrential downpours battered at the broken city. I could see little dots in the distance, law enforcement and even the military trying to guide civilians away from the shoreline in organized chaos.


    We landed in the courtyard of a school, likely because it was one of the few places in a metropolis like Busan where there wasn''t a giant risk of something falling on us.


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    I still felt like I was in a fever dream, like there was a cellophane bubble between me and the rest of the world. The obvious disaster zone wasn''t helping matters. Hell, this whole ordeal was reminding me to brush up on my Korean. Sure, I hadn''t been back in Korea in eight years, but that was hardly an excuse for my spotty understanding.


    ''I think I heard something about a sea monster¡­''


    "Come on, kid. You gotta let go now," the giant rescue worker said, firmly but not unkindly.


    ''Kid? I know I''m short, but I''m twenty-eight!'' I thought indignantly as I forced my frozen fingers to unclench.


    A thermal blanket was wrapped around me as I was ushered inside the medical tent. There, a doctor or orderly gave me a quick once over before confirming that I had no untreated injuries.


    "Everyone is bigger than me," I mumbled to myself, still in shock.


    "Do you know where your parents are?" an orderly asked. I must have been shunted off as a noncritical patient because the middle-aged, balding man was replaced by a woman in her early twenties, far too young to have an MD. She had to stoop a little to put a lanyard around my neck.


    "No, they must still be on the boat."


    "What boat? Oh, child," she cooed and hugged me. "I''m so sorry. It''s going to be okay."


    I struggled to escape her grasp, but she was too strong. Or rather, I was too weak. The frigid ocean and a helicopter ride where I made a passable impression of a koala weren''t helping matters. Then, I caught my reflection on a stainless steel counter, one of those rapid-deploy foldout tables used by emergency personnel.


    ''Oh, I''m a kid again.''


    Realization struck me like a bucket of ice water and thunder rumbled in the sky.


    As in, thunder literally rumbled in the sky. Several somethings crashed to the ground in the distance.


    "We''ve gotta go!" Someone in gray fatigues shouted. He yelled something into a walkie-talkie then began to round people up and command them. "Road''s cleared! Grab all civilians and load ''em up!"


    "You heard the officer," the orderly said with a watery smile. "Follow them okay? They''ll protect you. Don''t worry, this noona is staying behind so she''ll find your parents for you."


    ''What the fuck is going on?''


    I was shoved unceremoniously onto the back of a truck alongside eight civilians and four officers. Then, just before the doors closed, I saw a man in traditional Korean hanbok drop down from the sky. He wore a pale, featureless mask that covered his entire face along with a navy-blue and jade-green hanbok outfit. All around him, the rain stopped falling, levitating in the air. For a moment, he appeared to literally be standing on the raindrops.


    ''Oh¡­ I''m dreaming. Makes more sense. I must have passed out in the water.''


    "Hwarang-nim," one policeman called. "What''s going on?"


    Whatever the man said back, I didn''t hear because that''s when the van was shut and started to roll. We sat there, twelve people crammed like sardines, as the driver tried his best to navigate a city shattered by disaster.


    "That fucking Akk-ryong," one man swore. That sent several men in the van into a fury.


    "Husband, enough," one woman said, placing an arm on his. "There are children here."


    "Let them vent. Anger is good. Anger keeps you going." This time, it was an officer who swore. "Fuck that dragon. There will be time for calm later when you pick your lives back together again. Now? Be angry so you can put one foot in front of the other."


    We were interrupted again by the sound of static from an officer''s walkie-talkie.


    "Hang tight, another building collapsed. I''m going to try to drive around it," came the driver''s voice.


    A middle-aged man seated next to me made sure my seatbelt was fastened securely. Not ten seconds later, the car lurched and a loud banging noise filled the cabin. He grabbed me, pulling me towards him and shielding me with his own body. I heard a grunt of pain and screams of fear before the car stopped rolling. Slowly, he let me go.


    "Thank you, ahjussi," I felt compelled to say. The car was on its side, which meant I was hanging from what was now the ceiling, attached by the seatbelt that likely saved my life.


    "You''re a good kid."


    One by one, the officers let us out into the waterlogged street. I stood there in the rain as the adults in the situation tried to figure out what to do. The street around me looked familiar even in its destruction.


    "This is the street where Sunyeop lives," I muttered. My cousin, younger than me by two years, was a good man who was training to be a pilot. ''Or, he will be?''


    I found myself walking towards his childhood home, a two-story affair with a tiny yard. That there were houses at all made this Busan''s wealthier district. Otherwise, we''d be surrounded by high rises and apartments. In hindsight, the lack of tall buildings was probably why we were driving this way in the first place.


    I stopped in front of the home and read the bronze plaque. "Hong¡­ That''s not their surname¡­"


    Lightning flashed in the sky and struck a power line with a thunderous boom, sending us to the ground.


    "Kid!" I heard behind me.


    I turned, just fast enough to see the power line come down around me. There was a whipping sound as broken cables cut through the air.


    There was a buzz.


    Then a zap.


    Then agony.


    Then blissful silence¡­


    X


    [Destination]


    [Trajectory]


    A flash of blue filled the nothingness of the void, a blue clearer than the cloudless sky pulsed with a power no Shard could comprehend. It was unfamiliar. It was potential.


    It had found a master. It would not relent.


    [Proposal]


    [Alteration]


    [Agreement]


    X


    2000, May 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I tapped my way through the corridor, my telescopic walking stick making soft clicking noises as it collided with the wall. It was surprisingly well-made. Surprising as in there''s a surprising amount of thought that goes into engineering one of these. From what I could tell, the tip had a pliable rubber cap with a spring attachment to give me a better sense of pressure and hardness. The telescopic body could extend to almost my full height, not that I was particularly tall at eight years old. The handle was perfectly ergonomic, with a hardened foam grip to fit snugly into the swell of the palm. There was even a strap I could loop around my wrist so I don''t accidentally lose it. All in all, a perfect example of human-factors engineering at work.


    Oh, I''m blind. And eight. In Worm. More than a decade before canon.


    I felt cold sweat run down my back as my breathing shortened. Then, a comforting hand rested on my shoulder.


    "Breathe, Andy," Redbird said, his smooth voice far gentler than one would expect from a man built like a brick shithouse. "No need to be nervous. The Wards are all good kids."


    ''Not why I''m freaking,'' I thought, but flashed him a smile anyway and took several deep breaths. "Thank you, Redbird."


    Leviathan was seven months ago. Turns out, when Kyushu went the way of Atlantis, it caused a whole lot of trouble for surrounding countries. Tidal waves struck the Korean peninsula and while it wasn''t as bad as Kyushu itself, that was cold comfort to the nine thousand people who drowned. My father among them.


    Over the past seven months, my memories blended together until I couldn''t tell where the Yusung of this life and the Yusung I was ended. My father was a part of the Korean military, specifically the declining Coast Guard. It really existed for only two reasons: to crack down on smuggling and illegal migration, and to be a national warning bell in the event of an endbringer attack. My dad, Captain Namjoon Kim, did his duty and died for it. Hell, in a city of millions, that only nine thousand died from even a tangential endbringer attack was impressive.


    That''s what mom told me. It''s what the twenty-eight year old me told my eight year old self.


    Shortly after I was evacuated, I was reunited with my mom. I didn''t have the full story, but she pulled some favors from dad''s old military contacts and arranged for two tickets to America, just one of many refugees fleeing the decimated region. We settled in Phoenix, about as far from the rain and the sea as we could get.


    "We''re here," Redbird said, his words bringing me from my melancholy.


    The customary buzzer went off, a thirty second grace period for Wards to scramble for their masks. While they did that, I reached into my pocket and brought out a Gatorade bottle filled with a neon-pink fluid. I brought it to my lips and took a sip.


    "Alright," I breathed, "let''s meet the team."


    Author''s Note


    Ryze''s cinematic is honestly one of my favorites because of how tired that man looks. I could definitely believe that in another universe, Ryze, broken and exhausted following his quest, did not hide the World Runes away and instead tossed them into the Void, "returning" them to the origin of the universe in his own way. That''s what happened in this alternate universe.


    Interestingly enough, there are three distinct myths regarding how the howling Abyss came to be. One says that there was a great battle between the Three Sisters and the Watchers over the bridge in which the sisters triumphed. A second says that the battle was actually between the sisters, Lissandra against Avarosa and Serylda, in which Lissandra realized her mistake and betrayed the Watchers, entombing them, and her sisters, in True Ice. The third myth, the one I''m going with as factual, says the sisters came to Ornn and asked him to build the bridge, a crossbar to bar the Watchers from ever entering the Freljord. Lissandra fucked it up trying to improve it with her magic and put Ornn''s prison on a time limit.


    ??, or "Akk-ryong" literally uses the Hanja for evil and dragon, which is how I imagine Koreans (and many Asian communities) would refer to Leviathan.


    Power Description: Andy is fused to the World Rune, specifically the Rune of Inspiration. He''s effectively a Runeterra-tinker, able to draw upon the world and its Champions for inspiration. The World Rune acts as an infinite source of mana that can power anything and everything he makes without fail. It, being quite literally a godly artifact of creation, can transmute earthly materials into Runeterran analogs as necessary to make up for the lack of materials of esoteric powers. Because he is not a standard cape, Andy lacks a conflict drive common to most parahumans.


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 1.2 Call

    1.2 Call


    2000, May 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The pink liquid flowed down my throat and my world expanded, from a pitch-black void to a cascade of hues and textures beyond mere human sight.


    How does one explain sight to a blind man? Even having once had eyes, I still had no clue. I was now in the curious position of having to explain the blessings of the Oracle''s Elixir to the PRT, to mere mortals who were utterly incapable of wielding mana, who didn''t even consider the possibility of the supernatural. I just ended up telling them that the elixir could give me sight for one hour per mouthful. After some rigorous testing, they marked it down as pericognition within fifty meters. The closer truth was that it expanded my magical senses outward and opened my inner eye, as clich¨¦ as that sounded, literally allowing me to see and feel the spiritual reality overlaid onto the physical. Sight, but not. Touch, but not.


    With a snap of my wrist, I contracted my telescopic walking stick and stashed it on a belt loop.


    "You good?" Redbird asked.


    "Quite."


    Taking the lead, I shoved the doors open, allowing them to hit the walls a little louder than strictly necessary as I walked in. Four people were already facing me, three girls and one boy. This wasn''t the entirety of the Wards. In fact, it was but one of three teams.


    The common room itself was large, far larger than a team of four, now five, merited. Wards Team One was almost entirely dedicated to PR and rescue missions and fought almost never. At least, that was the ideal. Where capes were concerned, that was a pipe dream. My new headquarters had three large couches, a coffee table, flatscreen TV, and a fully stocked kitchen. It was honestly better than my apartment, both in this life and my previous.


    Phoenix was a city of one and a half million people and the local Protectorate catered to more than just the city proper, responding to emergency calls from the local national parks and Native American reservations as well. That was what Redbird was, in many ways: He didn''t just work as a Protectorate hero; he was also the primary liaison to the Gila River Indian Community, a reservation that lied to the south of the city.


    Given the larger population size and massively upscaled patrol area compared to Brockton Bay, it was no wonder that there were multiple Protectorate and Wards teams. It still wasn''t enough. As I heard Redbird tell it, the local Protectorate teams, yes, plural, worked in close cooperation with National Park Service rangers as well as the nearby Tucson branch of the Protectorate to manage their wide territory. In a lot of ways, Arizona was one of the better-managed sectors: large enough for a sizable hero presence, small enough to not attract any big villain names, close enough for Alexandria to do a flyby, and best of all, not a Cauldron feudalism experiment.


    Before I knew it, a tall, leggy blonde in a navy jumpsuit stood before me with a winning smile. Her blue eyes danced with amusement and I could feel every twitch of her lips, every bob of her hair as she tried to position herself with a welcoming, big sister persona. It was her hands that caught my interest though. She wore heavily modified boxing gloves, flattened a little with additional hardened foam padding on the knuckles. The gloves extended past her wrists and almost to her elbows, with the wrists flaring outward in a diamond pattern, almost like wings. On the back of each glove was a stylized ray, its tail curling up her forearms.


    "Hey, Redbird, who''s this?" she said. Her voice was confident, but why wouldn''t she be? I was an eight year old child with an obviously blinding scar across his eyes. I could feel her smile shrink by a few molars when she met my glass eyes. "Oh¡­"


    "This is Rubedo, Andy," Redbird said, his hand placed comfortingly on my shoulder. "He''s going to be a new member of the Wards. Rubedo, this one is called Stingray."


    "Shit, what the fuck happened to your eyes?" said one of the other girls. She was leaning against the wall with a large, black domino mask that covered most of her face. The mask was unique, embossed with golden tophat designs.


    "Hat Trick!" Redbird and the blond admonished as one.


    "It''s fine," I waved them off. I brought my feet together and bowed at the waist. Regardless of my mental age, these were my sunbae. "Hello everyone, my name is Yusung Kim, but you can call me Andy. The director and I agreed that seeing how I''m blind most of the time, it''s pointless trying to keep a secret identity from my own team. As for how I got this scar," I gestured to my face, "I got it during Leviathan''s recent attack on Kyushu when a telephone pole fell near me, the broken power line raking across my eyes."


    "Shit," the now named Hat Trick hissed.


    I shrugged. If she didn''t like the answer, she shouldn''t have asked the question. "Quite."


    She came up to me and pointed her fist at me, which I bumped. She was rail-thin and dressed almost stereotypically like a skater, with a backwards facing baseball cap with a flattened bill, a t-shirt promoting some metal band I''d never heard of, loose jeans, and one too many belts. At her side was a skateboard with the sandpaper-like grip tape colored in waves of hot pink and purple. "That''s fuckin'' metal, little dude."


    "Wait, what do you mean you''re blind only most of the time?" the sole boy asked. He looked to be the oldest in the room, maybe par with Stingray. He was handsome, with wavy brown hair and a strong jaw. His appearance was marred only by the fact that half his left ear was partially missing. His feet were still up on the coffee table, an easygoing smile on his face. I noticed he hadn''t bothered with a mask at all. At his feet was a ten-gallon hat. "Howdy," he drawled, "Ranchero at your service. David out of costume."


    "Dave," the blonde warned.


    "It''s fine," I repeated. I pulled out my bottle of pink Gatorade. "I''d rather get through the boring stuff right away. Powers. I''m a tinker who makes potions, including one I call the Oracle''s Elixir. It gives me a thinker power that makes me aware of everything within fifty meters or so for an hour."


    "Cool, that''s awesome!" shouted the final girl as she jumped up to me. She was short, almost as short as I was, with wavy black hair and almond eyes. Her costume was¡­ juvenile, though I supposed I shouldn''t have expected any different from the infamous PR department. It was¡­ It was a giant raccoon onesie, with the raccoon''s face as a hoodie attachment. The "mask" of the raccoon extended down to cover her own eyes. Hell, she even had the fluffy ears and striped tail, with some kind of internal wire to lift it up. "Hey, I''m Raquel, or the Masked Bandit in costume!"


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    I mimed giving her a once-over. I didn''t need to nod to look her over, but I was told by the local PR guru that emoting and body language was important. I''d never seen a woman look more uncomfortable than in that meeting. She had to explain to a blind eight year old that his scar was too freaky to talk to people normally so he should make big gestures. "That''s a hell of a costume," I told Masked Bandit. "Do you¡­ change into a raccoon?"


    She visibly winced even as the tall blond wrapped an arm around her. "Yeah¡­ I didn''t get much of a choice."


    "Sorry, Bandit and I just came off a patrol, which is why we''re the only ones in full regalia. And since these two already unmasked," she pulled off her navy-blue domino to reveal an attractive teen with a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, "Penelope, leader of Wards Team One."


    "Alright, you kids seem like you won''t tear each other apart so I''m going to get back to the Protectorate side and grab a shower before heading out," Redbird said.


    "Thank you, Redbird," I told him before walking over to the sofa and taking a seat.


    "So," Penelope clapped her hands. "Powers. Mine lets me punch things from far away with an additional drill-like effect. I''m also a lot stronger than normal."


    "She''s also a massive dork," Hat Trick said snidely and mimed punching the air. "Every time she punches something from a distance, she shouts, ''Stingray Straight!''"


    "Hey, every superhero needs a super move alright? You have no class."


    "Whatever," she said, eyes rolling at the well-trodden argument. She took off her black domino mask to reveal a face that looked like it could be an older version of Raquel''s. "Since everyone else unmasked, I''m Yasmine. Jazz for short. I have a shaker power that lets me turn any hat I own into a pocket dimension. I automatically know how to use everything I keep in my hats."


    To demonstrate, she walked over to a coat rack where a tophat hung. With a neat flip, she replaced her baseball cap and a violet light filled the air around her. When the light faded, she was dressed in a stage magician''s outfit, cane and all. "Ta-da," she drawled, taking a mocking bow.


    "Very nice," I told her. "So, if you store a hammer inside your hat, do you become a master carpenter when you take it out again?"


    "If it''s a carpenter''s hammer, sure, and only for a day or so before my connection breaks."


    "That''s pretty cool. So you''re a superpowered handyman."


    "Snrkk," Penelope tried to suppress a laugh but failed miserably.


    "Not. A. Handyman," Jazz growled.


    Seeing a budding argument, David tossed his hat over to Jazz, who caught it with a scowl but placed it on the coat rack. "Anyway, I''m Ranchero, as I said. I have a minor brute power but my real power is the ability to make hardlight projections of bulls. The more bulls I have, the stronger I get."


    "That explains the cowboy hat."


    "Yup. I wanted to go by Stampede, but the PR lady told me it was ''too rowdy.''"


    "That''s probably because I''m already the Masked Bandit," Raquel said. "We can''t have two mavericks on one team, even if I don''t want to be one."


    I leaned back into my couch but paused. I couldn''t feel my collapsible walking stick anymore. "Hey, anyone seen my stick?"


    "Raquel," all three Wards groaned as one.


    "Oh, I''m so sorry," the raccoon-themed girl said, placing the stick in my hand. She bowed a full ninety degrees. "I''m really sorry, Andy. My power sometimes acts up without my say-so. It''s so bad that I''m homeschooled."


    "You''re¡­ an involuntary kleptomaniac?" I asked incredulously.


    "Err¡­ yeah? My power is to teleport anyone or anything towards me. It''s great for rescue work, but it activates without me noticing sometimes. I was just thinking that your baton thing looked kind of cool attached to your hip and suddenly¡­"


    "Got it. I''m not mad. No biggie. Just don''t take my Gatorade. Trust me, it''s not a good idea."


    "How so? It''s a potion, right? Does it have anything to do with only being blind part of the time?"


    "Yes. It''s called the Oracle''s Elixir and gives a form of pericognition. I don''t recommend trying some though. The scientist who tried a mouthful during testing spent the duration crying in a ball at the overstimulation."


    "Don''t fuck with tinkertech," Jazz drawled. "What else is new?"


    "Yeah, exactly," I nodded. "You wouldn''t mess with Hero''s raygun so don''t touch my things."


    "What else can you make, Andy?" David asked curiously. "Tinkers are pretty wild; you guys can make your own powers and stuff."


    "Yeah, I do like being a tinker. I haven''t made anything else though. Most of the past seven months has been physical therapy. I honestly made the Oracle''s Elixir out of glass cleaner on accident."


    "Wait, you''re drinking glass cleaner?"


    "Yup."


    "And it''s not¡­ poisoning you?" Penelope asked with concern.


    "No, we checked, trust me."


    "Tinkers are wild," Dave said with an easy laugh. "Had a small seminar with Hero a few months back when he went on tour visiting the Wards. He showed us some of the cool stuff he built and¡­ wow¡­ I like my powers, but I''m kind of jealous."


    "You''ve met Hero?" I was mildly surprised. I had to remind myself that Hero was alive and would be until sometime this year. Hell, some of the major players weren''t capes yet. Panacea. Glory Girl. Skitter. Tattletale. Dragon. ''Holy shit, Riley isn''t Bonesaw yet¡­''


    "You will too," Penelope said. "He''s the most approachable of the Founders and likes to do tours all around the PRT offices."


    "Say, Andy," Raquel said with a chipper smile.


    "Yes?"


    "How old are you?"


    "Eight, you?"


    "Thirteen."


    "Huh. You''re short."


    I immediately regretted that. The hyperactive girl all but straddled me, pointing a finger an inch from my nose.


    "I''m not short. You''re short!"


    ''In for a penny¡­'' "I''m eight. Girls mature faster than guys. You have five years on me and you''re only an inch taller."


    Her cheeks puffed with frustration before she ran to Penelope. "Penny, he''s making fun of me!"


    "Don''t call me Penny," our leader grumbled. "It sounds childish."


    The conversation devolved into a bickering snarkfest between the older and younger girls, with David trying to play mediator and Yasmine happily watching the show. Soon enough, my hour was up and darkness settled around me once more. I brought the bottle to my lips and marveled as my world was expanded anew.


    ''I wonder if this stuff is addictive?''


    The five of us ordered some pizza. They were surprised that I could read the menu while hopped up on elixir. For some reason, they''d imagined my pericognition as akin to echolocation.


    "Say, Andy," David said through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza. "When''s your debut?"


    I shrugged. "We''re still deciding my costume, honestly. Besides, what am I going to tell the public? ''Hi, I''m Rubedo and my power is not being blind for one hour?''" I snarked. "Director Lyons, Royalle, and Ms. Youngston all agreed that I shouldn''t be made public until I have something to show. I''m going to try and make some healing potions."


    "Like a videogame?"


    "Yeah. I''m sure I can make more than just those." As I said that, ideas, Inspirations, ran through my mind. Elixirs of Iron, Sorcery, and Wrath. Health and mana potions, wards, and more. Hell, a recipe for Poro-Snax even. Even while limiting myself to things that could be loosely defined as "alchemy," there was plenty Runeterra had to offer. Many examples didn''t even show up in-game, referenced only in the flavortext of one Champion or another.


    My power, the World Rune of Inspiration, has been good to me over the past several months. It pulsed within me, attached to my immortal soul like a limpet. This extrasensory perception, the ability to physically feel my own soul, unnerved me to no end at the start, but was now a constant source of comfort, a reminder of my own potential.


    That said, my power didn''t exactly come with an instruction manual. The only reason I knew what had happened was because I dreamed each night. I dreamed of twelve stars that formed a constellation. I dreamed of an azure orb of infinite mana surrounded by golden hoops turning ever so slowly. I dreamed and felt all of Runeterra latch on to the rune, and through it, me. The twelve stars were dark, like unlit braziers in a temple, but somehow, I knew that I would be able to light them all one day. With each star, my connection to Runeterra would strengthen and that world would grow ever closer.


    Author''s Note


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 1.3 Call

    Call 1.3


    2000, May 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I sat in the back seat of Agent Morrison''s car. He was, for all intents and purposes, my handler. Mom had been busy ever since we moved out here, not that I held it against her. If anything, it was somewhat of a relief; I didn''t think I could act like an immature eight year old under close scrutiny so I wasn''t trying very hard.


    She was a professional musician, classically trained in piano and violin. Apparently, she''d studied abroad in Munich when she was young thanks to a wealthy uncle, where she learned both German and smatterings of English. She used her rudimentary language skills to get a job as a maid during the day and managed to arrange a gig as part of a live band in some fancy restaurant at night. I suspected the PRT had a role in the latter.


    When the PRT found out about a crippled tinker with a largely absentee mother with poor language skills, you''d better believe they jumped on that faster than a lion on a legless zebra. We got the standard Wards contract adjusted for tinkers read to us by a Korean lawyer. To be fair to feds, they were quite generous. They paid for my physical therapy and even offered my mom a monthly income. Her pride wouldn''t let her accept and she insisted that all of it be dumped into a stipend for me.


    ''That''s just how some parents are,'' I sighed. ''She''d rather work two jobs and run herself into the ground than take a single dollar from me.''


    So, that''s how Field Agent Vincent Morrison became my handler. It wasn''t random by any means. When Director Lyons heard about my situation, she''d shanghaied him specifically for the job. He was responsible for getting me to and from home, school, HQ, and wherever else I needed to be. He was already doing it for his son David after all, so she saw no real harm in adding another.


    The car came to a stop in front of my apartment and I extended my walking stick with a snap of the wrist.


    "Agent Morrison, thank you for the ride," I said with a deep bow. It never hurt to be polite and my dad, this world''s version, would have accepted nothing less.


    "No problem, kid," he tussled my hair. He spoke with an old country drawl that made me think of summertime barbeque. "You sure you don''t need help getting up the stairs?"


    "I''m okay, sir. Thanks for asking."


    "Alright, but if you need anything at your after school program, you tell David, you hear? That lazy son of mine might be a layabout, but his heart''s in the right place."


    "Yes, sir. He seemed like a good man. I''m sure you''re proud of him."


    "Shucks, how''s a little fellow like you talking like a grownup? All adult-like and no accent."


    "I guess I just learn quickly."


    "Alright, I''m going to let you head on up." He leaned forward to whisper. "If you feel the urge to¡­ play around, try to remember exactly what you''re making and how you''re doing it. Director Lyons thinks you might be onto something."


    "Yes, sir," I smiled, glad that even this early on, tinker fugues were well-documented. Given that I was an "alchemical tinker," at least as far as they knew, I could work with relatively cheap equipment.


    Policy regarding tinkertech and experimentation was still being written. There was significant discussion on whether it was safe to allow children to tinker in their homes, or at least, whether it was safer than letting a fugue build up into a straight-up panic. This was good for me because Director Lyons was firmly in the camp that said I should be permitted to tinker in my home, at least in small doses. I expected that to change as the PRT evolved, but for now, I had much more freedom than someone like Kid Win would have in the future.


    I took a sip of my elixir but made a show of tapping the stairs with my walking stick. Mom and I were situated on the edge of the good side of Phoenix. Our neighborhood lacked the opulence of the newer districts, but patrols were common here and crime rates were minimal. That said, this was inland US in a world where all countries were forced into pseudo-isolationist policies by Leviathan. Two Korean immigrants stuck out like sore thumbs, especially when one had a giant strip of crimson scar tissue instead of eyes.


    The neighbors weren''t hostile or anything, but they certainly weren''t friends. Children avoided me like the plague and my mom wasn''t able to connect with them in any meaningful way, a difference in life experiences and language to blame.


    I arrived in my apartment unmolested and fished the key out of a ring looped to my belt. The moment I was inside, I collapsed the walking stick and hung it on a hook by the door. There was no one else to pretend for. I made my way to the kitchen and fixed myself a quick sandwich before plugging in a prerecorded headset. It came with a book, one written in braille to teach the blind their letters.


    "A¡­ B¡­" the recording droned rhythmically as my finger traced the appropriate bumps. Each accompanying page was made so I could trace the corresponding letters from left to right, moving on to the next letter every five seconds. I may have adapted quickly to walking and maneuvering without sight, but that wasn''t to say my reading comprehension had caught up. My fingers still weren''t delicate enough and I stumbled over some letters, even after so many months. It was only the pericognition of the Oracle''s that saved me.


    After a half hour of this, I moved onto an actual storybook, one meant for children so I could grasp the tale even through bumbling fingertips. It was funny; I''d grown up reading Korean translations of Aesop''s fables in my past life and here I was doing the same in braille.


    My mom came home after another hour of this, a bag of takeout in hand. I stood from the dining room table and bowed at the waist. I''d spent my entire previous life greeting my parents this way and I wasn''t about to stop now.


    "Welcome home, mom," I said in Korean.


    She smiled a tired smile and leaned in to hug me. It felt strange. My old parents were never very affectionate, certainly not past the age of twelve. I hadn''t had a hug from my mother in sixteen years. That wasn''t to say my previous parents didn''t love me, far from it, but they subscribed to the stoic, disciplinarian style of parenting so common among Asian cultures. This, this put me on the back foot, though not in a bad way. If I had to rely on my own shitty psychoanalysis, I would guess that she latched on to me, her only surviving family, more than she otherwise would have. Or perhaps, she was just more empathetic in general being a musician and all.


    "I''m home," she whispered into my hair.


    We talked briefly about our days over a simple dinner of rice, kimchi, and Spam. It was nostalgic: Back when my family moved to Los Angeles in my previous life, my parents likewise worked late and could only afford things like this. ''The more things change,'' I chuckled.


    "Is something funny, son?"


    "Just something that Masked Bandit said," I said. I told her about the Wards and how I would be the youngest there. I talked about their individual quirks, of Hat Trick''s devil-may-care attitude and Ranchero''s easygoing grin, Stingray''s big sister energy and Masked Bandit''s accidental kleptomania.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "Be careful. I don''t want you to get hurt." Her eyes were full of concern. "You''re the youngest and¡­ What if you have to fight a villain?"


    "Wards don''t fight villains," I repeated the brochure by rote. "Joining the Wards isn''t about going out and fighting bad guys, mom; it''s about learning to control our powers so we can live normal lives with normal childhoods. Besides, I''m a tinker and tinkers are very valuable because we can give other people powers too."


    "I know, Rhee-ssi explained it all but I''m your mother. It''s my job to worry."


    "If you worry so much, you''re going to get gray hairs," I joked. "And then how will you be a popular musician?"


    She swatted my knuckles with a spoon and I suckled on my fingers in mock pain. "Brat."


    "Really, mom. If you want me to stay away from any fighting, the best way for me to do that is to be more valuable in the base than out on the streets. How about I go ahead and make some new potions recipes so I can impress the director? That way, she''ll give me a fancy lab and have me make potions instead of throwing me at a villain."


    "As if people would say you''re not Namjoon''s son," she clicked her tongue but gave me a warm smile. "You''re a lot like your father, you know. He was always like this too, always thinking about the next steps forward, a military man with military thinking."


    "I''m a lot like you too, mom. I love music."


    "Haha, yes, yes you are, Yusung." We laughed together for a minute before she brought up tinkering again. "Son, what can I do to help you tinker?"


    "I could use more glass cleaner," I said truthfully. "Do we have more of that?"


    She smiled. "Yes, yes we do. The PRT gave us a card to use on materials so I can always run to the market."


    I balked at that, years of reading fanfiction told me that''d be a terrible idea, the easiest way to out ourselves as a house with a tinker. Then I remembered that this was years before shit hit the fan and we weren''t in Brockton Bay. There was no rage dragon here to kidnap my mom, nor any Nazis to kill her off for "being a gook."


    "That sounds great, mom. Let me give you a full shopping list."


    X


    I''d given mom a list while I set up a small brewing station in the living room. It wasn''t like we could afford a TV anyway, so having a dedicated station, away from sight of the doorway of course, was natural. It could barely be called a lab station in truth. It was just a few beakers, two hot plates, and a blender, hardly professional. I was promised something more official back in HQ once they had an idea of what I wanted.


    Though it was nice to putter about the apartment on my own and I really did need more ingredients, the real reason for sending my mom away was so I could have some peace and quiet while I meditated. I couldn''t visit the constellation that represented the World Rune while I was awake, but I could draw on a portion of its power.


    I pulled one of the dining chairs over and sat in front of the beakers, breathing in and out in a rough approximation of the breathing exercises my old taekwondo master showed me oh so many years ago. It was faint, but the World Rune answered and mana trickled forth from my soul like water from a hidden spring. The first time I tried this, almost six months ago, I could barely feel the World Rune before I lost contact. It was much like grasping at smoke. I''d persisted largely because there was only so much physical therapy I could go through and I had a lot of time to myself.


    Then, ever so slowly, that smoke became like a single strand of hair, oiled and slippery. That was the first real success, if I could call it that. That hair thickened with time to be like dental floss, then thread, then yarn, then rope. There, I reached a bottleneck. I pulled and pulled over a month; it was like trying to pull a mountain. Nothing I did worked, until I had an epiphany: Of course I couldn''t drag mana from my soul. It was too "big" and I was too "small," conceptually speaking.


    I stopped imagining myself pulling an impossible burden and instead pictured our relationship like a well to be drawn from and widened. I dug deeper with each meditation, wider, until I could finally receive a steady flow of mana. The well was infinite, but the flow was limited. I got the distinct impression that for the moment, it was best that I kept it that way.


    As I sat there deep in the recesses of my own mind, I took a small amount of mana and cupped it in my hands, bringing it to my lips. As I drank, my eyes opened to the real world and the azure glow of mana suffused my body. It was a heady feeling. When I first managed this, I felt like I could do anything. I stubbed my toe against the wall, knocked down a clock, and made a giant nuisance of myself while I learned to contain the energy. Experience had tempered my reaction, but nothing could quell the immense desire to create that burned in me.


    The next step was simple. I channeled the mana into my hands, forming a single sphere the size of a basketball. Then, bit by bit, I started to compress. I found that if I compressed mana enough, I would eventually force it to take solid shape, arranging itself into a crystalline structure. This was the Mana Crystal and from what I could tell through touch and the Oracle''s Elixir, it looked exactly like the ones I could buy in-game. This too, I discovered almost entirely on accident while I was messing about when my mom was asleep.


    By the time mom came back with the materials I''d requested, I had a small basket full of a dozen blue, hexagonal crystals. Clustered in the straw basket, they looked like the world''s most expensive Easter eggs with glowing blue cores and edges of a lighter blue. The Oracle''s Elixir had run out halfway through and I''d had to take another mouthful to keep myself functioning.


    "What do those do?" mom asked with thinly veiled interest. As much as she claimed she enjoyed her mundane, uninvolved life, she couldn''t hide her curiosity from me. She put the grocery bags down next to my work station and began to arrange the purchases.


    "They''re concentrations of energy," I said, framing it in a way as to minimalize any conversations about actual magic. Sure, I called them Mana Crystals, but everyone assumed it was a quirk of branding or the whims of a child than honest truth. "They''re solid energy that I can use to infuse anything I make. They''re how I make the Oracle''s Elixir and how I''ll make everything else. I don''t think it''s possible for me to build anything unless I have one of these."


    That wasn''t strictly true. It wasn''t possible to build anything and enchant supernatural effects without an infusion of mana from the World Rune. The crystals just happened to be how I imagined mana to work, a function of my time playing the game rather than a true limitation.


    "So one of these can turn glass cleaner into something drinkable?"


    "And so much more."


    As far as the PRT understood it, my power gave me a well of energy I could draw on, which I could form into crystals then infuse into potions. That was how it was explained to my mom and me. It was a little grating for mom to repeatedly ask the same question, especially because I knew she remembered and was humoring an eight year old, but I ignored the feeling with practiced ease.


    I reached for a bottle of glass cleaner and poured it into a saucepan before heating it on a hotplate. Once heated, I''d combine it with a Mana Crystal and the crystal would dissolve somehow, rendering into an Oracle''s Elixir. It was deceptively simple, though when a scientist tried it during testing, the crystal remained inert, something about a unique energy wavelength that responded to me alone.


    "Okay, Yusung. You let me know if you need any help," she said before heading into her room.


    "Yes, mom," I replied dutifully, but my attention was already on the rest of the bottles she''d left by the table. "Thanks again for the grocery run."


    "Anything for my son."


    My work station was full of an eclectic array of bottles. Complete nutrition powdered shakes, iron supplements, protein supplements, cough medicine, and more. If the Oracle''s Elixir taught me anything, it was that the World Rune functioned off of concepts and desires. It would take a mundane analog and use the Mana Crystals I had on hand to reinforce a concept, in this case "seeing clearly," to create what I envisioned. That vision had to be inspired by something or someone from Runeterra, but even with that limitation, I couldn''t be happier with my power. It was bullshit, pure categorical bullshit even beyond that of most tinkers. It was the kind of bullshit that transmuted mundane glass cleaner into something consumable, and more importantly, magic. I didn''t know if the PRT fully understood the implications of my power. Hell, I wasn''t sure I understood the implications of my power.


    I grinned toothily and cracked my knuckles. "Let''s get started."


    Author''s Note


    "-ssi" as a suffix is the Korean equivalent of "-san" in Japanese, a general term of respect to strangers, business partners, proprietors, etc.


    "As if people would say you''re not Namjoon''s son," doesn''t really translate in English very well, but in Korean, it''s said to mean that you behave exactly like X almost like you''re afraid people will think you''re unrelated if you don''t. It''s used as a fond compliment here but can also be an insult depending on the comparison. I''m trying to insert little bits of Korean culture or ways of speech, but I''m not sure how well it''s carrying over.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 1.4 Call

    Call 1.4


    2000, May 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I leaned back in my chair and pressed myself against the backrest, cracking my spine with a satisfying series of pops. I wasn''t a typical tinker so I didn''t experience normal fugues, but the World Rune did influence me in other ways.


    For one, I found myself with a deep appreciation for art. Anything I could point to as an example of fine craftsmanship and creativity, I liked, never mind that I needed to be drugged up to actually perceive most forms of art. It didn''t matter if it was a song or a highly customized luxury car; the passion was just as important as the final product.


    More relevant to the present, I also felt a near obsessive reverence for the creation process. Something about Inspiration as a concept lit a fire in me that I couldn''t fully control. When a PRT researcher tried to take an Oracle''s Elixir from me while I was tinkering, I took it as an interruption of the creation process and literally bit his hand. Luckily, though I did have a small black mark for assaulting someone, the incident was jotted down as a part of the neuroses imposed by my power.


    The precedent was embarrassing, PRT agents still teased me sometimes, but it ensured that no one would interrupt my tinkering unless it was an emergency. Even my mom was told to either let me burn myself out or come to a stopping place on my own.


    By the time I stopped for the night, it was well past ten, approaching eleven.


    In front of me were four sets of four potions. Each potion was stored in one of those mini water bottles that schools liked to give out for lunch, barely more than a few mouthfuls. The first set was a familiar neon-pink.


    The second set was the standard health potion, made from a Mana Crystal, nutrition shakes, and strawberries. I didn''t know if that last one was just for taste and pigment or if it had a real effect on the outcome, but I wasn''t ready to question the whys of my power. It looked red, with a vibrancy that reminded me of fresh blood. I knew without testing that the potion would close wounds, replenish blood loss, and even minimize scarring. What it would not do however, was regenerate limbs or major organs. It had the potential to save lives, but it was not a cure-all.


    The third set was also red, but a slightly darker hue. If I didn''t know better, I''d swear that the potions looked angry. The Elixir of Wrath was made from protein supplements, orange juice, and Gatorade. The elixir had two effects. First, it removed the brain''s subconscious limitations, effectively inducing an extended bout of hysterical strength. Second, it enhanced the body by flooding it with mana, protecting the drinker from themselves while augmenting the effect. The drinker should be able to rip a thin tree from the sidewalk or use a STOP sign like a polearm with ease for one hour.


    That kind of power, I estimated it at roughly brute four or five, did come with a significant downside: Removing the brain''s limiters also meant removing a person''s general impulse control. I was seriously hoping it wouldn''t drive the drinker into a berserk rage, but "wrath" was in the name. The last thing I needed was the PRT shackling restrictions on my tinkering because they thought it was "unsafe."


    The final set of four was a silvery-white and reminiscent of liquid mercury. It was the Elixir of Iron, a potion that reinforced the drinker''s skin, giving it the durability of high quality steel without sacrificing flexibility. It also increased the drinker''s size by approximately twenty percent. That meant that if a six feet tall man drank it, he would find himself slightly north of seven feet. The potion also granted the drinker the strength and constitution necessary to withstand that sudden shift in size and weight. All told, it was probably the more useful of the two new elixirs I''d made today. No real side effects beyond a drop in stamina and a brute power that could keep agents from getting injured in the first place? Yeah, I''d be milking this for all it''s worth later.


    I retired for the night after brushing my teeth with a tired but satisfied smile on my face.


    X


    I stood in the vast expanse of space, just me and the World Rune. Here, in the deepest depths of my soul, the rune manifested as a constellation of stars, each unlit like empty braziers in some ancient temple. The stars were arranged in the form of the Rune of Inspiration from League of Legends, a spherical core surrounded by three rings. The core was formed from the three Keystones while the runes of the Contraption, Tomorrow, and Beyond formed the rings.


    It was daunting being in the presence of a World Rune. Here in my soul, it wasn''t just a single, palm-sized marble lodged in the middle of a petricite container. It manifested as an entire constellation and still the image seemed too small for the infinite well of mana it represented. Standing in front of it, I could not doubt or question: The World Rune wasn''t just a McGuffin; it was an ideal, a crystalized concept formed into a single word that could rewrite reality.


    This was my rune page and it left my breath catching every time I saw it.


    This, this was the dream I''d had every night since my awakening in this world.


    Yet, something had changed.


    I felt strength fill me. I''d never been uncomfortable or tired in my mindscape. Awestruck, yes, maybe even a little unworthy at times, but nor did I ever feel powerful. There was always a clear distinction between me, Andy, the squishy mortal lucky enough to house cosmic power, and said cosmic power. It didn''t take me long to figure that the warmth I felt bursting in my chest wasn''t my own.


    It was calling me.


    It was calling me in the same way its brethren had called to Ryze. To Tyrus. To so many others.


    But where Domination called to conquer and destroy, Inspiration called to create and discover.


    A wide grin broke on my face. There was only one way to answer.


    I walked to the stars that made up the World Rune, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence. I reached out with reverent hands and a golden star met me eagerly.


    My hands grasped the star and the warmth in my chest blazed into an inferno. For a moment, I thought my soul would burn to ash. Then, as soon as it came, the fire subsided, leaving me with a deeper connection to the World Rune. The star I''d touched stood out from the other eleven. It shone with a steady light, the first of many flames to be lit. As the connection solidified, a new power slotted into place.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Time Warp Tonic," I breathed. I was very familiar with the ability.


    In League of Legends, it was a good supplementary rune to take that gave a significant boost in the early game. It granted fifty percent of a potion''s effects immediately, along with a small boost to speed. My version was similar, but not exact. The World Rune may have manifested in a way that paralleled my previous understanding, but it was not a mirror match by any means.


    Knowledge of the ability fully sank into my mind. Time Warp Tonic was as it said on the tin: Whenever I drank a potion, I would experience a period of accelerated time, allowing me to move a little bit faster, have a little bit more time to consider my actions, than I would normally. The potion would also now be fifty percent more effective across the board: better healing, better durability, better duration, everything. I smiled. It was much better than the boon I remembered from the game.


    X


    2000, May 10: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The next morning found me in front of Acacia Elementary School, one of many in Phoenix. I''d only been attending the school for the past month after physical therapy, but it was already the bane of my existence.


    "Take care, honey," mom said as she held me tight.


    "I''ll be fine, mom," I reassured her as I did each morning.


    "If you need anything-"


    "I''ll talk to Mrs. Owens. I promise."


    "Okay, have a nice day."


    As she drove off, I snapped my walking stick to full length and tapped my way through the entrance. I wanted to take out my thermos and drink the Oracle''s Elixir, but I couldn''t. One of the things Ms. Youngston, the local PR head, and I agreed on was that I had to be visibly blind in my civilian identity. I could pretend well enough as I tapped my way through the halls, but all it would take would be a single sip of the tongue or a casual dodge around a corner I shouldn''t have been able to perceive to out myself.


    Unacceptable. It was far too difficult to describe a world without colors or shapes, or even to hold a conversation without giving in to visual cues and body language. Better that I just didn''t have any of these to accidentally trip up on at all.


    Mom threw a fit, but was talked down with a clear report on survival statistics for outed capes. While the unwritten rules were a thing, they weren''t as well-cemented as they would be a decade from now. Hell, it was only this past February when the Brigade stormed Marquis in his own house. They unmasked as New Wave only a week later. Right now was the height of their cape accountability movement and Sarah Pelham was America''s super-mom. No chance. No risks.


    So, blind I would be.


    It wasn''t long before someone bumped into me in the crowd.


    "Hey, watch i-" His voice cut off suddenly; that''s how I knew he must have gotten a good look at my face. "Oh, sorry."


    "It''s cool," I said placatingly. I turned to face the speaker and gave him a light poke. "It happens, yeah? No worries."


    "Y-yeah¡­"


    Even a month later, I still unnerved the kids a great deal. It didn''t help that Behemoth attacked Lyon days before my irregular start. Did that have anything to do with my appearance here? No. Did that stop the rumors? Also no. Humans were curious creatures and I could already distinguish at least four separate rumors about how I got my scar.


    The one that said that I was rescued by Alexandria during the Behemoth attack before being resettled here was the closest. No hero, wrong endbringer, but close enough.


    I made my way down to the far end of the hall and entered the first classroom.


    "Hello, Mrs. Owens," I shouted cheerily. "I''m here for class!"


    "This is the wrong class, Mr. Kim," said a tired voice.


    "I''ll see about finding the right class then, Mr. Rivera," I winked. I had it on good authority that winking through the scar and glass eyes made me look rather unsettling.


    His class chortled at our usual byplay. Mr. Rivera was bar none the most beloved teacher. I had no clue what he looked like, but from what the principal told me, he wore a different colored tie for each day of the week and hadn''t deviated from his wardrobe choice in the last fifteen years. He was the right mix of quirky and firm that made him both relatable to kids and a respected authority figure.


    Meeting him on the daily like this also helped me sculpt my in-school persona. In an effort to seem more approachable, another of Ms. Youngston''s suggestions, I decided to model myself after Toph from Avatar, a constant barrage of sarcasm, snark, and tactless blind jokes to keep people from focusing on my scar. Refuge in audacity. Mr. Rivera was an excellent person to practice banter with.


    I gave the class a jaunty grin and moved to the room directly to the right.


    "Good morning, Andy. Have you had your fun with Mr. Rivera?" Mrs. Owens said. She was the special needs teacher and had a smile you could hear. I heard she recently got married and moved to Phoenix two years ago. She still had that new car smell, a palpable aura of na?ve optimism before the reality of the American education system crushed her dreams to dust.


    "Yup," I said, popping the "p." "Gave the class an eye-full."


    "Good, take a seat."


    Lessons began. Braille first, then recess, followed by math. By lunch, I was thoroughly done with this. I could only feign interest for so long and though the lessons on braille helped, math was¡­ aggravating to say the least. The less said about "nature studies" the better.


    "Do you want to have lunch in the cafeteria or in here?" Mrs. Owens asked us. The class only had eight kids, each of us with unique disabilities. It was district policy to promote socialization without forcing the issue, so Mrs. Owens allowed us to eat in class instead of going out into the cafeteria like the rest of the kids.


    Most of us remained, but myself and two other kids got up.


    "I want to eat outside, Mrs. Owens," Sarah Baxter, a girl with a mousy voice, said. I had no idea why she was in this class, truth be told. She didn''t have any obvious disabilities that I could discern, nor did she have trouble speaking or socializing, so I could only assume her problem was developmental. It could be as simple as severe dyslexia for all I knew.


    "Of course you can, sweetie. You three stick together, okay?"


    "Yes, Mrs. Owens," the three of us chorused.


    Pierce Lovelace stuttered a little, he didn''t speak well, but he was a good kid. For whatever reason, he insisted on meeting new people daily. It was honestly encouraging to see such an upbeat kid.


    "Do you want me to hold your hand, Andy?" Sarah said, tugging gently on my sleeve.


    I thought about refusing. There was still a big part of me that was too prideful to accept help from an eight year old girl, my current appearance be damned. I hammered that part of me into the depths of my mind and smiled. "Yes, thank you, Sarah."


    I spent much of lunch trying to parse out what Pierce said, with Sarah chattering on about whatever most recently caught her fancy. Perhaps it was a bit patronizing of me, but I relegated most of it to background noise as I tried to figure out my cape career going forward.


    My own debut with Wards Team One was put on hold indefinitely until the PRT could figure out what to do with me. Hell, my costume wasn''t even fleshed out yet. This left me in the curious position of being a tinker with near carte blanche, but with neither a lab nor an identity in the cape world. I considered myself lucky; how many people got to fully build an identity for themselves and had the benefit of maturity and future knowledge?


    It''d all start today¡­


    Author''s Note


    Yes, this means that Andy will be able to acquire new powers in a manner similar to the Celestial Forge. Most of these powers will relate directly to the things he makes, but some will be innate. Instead of setting some quota for myself based on word count, I''m going to follow DnD logic and "level by milestone." In this case, meeting the Wards and making new potions.


    Andy''s poor connection to the World Rune is a big part of why he''s not going the way of Tyrus and turning to dust from the strain of channeling its power. Really, he should be grateful for the limited access.


    In the Call of Power cinematic, the World Rune Ryze is holding shows him images of power. When he lets go, crimson wisps seem to reach out to him. Since the World Runes we see at the end are all differently colored, I''m assuming that the one Ryze locked away was Domination, which explains all the destruction and whatnot.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 1.5 Call

    Call 1.5


    2000, May 10: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    After school, Agent Morrison, David/Ranchero''s father, picked me up and drove me home. Mom was out working and this was but one of the accommodations the PRT made for us.


    "How''re things, Andy?" he asked with a friendly nod.


    As soon as I closed the car door, I pulled out my thermos and drank a mouthful of the Elixir. "Good," I said as my world expanded around me. "Boring, but nothing to complain about."


    "Boring is good. You''ll see. Kids always want to punch bad guys, but a quiet day is the best kind. David''s like that, too."


    ''But I said boring was fine,'' I thought, rolling my eyes a little. Agent Morrison took his shtick as a "cape-dad" very seriously and did his best to advise his son whenever possible. It seemed as though I''d gotten rolled into that without my knowing.


    We stopped by my apartment to pick up a box of twelve potions, four each of Wrath, Iron, and the standard health potion, and then promptly headed to the PRT.


    Wards Team One, along with Protectorate Team One, operated from PRT HQ in downtown Phoenix. The building was an eight story affair of concrete and glass, with a separate parking lot and garage for emergency vehicles. There were two other such buildings, but being the main administrative building and host to the director, this one was the largest.


    I was led through a side door placed discreetly in an out of the way corner of the parking lot. Redbird explained to me that the parking lot was swept for cameras and other surveillance equipment twice a day at random times much like the other accessible sections of HQ. From there, I took a small underground pathway to the main building, where I switched into costume and headed to the labs.


    My current "costume" was just a white lab coat and tinted safety goggles that barely obscured my face. A thermos filled with Oracle''s Elixir was kept in a deep pocket. I was pretty sure the researchers all knew who I was by this point, but polite fiction had to be maintained.


    I met Dr. Sanchez, the lead researcher in charge of power testing in lab 1-C. I say lab, but it was more of a gym with some extra monitoring equipment on top of the standard treadmills and dumbbells.


    Dr. Sanchez, Chief Scientist and Head of Power Testing, was a wiry-thin man with a wispy brown beard. He was balding and some salt and pepper had started to settle above his ears. He wore a typical lab coat not unlike my own and a lanyard around his neck that proclaimed his identity. I''m pretty sure my own "costume" was just a spare they had lying around.


    "Hello, Rubedo," he said with a genial smile. "I heard you have something for us today."


    "Hello, doctor," I said, bowing slightly. "I made three new types of potions last night and wanted to test them out."


    "Excellent, tell me about them." He gestured to an aide who took the potions from me and set them on a nearby workbench.


    "They''re labeled. One heals things. Another makes you stronger but also angry, lack of impulse control. The third one makes your skin like steel and a little bit bigger too."


    "''Health potion?'' ''Elixir of Wrath?'' ''Elixir of Iron?''" the aide read out. "Did you name them?"


    "The names just came to me. I think they''re powers related," I said honestly.


    "A tad fanciful, but the names fit with your own so it''s fine," Dr. Sanchez waved him off. "Let''s start with this health potion of yours. What exactly can it heal? How does it work?"


    I focused and reached out for the well of mana within. Instead of letting it well to the surface, I dove down, trying to remember exactly why I followed the steps that I did. "One sec, trying to think," I muttered. The knowledge of a Runeterran alchemist filled my mind, or rather, the knowledge of countless Runeterran alchemists.


    At its core, the health potion was a homebrew remedy with regional variants across all of Runeterra. Most were made of mana-rich herbs, but others could use blood of animals or ground bones and minerals. It was why the potion had no specific name like "Elixir of Wrath." Last night, the World Rune had acted as a filter, allowing me to pick out the best recipe of the bunch, and transmuted it from the ingredients I''d used. Now, I tapped into the alchemical knowledge of the sages of Ionia to answer. "They contain energy, mana, and release it into the drinker''s bloodstream. The mana is attuned to life and promotes natural regeneration."


    "That''s¡­ not terribly helpful."


    "Sorry, doctor."


    "No, no, you''re not the first tinker to give vague or hard to understand explanations." He patted my head like a grandfather and I suppressed the urge to slap his hand away. "Even Hero has a hard time explaining how his wonderful creations work. Tell me, do you know what kinds of injuries your potion can heal?"


    I nodded enthusiastically, still playing at being a child. "Yeah! It can stop blood loss and close wounds," I said excitedly, "but it won''t regenerate vital organs or limbs. It also won''t magically set bones or anything so broken bones need to be aligned correctly before you drink one. Oh, and it also doesn''t do much against poisons. I mean, it can give you a bit more time, but it won''t destroy the poisons or toxins in your bloodstream."


    "I see, that''s a surprisingly detailed response."


    "So what now?"


    "What now" turned out to be practical testing. They brought in a lab rat and put it to sleep with anesthesia before making a small incision in its hindquarters. They then slid the tray with the rat on it over to me. I couldn''t help but think I''d freak out if I were actually eight. ''Then again, maybe they''re relying on the fact that capes psychologically need to see their powers in use,'' I mused.


    "Now, Rubedo," Dr. Sanchez said, "how much of your potion would you say is required to heal a person?"


    "The potions aren''t any more dangerous than water," I responded. "If the injury is not serious, they should take mouthfuls until the wound closes. If it is serious, just take the full bottle. However, drinking more than one bottle will not improve the rate of regeneration. There are limits to pushing the human body. Oh, and the regeneration effect lasts for one minute. You can drink another bottle when the minute''s up."


    "Excellent, now how much would you feed this rat to close the wound?"


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I took a pipette from one workstation and poured the potion onto the rat''s wound one drop at a time. "It''s not an exact science and drinking more isn''t going to hurt the rat so it doesn''t matter beyond trying to save the potion."


    After just three drops, the wound began to close visibly. The tray was taken from me and placed under a microscope so Dr. Sanchez could get an in-depth look.


    "Blood coagulates in under two seconds," he recited, the aide jotting notes. "Dried platelets are being pushed out by regenerating tissue. Six seconds. Wound is fully closed in ten. I even see hair starting to grow back on bare skin." He turned to me with a wide smile on his face. "You should be proud of yourself, Rubedo. This could save a lot of lives."


    "We still need to check for potential side effects, doctor," the aide reminded him.


    "My potions don''t have side effects I don''t know about," I huffed. I knew it was procedure, bit a part of me, maybe a bleed-over from the Ionian sage I''d ripped the recipe from, felt slighted by his skepticism. ''Then again, it''s possible to be allergic to the herbs¡­ can a brand new potion in a world without said herbs cause allergic reactions in the first place?''


    "We still need to check, Rubedo," the old doctor chided gently. "Now, what did you make this out of?"


    "A Mana Crystal and a nutrition shake. Any nutrition shake with a full complement of vitamins, minerals, and proteins required for daily living will do."


    "Amazing¡­"


    After that, we moved on to testing the two elixirs, starting with the Elixir of Iron. After a brief stint with a different lab rat, the eggheads agreed that I, being the tinker in question, should be able to drink it without detrimental side effects.


    Standing next to the exercise equipment, I drained the bottle as quickly as I could and felt the changes settle in. My four-two height shot up ten inches to five feet even. I bulked up a bit too so I didn''t look like a reed. A gunmetal sheen briefly covered me before dissipating. Then I felt something unexpected happen. Mana flowed through my body, enhancing the effects of the Elixir of Iron. Time Warp Tonic had activated, and with it, my height shot up another five inches and I knew I was much tougher than the potion could normally make me, fifty percent tougher.


    "That is a rather dramatic change."


    "My potions are more effective when I drink them. I don''t know why, they just are," I shrugged, lying through my teeth. "But normally, the Elixir of Iron should make you approximately twenty percent larger and give your skin the strength of steel."


    "I-is it permanent?"


    "Nope, sorry, doctor." I tried to take a step and stumbled a little, unused to my height. "Observation: Rapid changes in height can be a bit disorienting," I said. "This potion will last for one hour for everyone else and an extra half hour for me."


    The same was true of the Oracle''s Elixir. I fucking loved Time Warp Tonic. A fifty percent boost to the beneficial effect of all potions was a massive amplifier, in both scope and durability. Though I was so much earlier than canon, I couldn''t fully suppress my mistrust of the PRT. I didn''t really have a choice, being both already outed and a cripple, but that didn''t mean I''d happily give up all my secrets, just enough to be useful. I decided to keep the chrono-acceleration granted by the Time Warp Tonic a secret.


    From there, they had Agent Morrison test out the elixirs. The durability granted by the Elixir of Iron was tested bit by bit until we did confirm that he was fully bulletproof to small arms fire. The Elixir of Wrath saw him deadlift a full thousand pounds, which was all they had on hand at this particular lab. He did explain that he felt drunk almost, a tangible loss of inhibition in a way that he considered dangerous in a combat situation.


    He was soon ushered off into a secluded room to wait out the effect. I wanted to drink one myself, but the doctor decided that having a drunk, berserk pre-teen capable of lifting a small car sounded like a terrible idea.


    X


    After power testing, I had a meeting with Ms. Janet Youngston, Head of Public Relations. She was a mousy woman with short, blonde hair worn in a pixie cut and green eyes that seemed to peer into my soul. Or at least, treat me like an interesting dress-up doll. It was eerie.


    Her office was similarly unsettling. It reminded me of how I imagined Parian''s fanon dollhouse would look like, a forest of mannequins with dozens of unfinished costumes and prototype masks in a nauseating sea of colors. In one corner was a large worktable with sketchbooks full of costume designs and loose scraps of fabric littering the surface.


    "Hello, Ms. Youngston," I said politely as I tried to navigate the maze of mannequins.


    "Hello, Rubedo," she said. She then did a double take as she got a look at me. "Weren''t you¡­ shorter?"


    "Elixir of Iron. It makes me bigger and gives me a brute rating."


    "Huh, that''s going to be a challenge to work with. Do your clothes increase in size with you?"


    I took off my lab coat to reveal a shirt that was now uncomfortably tight. "No, no it does not."


    "Yes¡­ a challenge¡­ Have you put any thought into the designs I showed you last week?"


    I grimaced. The designs weren''t¡­ bad... but she was insistent on making me the mascot of Wards Team One. ''And I suddenly empathize with Missy so damn much¡­'' On the plus side, she was really trying to play up the alchemy and magic angle. On the downside, more than one sketch had me holding a wand. Glitter-dusted star included.


    I had standards, damn it.


    I flipped through the pictures on my Wards-issue phone. And wasn''t that a trip? A fully-functional smartphone in 2000. It made me snort a little. The scraps of technological knowledge that could be gleaned from tinkers had advanced Earth-Bet to be a bit further along than I remembered in my last life. It was a pity that this same availability of supernatural techno-savants would breed reliance; and with reliance, stagnation. I expected Earth-Aleph to catch up and surpass Earth-Bet in the next five years. Ten at most; not that I was supposed to know any of that.


    "Here," I nudged one picture towards Ms. Youngston. The picture was a mannequin wearing stylized priest robes colored red and white. Over that, Ms. Youngston had draped a medieval traveler''s cloak, hood and all. A regular domino mask covered the eyes but little else. "See this? I think this is the best of the bunch. I just don''t like the mask. Give me a fully covering mask, like a hockey mask, but completely plain."


    She quirked an eyebrow. "Why this one? I thought you''d definitely go for the crimson knight look."


    The "crimson knight" as she called it was a bizarre mix of protective sports gear and riot police equipment, all wrapped up in a medieval aesthetic. Angular lines and metallic paint of burnished burgundy made the whole getup look like some legendary hero. It wasn''t for me.


    "Nah, too combative. I''m a tinker, one whose specialization seems to lie in weird pseudo-magic, kinda-but-not-science alchemy. If I''m in a fight, something''s gone terribly wrong. I mean, even worse than any other Ward being in a fight."


    "True. So you like the robes? You don''t think they''d be too hot? This is Phoenix after all."


    "That''s a good point¡­ I''m not sure anymore. I do like the aesthetic though."


    "Okay, let''s start from the top. We need something that covers your eyes. Andy Kim is blind, but Rubedo is not."


    "Right," I nodded. "It helps with the unwritten rules."


    "Yes, separation of identities is good. Beyond that, what is it about the robes that you like?"


    I shrugged. I wasn''t sure either. "I don''t know¡­ they remind me of a priest."


    "Are you religious?"


    "Kind of? My dad used to visit my grandparents'' graves every anniversary of their deaths, but that was more of a cultural thing than a religious thing. The practice started as a matter of ancestral worship with Buddhist influence but is done in Korea more as a sign of respect than any fear of ghosts or the afterlife or anything." I thought about the church I used to attend in my past life. ''Yeah, not touching that.''


    "Fascinating, but back to the robes. Is it because they look serene? Dignified?"


    "Yeah, dignified. Like someone you should respect."


    "Figures a child wants respect," Ms. Youngston muttered, too quiet for me to fully catch. "Excellent, Rubedo. I can work with that."


    "I figure I''ll be inside making potions most of the time or do PR tours so it''s okay to be hot outside I think."


    "Anything else?"


    "Elixir of Iron," I reminded her. "I would like clothes that can fit me even when I''m bigger."


    "How much bigger do you get?"


    "Thirty percent height and width. The robes would be better with the potion than a tight costume or armor."


    "You''re right, that would work. I''ll have a full mockup for you in two days, Rubedo. We''ll see how you feel about it all once you have it on."


    Author''s Note


    Legends of Runeterra flavortext around the health potion reads, "Every generation, region, and family has its own home remedy-though some are undeniably more effective than others." Whenever LoR flavortext doesn''t conflict with LoL lore, I''m going to be drawing on them.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 1.6 Call

    Call 1.6


    2000, May 10: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I didn''t see the problem with Ms. Youngston or the PRT PR department as a whole. Their stated mission was to integrate capes into society. Public relations was always going to play a major part in that. Once I put aside the knee-jerk response of bitching against the establishment ingrained in me by both canon and fanon, she was honestly fairly reasonable. She listened to most of my wants, got rid of the more ridiculous outfits, and gave me a choice between four or five that the director had pre-approved.


    ''Maybe the wands were just to soften me up for the "least shitty option,"'' I mused. Would I have preferred to have my own image? Of course. But this wasn''t nearly as bad as I''d been lead to believe. It helped that I had an image-friendly power, unlike her majesty the Queen of Escalation.


    After my meeting with the head of PR, I had some free time to kill so I headed back to the Wards section. I was surprised to find only Stingray, Penelope. She sat in front of three computer screens that doubled as our console. She was in costume, with a large pair of headphones and mic over her mask. Seeing me, she waved me over with a happy smile. She tapped something on the mic and faced me.


    "Mute button. Hey, Rubedo, how''s it going?"


    "Not bad, just got out of a meeting with PR." I yanked a chair over and sat next to her. "Where''s everyone else?"


    "Raquel''s got gymnastics practice. Dave and Jazz are on patrol right now." She gestured to one of the monitors, where I could see the pair walking down a street in downtown. Jazz was in her stage magician outfit and signing autographs while Dave twirled his lasso for the crowd. "Call them Ranchero and Hat Trick while on console though. Not everyone in the PRT knows who we are so it''s just good opsec. Ah, ''opsec'' is short for ''operational security.''"


    I nodded indulgently. "Right. What exactly do you do on console?"


    She passed me a spare set of headphones and unmuted herself. "Stingray back online. I have Rubedo with me, Agent Carter. Mind explaining what we do on console?"


    "Sure, Stingray. And it''s a pleasure to meet you, Rubedo," came a warm female voice. "Console is what we call general overwatch and communications management. Every Wards and Protectorate HQ has one of these desks you''re sitting in. These desks patch you through to the PRT console, where agents like me can teach you some of the operational protocols. Do you understand so far?"


    I smiled. In a city that wasn''t Brockton, it made sense for Wards console to be a training module more than anything. "Makes sense. So what should I know?"


    "Let''s start with the projected patrol routes. Stingray?"


    "Yes, Agent Carter," the blonde said dutifully. She hit some keys on the keyboard and brought up a map of the city. "See this? The bright blue line is Ranchero and Hat Trick''s patrol routes. The muted blue lines are Protectorate patrol routes."


    I saw several blue dots moving along their respective lines. "How long does a patrol take?"


    "It depends, Rubedo. Wards only patrol for two or three hours at most so we get much shorter routes. The Protectorate can have much longer routes."


    "Why are the routes so close together?" I asked, though I could guess. Of the four active routes, two, the one Ranchero was leading and a Protectorate route, were almost neck and neck, just four streets over.


    "Wards are not meant to get into active engagements," Agent Carter said over the mic. "A Protectorate patrol is always nearby just in case something goes wrong or you require additional assistance."


    "How often does that happen?"


    "Not very," Stingray said. "And when it does happen, it''s almost always not combat related. For example, the other day, Bandit and I had to go find someone''s lost dog so we had to deviate from the route a little while Royalle and Hotflash did double duty with our patrol for a bit."


    The rest of their impromptu lesson was surprisingly informative, covering everything from first aid protocols to what we should do if confronted by villains. Really, that last one boiled down to "Disengage, retreat, and dial for backup," but it was helpful nonetheless. I was a little surprised to hear that Wards were allowed to handle nonviolent crimes like purse snatching. I''d figured that the PRT would order us to avoid any and all scenarios that had the potential to escalate to violence.


    ''Glad we''re not being treated completely with bubble wrap.''


    From what Stingray and Agent Carter told me, most Wards activities fell into three categories: community outreach, standard patrols for street-level misdemeanors, and emergency rescue work. I decided then and there that I would focus on the latter. Along with Raquel, I was likely the best suited for rescue work.


    As if summoned by thought, the "mask on" buzzer rang and Penelope turned to greet Raquel as she skipped into the room. "Hi, Penny! Hi, Andy!" She wore an infectious smile. Coupled with her fuzzy costume, she looked almost as young as me.


    "In costume, Bandit," Penelope admonished. "And don''t call me Penny."


    She ignored our captain and gave her a hug. "But Penny works so well." In an instant, my ears felt the cool air in the room. She was wearing my headset. "Hi, Hat Trick! Hi, Ranchero!" she babbled into the mic.


    "At least she remembers to use codenames over the mic," Penelope grumbled.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Raquel frowned and pulled the headphones from her head. "Meanies."


    I shot Penelope a questioning look. "She got scolded by PRT console for chattering on patrol," she explained.


    "Meanies," the shorter girl pouted.


    "Meanies," I nodded with her. "Want to check out my lab? They should have some of it set up already."


    It was funny how she did a full one-eighty. "Is that ready?''


    "Mostly. I was promised an industrial grade centrifuge and electrolysis machine so I can separate chemicals, but those are taking a while to arrive."


    "Oh, poo. Your lab just looks like my school''s chemistry lab¡­"


    "Well¡­ yeah? I mean¡­ alchemy."


    "Nah, no thanks."


    "Suit yourself. If any of you need me, I''ll be in my room."


    I spent the rest of my time with the Wards in meditation, churning out Mana Crystals as quickly as I could. Something about my actions yesterday allowed me to reinforce my connection to the World Rune. Absent other evidence, I had to assume it was because I finally got off my ass and made some new things. Did that mean the World Rune had a conscience? Was a Shard masquerading as a World Rune and using my memories to fill in the gaps? I was certain it wasn''t the latter, but aside from my own conviction, I had no real proof.


    Still, if my power wanted to be used, I''d use it.


    As I worked, I thought about my "specialization." Runeterra. What could I make? Hell, what did I want to make? Off the cuff, Professor Cecil B. Heimerdinger was the greatest mind on Runeterra, its very own Tony Stark. He industrialized magic by pioneering the field known as techmaturgy, founded Piltover, and taught some of the greatest scientists in Runeterran history, including Viktor and Jayce.


    As I pondered the Revered Inventor, ideas flooded my mind. Most he''d made himself, many he did not. A Wrenchbot to help around my lab. A multi-story techmaturgical t-rex, I''m sorry, T-Hex, because why the fuck not. Jayce''s Mercury Cannon. Viktor''s third arm. Camille''s eyes. Blitzcrank''s¡­ Blitzcrank. I paused. ''I can make myself eyes!''


    That threw me for a loop. Did I want to be known as a biotinker? The profession did not inspire the same kind of terror it would in the future. Bonesaw, Riley at the moment, was an infant somewhere out there. Ellisburg wouldn''t happen for another seven or eight months. Blasto wasn''t even active yet.


    ''I could become a biotinker,'' I realized. I could, theoretically, be known as the first biotinker and set the standard for how they''re treated.


    I scrapped that idea almost as soon as I thought it. It wasn''t worth it. I didn''t think I could build a strong enough reputation before 2001, before Rinke''s trigger. One day, I promised myself, when I became fully independent of the Protectorate and powerful enough to stand on my own, I would make myself a pair of eyes. They would be such bullshit that Satoru Gojo and Itachi Uchiha would cry with envy.


    ''What else can I make?''


    Even sticking to the alchemical theme, the twin cities of Piltover and Zaun had much to offer me. Singed had created Warwick, slowly pumping him full of regenerative potions and chimeric DNA even as he was vivisected over the course of months. The memories of the harrowing procedures almost knocked me from my meditation but I pressed on. The Mad Chemist''s works, despite his revolting lack of ethics, had many, many uses. That was more than could be said of Mundo.


    ''Shimmer. Singed invented Shimmer, a drug that can make super soldiers, substitute for healing potions, and be burned for fuel.''


    He, and eventually, most of Zaun, used the damn thing for so much that it was hard to find chemtech in Zaun that wasn''t compatible with the stuff. Putting aside what he became, Singed originally developed the drug as another healing potion, back when he was still sane.


    ZAC, the Zaun Amorphous Combatant, could be said to be an alchemical creation, albeit accidental. Viktor''s Hex Core was another such example. Ekko''s Zero Drive was fueled by a fuel source of his own design, one with an unusual affinity for time magic.


    There as so much more, but I moved on, turning my gaze to the rest of Runeterra.


    Hextech wasn''t everything. In fact, the most powerful things on Runeterra were not hextech creations. Someone, somewhere, had to make Leona''s shield, Kayle''s swords, and Nasus'' scepter after all. Thoughts of how I might enchant the same flooded my head and left me with a splitting headache. A sense of solemn admonishment filled me from within as my connection sputtered.


    ''Okay¡­ nowhere near strong enough to build one of those¡­ Maybe when I have a stronger connection to the World Rune¡­''


    Even putting aside some of the most powerful relics of Runeterra, there were a great deal of materials and items that were referenced by the various Champions.


    Ashe''s bow was made of something called True Ice, an incredibly powerful conduit for ice magic that could not be broken by any conventional force nor melted by any mortal fire. It was also utterly impractical. I could make a shard the size of a guitar pick using a fist-sized snowball¡­ and a hundred Mana Crystals. Not only was that prohibitively expensive, I literally couldn''t forge anything from it. It was what I liked to call the vibranium paradox. If it could withstand any force, how did Howard Stark shape Cap''s shield? Add to that an absolute immunity to mundane forms of heat and I had a material that was effectively unforgeable even if I were to gather enough to make something.


    My thoughts then turned south to Demacia, a new Mana Crystal forming in my hand. Jarvan had that fancy extending lance, but I didn''t need a weapon right now, nor could I wield such a ridiculous thing. Someone had to have forged Shyvana''s gauntlets, but I discarded the possibility for the same reason. I was masquerading as an alchemical tinker. While not all of alchemy was about potions, it wasn''t about forging legendary weapons either. I was more interested in building a foundation for myself, a list of materials¡­


    ''Petricite!'' I thought happily. The World Rune pulsed in what I could only assume was approval. Even for Runeterra, Petricite was unique.


    At their most basic, petricite trees were trees mutated by the chaotic magic of the Rune Wars. They took on traits similar to stone, hence the name, and absorbed ambient mana to grow. This ability to absorb mana also made them magical dampeners, calming the land and providing stability to the ecosystems of western Valoran. Refugees fleeing the Rune Wars would eventually settle around these forests, founding the kingdom of Demacia.


    Ancient Demacians would go on to mix powdered petricite with ash and lime to create an elegant white substance they uncreatively called Petricite. This magic suppressing material was as hard as stone and used in fortifications and buildings. When mixed with steel into an alloy, it could even be used to arm the fabled Dauntless Vanguard. Ground up, it could make the Petricite Elixirs favored by the Mageseekers.


    ''But¡­ will Petricite work with powers? I have mana, but do other capes?'' I wondered. ''Either Shards pull their dimensional hijinks using mana and channel their powers via the corona pollentia, or they don''t¡­ and I''ll end up creating my own kryptonite. That''d be fucking embarrassing¡­''


    Author''s Note


    Yes, Heimerdinger is his last name. Yes, his name is Cecil. He''s actually one of the youngest yordles, or at least, one of the yordles who emerged from the Spirit Realm latest. He designed the Sun Gates and founded Piltover approximately two hundred years before modern day Runeterra, making him centuries younger than the likes of Veigar.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 1.7 Call

    Call 1.7


    2000, May 15: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Five days after I submitted the two elixirs and health potion for testing, I got called into the director''s office. Despite being a building of only middling height, her office managed to get a decent view overlooking the Gammage Memorial Auditorium in the Tempe section of the Phoenix Metropolitan Area. The interior of the office was well-furnished, with comfortable furniture, posters of the local Protectorate, a map of Phoenix, and Director Lyons'' diplomas. A flag of the Phoenix Suns basketball team hung in one corner as the lone splash of non-work related color.


    I sat in my brand-spanking new costume, fresh from the sewing machine and approved only a few days before. I wore a large, red domino mask that covered the upper half of my face snugly and contoured itself to imply a different facial structure. The eye holes were tinted so it was impossible to see my glass eyes. As far as the public knew, Rubedo wasn''t blind.


    The robes were done in two layers. The thin and airy inner layer was an unfortunately eye-searing yellow instead of the dull white or black I''d wanted originally. According to Ms. Youngston, the PRT wanted to avoid implying a religiosity that did not exist by wearing too much white. The sleeves were long, but easily pinned with a notch on the elbows if I wanted to roll them back for work. They also came with pockets like a monk''s robes so I could hide my phone, wallet, or other knickknack inside.


    Thankfully, most of the inner robes were covered by the outer, which draped itself like a traveler''s overcoat. The fabric was thicker, with a visible mesh pattern that I was told would reflect sunlight and provide some protection if worst came to worst. The coat was a dull red, with a thick hood that looked like it could be worn to completely shroud the face in shadow. It couldn''t; the hood was literally sewn tight to the back of my coat. Ms. Youngston had again put her foot down, saying that heroes who showed their faces appeared more approachable. On the plus side, that did make my costume much more breathable.


    The ensemble was completed with burgundy boots that were mostly hidden by my robes and a thick, leather belt that went around my midriff. The belt was lined with a multitude of slots for glass vials and a thermos filled with Oracle''s Elixir stylized to look like a medieval waterskin. A pair of sturdy leather gloves were hooked onto a belt loop to complete the image of a hard-working hero.


    My personal sigil was stitched over my heart and both shoulders. It was an octagonal patch depicting a stylized potion bottle in white with a red "R" inside over a black background with yellow borders. When I first saw it, I couldn''t stop myself from making a Team Rocket joke, not that anyone else got the reference.


    All told, even though I had no intention of keeping the persona, I had to admit that the PRT did good work. It looked professional, wasn''t difficult to move in, and got my aesthetic across. As a Ward, that was probably the best I could expect of them.


    "Thank you for being punctual, Rubedo," Director Lyons said. Director Amelia Lyons was a tall woman in her forties with red hair and brown eyes. She looked like she''d let herself go a bit, but had been very athletic in her youth.


    I gave her a polite bow in greeting. "Afternoon, director. What''s this about?"


    "I wanted to let you know that your debut will be this Saturday on the twentieth and to see you in your full costume."


    I did a little twirl. "Well, how is it? Do I look like a proper wizard?"


    "Or maybe a candle," she said with a faint smile.


    "That''s me, Rubedo the Wonder-Candle."


    "Don''t tempt me. I''m sure I could get Ms. Youngston to make some Rubedo-brand scented candles."


    "Or, here''s an idea, you could be truly ironic and make some Rubedo-brand sunglasses," I shot back with a cheeky grin. I got a small snort from her so I counted that a win. "Actually, could you? I want to wear my own branded sunglasses to school. I can just say I''m wearing them because I don''t like people staring at my scar."


    "I''ll think about it. Now, although you''re a part of the Wards, we''re not entirely comfortable putting you on patrols quite yet."


    "I figured. Even if I can temporarily gain a thinker power, it''s just that: temporary. It''s a pretty big risk so I always knew I''d probably be kept inside to tinker and only brought out for publicity stunts."


    "Not necessarily. While we don''t feel comfortable letting you patrol, we think you could do a lot of good with your potions. How would you like to make rounds at hospitals?"


    I shrugged. "That''s fine, but I''d prefer to tinker. And like I said, publicity stunts. You could just as easily have a PRT agent carry a crate of health potions over and distribute them out in the trauma ward. My presence is more about aesthetics than any actual expertise on my end."


    "And¡­ you''re okay with that?" Director Lyons asked cautiously.


    "Should I not be? I think I''m being sensible."


    "No, that''s¡­ that''s great. I thought you''d want something more exciting."


    ''No doubt because the parahuman conflict drive has already been heavily documented,'' I mused knowingly. "Well, I don''t. I know what I''m good at and fighting isn''t one of them. Even if I could do well enough by drinking both elixirs, I''d rather give them to Stingray so she can punch people for me."


    "I''m glad you understand. Now, about your lab¡­"


    "Yes?"


    "The centrifuge and electrolysis machines will arrive by the nineteenth. If we bought you an industrial mixer, do you think you could mass produce your potions?" She had a hungry glint in her eye that almost scared me with its intensity. And, honestly, I understood. In more than two decades since Scion''s appearance, I was one of less than fifty capes capable of healing. In twenty-two years.


    Sure, it was impossible to get a proper census of all capes in the US, never mind the world, but that there were so few healing capes on record amplified my worth a great deal. Any PRT branch that hosted me would by default rise in prestige, especially since I could temporarily grant powers as well as heal.


    In a world without Panacea, even a relatively minor healing power like my potion was a godsend.


    I happily took her dreams and crushed them to dust. "No. It takes a lot of concentration for me to make a Mana Crystal so even if you get me enough ingredients, I''d still hit a bottleneck. Twenty or so bottles of various kinds is probably my soft limit," I said. "I also want to experiment with things on my own so I''d need to put aside some crystals for that as well."


    "Well, we''ll at least make sure you never run out of the more mundane ingredients."


    I heard what she was saying loud and clear: I was their heal-slave and they''d milk me for everything I had. It worked out for me so I didn''t complain. I expected I''d be able to channel more mana and create more potent Mana Crystals as my connection to the World Rune improved, but I didn''t mention that. The rest of the meeting passed quickly with some questions on her end about what I might need for my lab and how I was faring in school.


    X


    2000, May 20: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The reveal of a new Ward was always a bit of a spectacle. Ms. Youngston started a PR campaign the moment my signature was on the contract. Talking heads had been trying to guess everything from my exact powerset to my favorite food for weeks. This meant that my debut was a long-anticipated event that had been curated since before I myself first knew anything about it.


    The minor press conference was set to be held at the Scottsdale Fashion Square, the largest mall in the Phoenix Metro Area. The interior had a climate-controlled lobby with a glass ceiling where a stage had been set up for our use. Even the location was intentional. We could have rented out the Gammage Auditorium, but Ms. Youngston said that would send the image of a hero who was separated from the people, a stage production rather than the genuine article. I did my best to not point out the irony in that statement.


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    A second venue that was considered was a local middle school, but that too was scrapped. Though the unwritten rules were more or less established, hinting at my identity by implying I attended a certain school was a big no-no, especially since that wasn''t my school.


    Holding my debut at the mall would both make the event accessible to the public and make me seem more approachable and childlike. She''d called it "youthful candor," whatever the hell that meant. It didn''t hurt that a major hospital was so close to the mall.


    ''Honestly,'' I thought, suppressing a sneeze as some lady powdered my nose, ''I think she''s just happy to have a Ward that doesn''t zone off to la la land the moment she starts talking about the nuances of her job.''


    "There, all done," the lady powdering my face chirped. She looked like an intern of some sort, no older than her mid-twenties. "You look positively dashing, Rubedo."


    "Thanks, Miss Noda," I said, grateful for the pericognition granted by the Oracle''s Elixir; I didn''t need to look down to read her name tag. "I appreciate it. How much time until we''re on?"


    She checked her watch. "Eight minutes, hon. Sit tight. Do you remember everything?"


    "Yes, I do. When I walk up, I should shake Director Lyons'' hand, then Royalle''s, then Stingray''s, and then read the lines on the podium. Then I should bow and sit down next to Stingray."


    "Good, you''ll do great."


    I waited behind the stage for another seven minutes. The owner of the mall, some fat cat named Mr. Briggs, wrapped up whatever attempt he was making at kissing ass and Director Lyons took the mic. I was almost ready to zone out when she raised her voice slightly.


    "Without further ado, please welcome Rubedo to the Wards family!" she said to polite applause.


    Miss Noda gave me a gentle push. I thanked the celestials for the Oracle''s Elixir again as camera lights flashed with every step I took. ''Oh the benefits of being blind,'' I chuckled and did my best to give the crowd a "winning" smile. I''m pretty sure I just ended up looking a little constipated.


    Still, I did as I was bid and shook hands with each of my superiors. Royalle, the leader of Protectorate Team One and nominally my ultimate superior in the Protectorate, was an interesting character. I''d met him briefly when I first signed on to be a Ward, but he''d seemed impatient and rather detached at the time. Now, he was all smiles.


    He was a handsome man with black hair, hazel eyes, and teeth so straight and shiny that he could have starred in an Oral-B commercial. He wore a domino mask that I thought was dangerously thin, doing the bare minimum to nod towards the unwritten rules. He wore a metallic breastplate paired with a detachable cape of royal-blue. The cape had a white fur trim emblazoned with the golden crown that was his symbol. Hell, he even wore a crown on his head.


    "Welcome aboard, kid, officially," he said in a deep, rich baritone.


    "Thank you, sir," I replied, no reason to antagonize the man, even if I thought the crown was pretty tacky.


    Stingray had a far more laidback response. She gave me a small, genuine smile and ruffled my hair, setting the crowd to laughter at my exaggerated umbrage. I stepped onto a small stool that had been prepped for me so I could "see" the podium. That earned me another few chuckles. The speech itself was mercifully short.


    "Hello, everyone, my name is Rubedo," I began. "I am the newest Ward of Wards Team One under Wards Leader Stingray and Protectorate Leader Royalle. I have the honor of being the youngest Ward, not just in Phoenix, but also in the entire Southwest."


    I made a show of holding up the paper to "read," then promptly threw it away to some surprised gasps. This too was something Ms. Youngston planned for my persona when she found out about my pericognition.


    "Yeah, I''m not reading that. Sorry, let me be candid for a few minutes," I said, still reading the script lying on the floor. "I''m young. I could be as great as Hero, but that wouldn''t change my age. Can you imagine someone like me fighting villains? Would you let your children fight people who can throw around cars or shoot lightning from their hands? Of course not. The truth is, I may be a Ward, but I can''t be called a hero. Not yet.


    "I''m incredibly fortunate that my powers complement my age. I''m a tinker, just like Hero, Armsmaster, and Gyroscope. Unlike them though, I can''t make mechanical wonders. I can''t make a teleporter or a hovercar or a giant laser," I lied through my teeth and held up a glass vial filled with crimson liquid. "Instead, I can make these. I am the first alchemical tinker and this is a health potion. It can stabilize and close wounds, replenish blood cells, and accelerate cellular mitosis. I''m fortunate, because I won''t be on the front line. Instead, my patrol is in the hospitals and emergency clinics, where I''ll be working with doctors and paramedics to save lives.


    "The truth? The truth is that I''m not a hero. I don''t deserve to be called that, not yet," I said, looking into the camera. "I''m just a kid who got lucky. But I will be. One day, ''Rubedo'' will be a name you remember alongside Hero and Armsmaster and Gyroscope as a tinker worth respecting. And I am honored to start that journey serving the people of Phoenix."


    Speech recited, I walked over and sat down next to Stingray, releasing a breath I didn''t know I was holding. I shuddered a little. The crowd was silent; that kind of brutal honesty taking them from left field, especially coming from a child. Then, a single applause started an cascade.


    "You did great," she encouraged, "better than my own debut."


    "Thanks," I said honestly, maybe the first truly honest thing I''d said on stage.


    That whole stunt was an attempt to kickstart my cape persona. According to the PRT, I had a "wallflower" power, one that wouldn''t stand out because they were intent on keeping me out of conflicts. That meant that for me to be a noticeable public presence, I had to supplement my power with sheer force of personality, something normally impossible to expect of a child still in elementary school. Instead of being a meek healer who the PRT was keeping back from the frontlines, I would be a "fiercely independent, determined young man dedicated to filling some very large shoes." It was why Director Lyons allowed the little bit of scripted rebellion, a bit of "youthful candor."


    I shrugged. ''Anything to sell more merch, I guess.''


    "That was unexpected," Director Lyons said, "though not unwelcome. Thank you, Rubedo, for that sincerity. We will now open ourselves to questions."


    She pointed at a young woman in a sharp pantsuit. "Melissa Hawthorne, Phoenix Gazette. Rubedo, can you go more in-depth about your powers?"


    The mic was passed back to me so I didn''t have to get up again. "Of course, Miss Hawthorne," I said with a polite smile. "As I said before, I am a tinker. My power seems to take inspiration from alchemy, hence the name. For now, I can create potions that promote healing or grant temporary effects. To be completely honest, I am still exploring the limits of my powers, so you''ll know more even as I do."


    "Carter McCullough, The Arizona Republic. If you don''t know your power''s limits, how can you be sure that there are no side effects to drinking your potion?"


    Director Lyons fielded that one. "As you know, Rubedo''s presence in the Wards was a highly anticipated affair. In fact, he joined the Wards months ago but we felt that any parahuman-made medicine deserved the utmost scrutiny. That is why his debut was such a long time coming. We have thoroughly tested his potions and feel that all side effects are manageable or miniscule." It was a lie, I''d only shown her the potion last week and the eggheads had rushed through testing as much as they could, but it sure sounded nice.


    "So there are side effects?"


    "All pharmaceuticals have side effects. For example, because Rubedo''s potion accelerates cellular mitosis, it is not recommended that current or at-risk cancer patients take the potion. The potion is for physical wounds only, not diseases. That said, I assure you that the doctors have been briefed and any patient prescribed one of Rubedo''s potions will be able to take them safely."


    The next journalist could barely be called that, more of a gossip columnist than anything. "Kyle Stuckey, Cape Colors. Rubedo, you said your power seems to be based on alchemy. Any chance you can turn lead into gold?"


    I shot the director a grateful smile for the deflection. "Not that I''m aware. If I could, I''d be a hero in Hawaii," I joked to polite laughter.


    "What does your name mean?" some other journalist asked. Their names started to blend together.


    "My name is a reference to alchemy. Medieval alchemists believed that the alchemical process could be described in three stages. Nigredo, the blackness, represented the impure and unrefined state of matter. Albedo, the whiteness, represented the purification process. Rubedo, the redness, was the final stage and the perfection of matter, whether that be to gold or a panacea. That is my namesake. It''s also why my costume is mostly red."


    "That''s very interesting. Do you have an interest in medieval alchemy?"


    "No, or at least, nothing specific. I have an interest in mythology as a whole."


    "What''s your favorite story?"


    I thought about it and decided to answer honestly. "Surprisingly, my favorite myth isn''t European, despite my cape name. It''s the story of the Jade Rabbit. Once, the emperor of heaven decided to walk among the earth disguised as a poor traveler. He sat in the forest and was hungry. Three animals came to help him: the fox, the monkey, and the rabbit. The fox, thinking that this starving man needed it more, stole a chicken from a nearby farmer. The monkey knocked down fruit from the branches. But the rabbit, the rabbit saw that he could neither hunt nor gather. So, he threw himself into the fire.


    "The self-sacrifice touched the emperor''s heart and he revealed himself, taking the rabbit out of the fire and blessing him with the title of the Jade Rabbit. He gave him a home on the moon and tasked him with the creation of the Elixir of Life. That is how the moon bunny came to be."


    The rest of the debut went off without a hitch. I couldn''t be certain, but I thought I''d managed to build a reputation for myself as a serious, determined, and well-spoken cape who could be expected to act with a maturity beyond his years. That maturity bit was important considering I''d have doctors taking cues from me in the future. As I walked away, I couldn''t help but think that Vista would have been jealous of me. Instead of downplaying my maturity as Director Piggot had, Director Lyons was going out of her way to point it out.


    Author''s Note


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 1.7.5 Amelia Lyons

    Interlude 1.7.5: Amelia Lyons


    2000, May 20: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Some days just weren''t worth getting up for. Then again, there were days like this that made my life a little brighter. Rubedo, Andy, was an extraordinary child. Pryce, my dear brother, used to say back when we were kids, "No matter how good you are, there''s always an Asian somewhere in the world that does it better."


    Was it racist to think that? Probably.


    Racially insensitive it may be, but interacting with my newest Ward made me think of that little nugget of wisdom. By all rights, he should be a traumatized, closed off wreck with zero to minimal communication skills. Hell, he shouldn''t even speak goddamn English. A handful of months was nowhere near the time needed to develop fluency, especially not to the degree of eloquence he so casually displayed, and especially especially not while learning braille and grieving for his dead father.


    And yet, I''d just watched him debut with a performance that wouldn''t have been amiss coming from actors thrice his age. Could a tinker also be a social thinker? Did powers grant supernatural maturity in young children? I didn''t know, but I knew for a fact that more than one researcher in my employ wanted to make Rubedo the subject of a paper.


    Even putting his prodigious maturity and intelligence aside, he was a godsend for the Phoenix PRT.


    The truth was, this branch wasn''t the most well-funded branch out there. The entire Southwest could use a bit more federal love, really. Being relatively sparsely populated and sandwiched next to two districts overseen by Alexandria and Eidolon meant federal auditors assumed we could handle it. Backup was only a quick hop away; how bad could it be?


    ''Idiots,'' I scoffed.


    I tried to shelter the Wards, and thankfully, I had two full Protectorate teams to help, but Arizona and New Mexico were dangerous places to be a cape. The southwestern United States have always had a problem with gangs, both homebrew and from down south. The entire area is practically a revolving door in which drugs, arms, and men cycle back and forth.


    Alexandria? Eidolon? They were rocks, massive boulders dropped into an ever-flowing river that diverted the water around them. No one wanted to fuck with them so the gangs, cartels, and other ne''er-do-wells inevitably looked for greener pastures. My pastures. No, being sandwiched between two demigods wasn''t a good thing, I''d found.


    Rubedo was my ticket. Healing? Brute powers in a bottle? Hysterical strength? His lab was only now being installed and I already had people clamoring for my newest Ward''s attention. What more could he make in the next ten years as my Ward?


    X


    Hours later, I was reminded that the world didn''t like seeing me happy. I was dragged away from dinner to an emergency briefing called by Levi Silva, one of my two deputy directors.


    I was the last to arrive. As I sat, I took stock of the room. To my left was Royalle, that arrogant prick. He was competent and dedicated, that I didn''t doubt, but he was also condescending and dismissive of anything that wasn''t either his image or a major cape. He had his thick, blue cape folded over one shoulder as he lounged carelessly in his chair.


    To his left was Oathkeeper, leader of Protectorate Team Two, in her mock-samurai armor. It was scaled, with lamellar wood coated in black varnish. The threading and accents were done in green, giving her a distinguished but menacing look. The outfit characterized her well. She was a distinct contrast to her fellow team leader, a disciplined warrior compared with the irreverent king. Her monstrous nodachi, far heavier than even a greatsword had any business being, leaned against the table.


    To my right was Deputy Director Caleb Irish, the second of my two deputies. He was a balding man with a permanent deep tan that settled somewhere between healthy bronze and lobster-red. He hadn''t started his career in the PRT. Once upon a time, he was a park ranger. When he retired to become a desk jockey, the national office decided he''d be a good liaison between me and the National Parks Service. As such, he managed the northern section of the Phoenix Metropolitan Area and handled many rescue and disaster response requests on my behalf. Not very knowledgeable about capes, but very useful to have around nonetheless.


    Up front was the man who called the meeting: Levi Silva. He was a hard man, short, but with noticeable muscles that stretched out his office shirt. He kept his hair in a close military crop and did not deviate in the least from the professional dress code. He too did not begin his career with the PRT. He was once a military enlistee. When his service ended, he joined the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Administration, where he rose up the local branch dealing with trafficking attempts from South American cartels. Because of his experience, I''d handed off much of the southern districts to him.


    "Apologies if I''m late," I said as I pulled out a notepad and pen.


    "You''re just in time, director," Silva nodded and pushed something on the laptop in front of him, bringing up a series of slides. "We''re all busy people so I''ll jump right into things. As of fourteen hundred yesterday, Halloween is dead."


    He did not raise his voice or slam the table, but the words echoed with tangible gravitas.


    "Halloween. Peckerwood''s Halloween?" Royalle asked. He leaned forward with interest. "How the fuck did he die?"


    "We don''t know the details, only that Dos Caras now has his face." He flipped the slide, showing photos of a cadaver dressed in white robes. Whatever he looked like in life, his face had been completely flayed off.


    "How sure are we that that''s him?" I asked.


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    "Positive. I''ve had forensics go over the body twice already. They''re sure. The Peckerwoods are going through a succession crisis. It won''t be long before they reorganize and start a gang war against the Southside Mesas."


    "Projected timeframe?"


    "A few days at most."


    I sighed. And today was going great, too. "Lovely. What are the Mesas doing?"


    "Two hours ago, four of my squads responded to various firefights, arson, and other violent crimes against suspected Peckerwood holdings. Arrested members have SSM tattoos so the Mesas are fully on the move."


    "And the Crips?"


    "La Torcha has been completely silent."


    "Who cares about the skank?" Royalle scoffed. "She''s just leading around whatever''s left after Lexi ripped them a new one and kicked them out of Cali."


    "As distasteful as he is," Oathkeeper glared at her peer, "he''s not wrong. The Westside Crips were almost wiped to the last after they tried to contest Alexandria and the Los Angeles Protectorate. They shouldn''t have any force worth mentioning."


    "You''d think so, but no. They''re still the most numerous gang in terms of unpowered members," I pointed out. "Last I checked, most capes aren''t bulletproof."


    "That sounds like someone else''s problem."


    "Must you be so callous, Royalle? They''re your men."


    "And I draw fire so they keep breathing, yeah?"


    "Enough," I snapped. "La Torcha is silent while SSM and the Peckerwoods are going to war. Do we know who''s going to be leading the Peckerwoods?"


    Silva shrugged. "If I had to guess? Freeform. He''s the most charismatic. I''m sure Bull Rush or Gatling would make a play if they had the support, but they have bigger things to worry about at the moment. So, what''s our play?"


    "What we always do," I smiled sardonically, "keep the city from burning down. Show me a heatmap." Silva brought up a map covering all known gang territories: Crips spread all over, Peckerwoods around Chandler and Gilbert, and Southside Mesa in Mesa and spreading to Tempe. "Our first priority is to keep Dos Caras in check."


    "Agreed," Oathkeeper nodded. "He''s a mad dog who makes up for his lack of numbers with brutality. With Halloween''s power, he just got even deadlier."


    "Do we know what face he''s replaced?" Irish asked. His face had gone a little pale at the image of Halloween''s corpse, still not fully used to the brutality of our local gang leader. "He can only have two of them at a time, right?"


    "We don''t know. For all we know, he decided that Halloween wasn''t worth keeping," Silva grunted. "For now, we should assume he''s got three until we can verify which one he threw away: La Llorona, Condor, and Halloween."


    "Che," Royalle clicked his tongue in annoyance. "All cowardly powers. Widespread depression, silent flight, and invisibility."


    "This does mean we can''t send you in, Royalle," I said. "Oathkeeper, you''ll be taking point in Tempe with your team. Royalle will remain north. I might reassign some members of Team One to Team Two for the duration of this crisis."


    "What? Director, I can take Dos Caras!"


    "I''m sure you could," I placated the idiot''s bruised ego. "But we need you to keep La Torcha in check. She''s got the most men and I''m sure she''ll try making a claim when her rivals are weak. You''ll be there to put a stop to that."


    He grumbled but settled down. Oathkeeper said nothing, but I could practically tan myself off the raw smug radiating from her.


    "And the Wards?"


    I turned back to Silva. "What about them?"


    "We have three Wards teams. Thirteen capes. Can we really afford to keep them benched?"


    "We''re not putting them against Dos Caras," I growled out. "They''re children."


    "Maybe so, director, but there are several who are ready to graduate to the Protectorate. Stingray? Ranchero? Diamondback? Wildshot? They''re all good kids and they could be a lot of help."


    "Exactly. Kids. I''m not ready to explain to their parents why they''re coming home in a box." This, this was why I hated military types. Silva wasn''t the worst I''d seen, but he tended to see the capes as assets first and people second.


    "Hold on, director," Irish said.


    He often played mediator between the two of us. I started my career fifteen years ago as a parahuman researcher. Silva as an enlisted soldier. As the one with neither the knowledge of capes nor experience with organized crime, Irish usually had little expertise to contribute to these meetings, but his outside perspective struck a happy medium between me and Silva. He reminded Silva that morality wasn''t something to shrug off and me that sometimes, hard decisions had to be made.


    "Maybe we can come to a compromise. Now, I don''t feel comfortable putting the Wards up against hardened gangbangers, but that doesn''t mean they don''t have anything to contribute here. What if we expanded their patrols in the central Phoenix area? You know, let them take a bit more off the Protectorate''s shoulders so the adults can head to the outskirts."


    "Tier it by age maybe?" Royalle shrugged. "Hey, I''ve been saying the kids need more experience punching faces and less smiling for the cameras."


    "We would need to mix the Wards team roster. Stingray and Ranchero work well together, but Wildshot''s rivalry with Diamondback is getting troublesome," Oathkeeper pointed out. She''d always been the more invested in the Wards compared to Royalle. "I recommend Diamondback be paired with Stingray so he has some ranged support. Ranchero with Wildshot for the same."


    We fell into deep discussion about patrols, placements, and the best way to present this to both parents and the general public. Eventually, we came to the eight hundred pound elephant in the room.


    "What about Rubedo?" Irish asked. "He''s the only underage tinker we''ve got, but he might really be able to make a difference. I don''t know much about sting ops, but I can''t imagine a dozen officers with those fancy iron elixirs would be useless."


    "Heh, yeah, kid''s a goldmine," Silva agreed. "We''re using him, right?"


    I nodded reluctantly. I''d set his weekly potions quota to only twenty-four potions. I knew he could make more, but I wanted him to have time to himself. Our problems shouldn''t burden an eight year old. Still, given the gang war on the horizon, I couldn''t justify not using such a vital power. "I''ll have him increase his potions production," I told them. "Anything else you wanted to talk about, Silva?"


    "No, this is good. This gives us a plan moving forward."


    "Good. Let''s clear out."


    Author''s Note


    The three major gangs mentioned in this story are actual gangs that were or are active in the Phoenix Metropolitan Area. The AU here is that parahumans have integrated and usurped longstanding gangs. Not entirely happy with this setup chapter, but meh. Arc 2 will begin¡­ Monday! Also, this will be a bit of a slow war. Anyone expecting the anarchy of Bakuda''s rampage is going to be disappointed.


    Even though a single powerful cape can gather henchmen and even keep territory, that cape must then run a business, importing resources, refining products, distributing to sellers, and of course, protecting these assets. Superpowers can help you with the latter, but not the others (most of the time). And so, established gangs like the Crips provided the experience, connections, and manpower that would-be warlords lacked.


    I will say one more thing: Do not call anyone a "peckerwood" or "woodpecker" in real life. It is a racial slur similar to "cracker" aimed at rural, white men. The slur is most often heard in the South. The Peckerwoods are a series of white supremacist prison gangs that chose to embrace the slur. Though both the Peckerwoods here and the canonical Empire are white supremacists, they have very different operational styles.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.1 Antebellum

    Antebellum 2.1


    2000, May 22: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I sat in my brand-spankin'' new lab at our headquarters, spinning on a swivel chair.


    The lab was large, far too big to have just been empty space lying around. As I understood it, the space had been meant to be an underground garage and storage space. The PRT had recently purchased the lot next door to create a discreet entrance and so did not need this one for its original purpose.


    Everything I''d ordered and been approved for had arrived and been installed by PRT technicians while I was at my debut conference. To one end was an industrial centrifuge, powerful enough to separate DNA strands and handle volumes that I couldn''t possibly hope to fully utilize at my current connection to the World Rune. Next to it stood an electrolysis machine in case I needed to separate chemical solutions without relying on kinetic energy. On a wall running adjacent to that was a cabinet full of beakers, potion vials, Bunsen burners, scales, microscopes, and other smaller lab equipment. On the opposite wall was a computer, as high-tech as I could expect to have in 2000. Alongside it was a printer. It was monitored, they made no secret of it, but that was fine for my purposes. On the bottom, beneath one of the supply cabinets, was an oven that could heat things to over 2,200 degrees Fahrenheit, much like a professional kiln. Near that was a fridge that could store liquid nitrogen. There was still plenty of space for whatever else I might need in the future.


    ''They really went overboard, huh?'' I thought ruefully. It was amazing what sort of budget I could get once it was confirmed that I could manufacture powers. "Right," I clapped, "time to get to work."


    My agreement with the PRT was simple: I would make them a set number of potions per week and they would procure any materials I desired. If ever I wanted something that wasn''t for tinkering, I would need it garnished from my wages. This did mean I''d have to disclose every recipe I used, but that was fine. It wasn''t as though I was planning on building a Hextech Anivia or anything. Yet.


    ''Although, I might have to accelerate my timetable if the gang war gets out of hand,'' I thought.


    I didn''t know everything. Really, I only knew as much as the local news talked about. Director Lyons was annoyingly insistent about keeping the Wards sheltered, especially the youngest one. Understandable, but incredibly inconvenient. All I knew was that my quota had risen from twenty-four to forty-two potions per week. Twenty-four of them were to be health potions alongside twelve Elixirs of Iron and six Elixirs of Wrath.


    I sighed and got to work.


    The first thing I did was drop glass cleaner fluid into the centrifuge to isolate active chemicals. I wanted to see if it was possible to make a concentrated dose of Oracle''s Elixir. An hour and a half of pericognition wasn''t the worst thing in the world, but it was a little annoying having to keep my tinkering on a schedule. The worst part about my elixir limitation was that I could only carry so much fluid on my person at a time. It wasn''t as though I had a pocket dimension of my own.


    ''Heh, I''m going to make the PRT the largest sponsor of Windex in the state, aren''t I?'' The thought made me chuckle.


    Next came the health potions requested by the local emergency room. That, that was honestly a bit of a doozy. No, not the order. The order itself was small, just a batch of twenty-four. I had enough Mana Crystals stockpiled from my months of inactivity that I could easily fill it. The order was so small because I was effectively pioneering the field of parahuman pharmacology. My drugs were effectively in the clinical trials phase. The PRT might be willing to rely on them in an emergency, but it was a different story for civilian distribution.


    No, the problem came from the NEPEA-5. The infamous law was passed by Congress in 1998 and was derisively nicknamed the "Elite Bill" by vocal critics for having spawned the formation of the largest crime syndicate in the United States. On paper, it was a bill designed to curb parahuman involvement in the market, making it illegal for any cape or cape team to own a controlling share in a corporation. It also made the sale of "cape products," the phrase used to encompass more than just tinkertech, illegal should that product have the potential to upset the existing market or establish a monopoly.


    I''d read it when it was first mentioned to me and the wording was disgustingly broad, to the point that I could only assume that it was intentional on the part of Cauldron. It intentionally left "disturbing the market" up for interpretation to the local PRT director and federal inspectors, leaving them a nice, legal precedent to browbeat rogues into submission.


    I scoffed. ''No wonder Uppermost fucked right off and started a mob.''


    Director Lyons mentioned it to me because my potions potentially fell in violation of that law. If I provided them for free, not that I would, there was real concern that my potions could cut into profits in the medical industry. We both found the consideration of lives as "profits" revolting, but nonetheless, even the director was forced to tread carefully.


    In the end, this meant that my potions would be made in small batches, perfectly fine with me as it''d give me time to tinker on other projects, and the PRT would charge local hospitals a price that had yet to be negotiated for each bottle.


    ''That''s the US for you,'' I scoffed, ''even charity is needlessly complicated.''


    With focused meditation, I could generate a Mana Crystal every ten minutes or so. Most nights, I meditated for roughly an hour and a half to net myself nine each day. The production rate had risen a little from my previous limit when I deepened my connection to the World Rune and got Time Warp Tonic. I''d been building up a reserve of Mana Crystals since long before this lab was ready, so I was ready to mass produce, at least for a while. I''d even kept a solid store of crystals in my room at home, both to hide my true production rate and to hopefully start an independent project of my own.


    "Hello~" I was brought out of my ponderings by Raquel''s singsong voice. She had her giant, fuzzy hood down, revealing a shock of auburn hair and large, mischievous, doe-like eyes. "What''s up, Andy!" Her nose immediately scrunched up in disapproval. "Eww, this place looks exactly like my school lab."


    "Maybe because it is a lab?" I raised an eyebrow.


    "Yeah, but¡­ I was expecting something¡­ you know¡­ cooler¡­"


    "Sorry, my lead cauldron and pickled frog eyes haven''t arrived in the mail yet," I replied sardonically.


    "Boo! I demand cauldrons!" She slapped her hand on the table.


    "You know, for a girl who hates her costume, you sure like acting childish."


    "Only when it''s fun. Besides, I hate looking like I''m in my pajamas getting ready to be tucked into bed. I don''t mind a little childishness. And, I''m five years older than you. Aren''t Koreans supposed to respect their elders?" she sniffed haughtily.


    I laughed and pat her head. "Not when they''re legal midgets."


    She slapped my hand away with a surly glare. "I''m not a midget. I''m still growing!"


    "Sure, sure, I''m sorry, noona, how could I be so disrespectful?"


    "Noona?"


    "Korean word for ''older sister'' used by younger boys. It can be used by any two people when the girl is older than the boy though."


    "Yes, ha! That''s right, I''m your noona now."


    I smiled and made a show of banging my head against the table. "I regret this already."


    "So, make anything cool?"


    "Getting ready to make some Elixirs of Iron."


    "Ooh, I read the brief on that. It makes your skin metal, right?"


    "Right, and makes you a little taller." I grinned teasingly. "Sorry, not permanent."


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    She elbowed me in the ribs, making me wince. The girl had some bony elbows. "Jerk."


    "Sorry, too much snark. If it makes you feel better, I''m going to try and talk the director into giving all Wards the Elixir of Iron as an emergency provision. You know, just in case someone decides to chuck a car at you."


    "Awesome! Thanks, Andy," Raquel squealed and gave me a tight hug.


    "You''re welcome." She was skipping her way out of my lab when I called out. "Raquel?"


    "Yes?"


    "I''d like my paperweight back please. It''s in your pocket."


    "Ah!" She fumbled with the small snowglobe. It had a generic Asian tiled house inside, with little flecks of white that could be swirled around to mimic snowstorms. Mom got it for me. "I''m sorry! I thought it looked pretty and didn''t even notice."


    "It''s fine. Now that I know to be on the lookout, I can tell when an object around me teleports to your pockets."


    "Huh¡­ Say, Andy? Rubedo? Buddy ol'' pal?"


    "Yes?"


    "Do you think you could give me a dose of your pink juice? Maybe if I had the same awareness you do, I would notice when my power popped off and I could give it back on my own."


    "It takes a lot of practice to get used to the extra sense, you know. And it almost gave the scientist who tested it out a seizure. It got pretty bad."


    "Damn¡­"


    "Don''t worry," I said comfortingly. "I might have something that can regulate your powers for you."


    "Promise?"


    "Promise."


    X


    2000, June 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I sat around at recess mulling over the past two weeks. It wasn''t as though I could join in a game of kickball or anything. On my lap was a book in braille so I could pretend to be reading.


    When I first debuted, Rubedo was the talk of the city, or at least, the talk of the school. It wasn''t often that a new Ward joined up, especially not one as young as me. Now, only two weeks later, I was old news. I didn''t patrol or punch bad guys so children didn''t take an interest in me. Sure, I was a model Ward, saving lives without putting my own in jeopardy, but that just meant I was boring. Coupled with the urgency of flaring gang violence, my name got swept up to the wayside rather quickly.


    I wasn''t complaining; the past two weeks went as smoothly as I could expect. When I wasn''t filling the weekly potions quota, plus a bit extra since I had nothing else in my pipeline, I was taught various things a Ward ought to know. At the top of that list was console training along with other PRT procedures and regulations. After that, I was ushered into a room where one of Ms. Youngston''s PR interns taught me how to smile, laugh, and generally be expressive in front of the cameras while wearing a mask that completely hid the upper half of my face.


    Those were the lessons I hated most. On one hand, I understood fully where they were coming from: What else would they do with an eight year old besides make him the team mascot? On the other, the lessons did not come naturally to me and I could understand why child actors felt the need to lash out.


    At least one good thing came of them though: When I became noticeably less cooperative, the intern tried to bribe me with candy. I instead asked for lessons in first aid, something I could use to make a tangible difference. I now had those every Tuesday and Friday, just one more lesson to add to my workload.


    "What are you thinking about?"


    "Hmm?" I turned towards the voice.


    "Oh, sorry, it''s Mrs. Owens, sweetheart," my teacher said.


    "No problem, Mrs. Owens. Should I come inside?"


    "No, you still have a few more minutes of recess. You just looked like you weren''t really reading."


    Caught out, I pressed the braille book closed. "Ah, yeah¡­ just thinking."


    "Is something wrong?"


    "No, nothing''s wrong."


    "Okay, Andy, but if you want to talk, you can tell me anything," she promised reassuringly. "I think you''ve been doing an amazing job, picking up English so quickly. It''s not an easy language to learn." Especially if you''re blind, she didn''t say.


    "Thank you, I have a lot of great teachers."


    "Flatterer. Is the gentleman who drives you from school one of them?"


    "Who? Mr. Morrison?" I asked, panicking a little.


    "Yes, he seemed like a nice man. Is he a neighbor?"


    The few seconds gave me enough time to blurt out the PRT approved response. "He''s a family friend. David, his son, is in high school and babysits me sometimes."


    "Oh, that''s sweet. What do you do together?"


    "We play music," I said, digging deep up my own ass. I tried to change the topic. "Say, Mrs. Owens? Did you know mom is a musician?"


    "Oh? Really? That''s great!" To her credit, she sounded genuinely excited. If I lacked the mind of an adult, I doubt I''d have been able to notice her digging for information. "What kind of instrument does she play?"


    "She was classically trained in piano and violin. Grandpa and grandma were rich so she got to study abroad in Germany."


    "That''s wonderful. Do you like classical music, Andy?"


    "No, I''m more into jazz. I like how much improvisation there is in things like the saxophone."


    "You can play the saxophone?" I didn''t need the Oracle''s Elixir to know she had an eyebrow raised.


    "No, but I like to listen. Maybe I''ll try one day."


    "Oh¡­ Well I''m sure you''ll make a wonderful musician," she said, patting my head. I suppressed the urge to slap her hand away and counted it as a win. Distraction successful.


    X


    "My teacher asked about you," I said as I hopped into Agent Morrison''s car.


    "Oh? What''d she say?"


    I buckled my seatbelt and picked out a bottle of elixir I kept in back. "Nothing big, but she was digging into my family situation. Asked if you were my neighbor so I told her that David babysits me sometimes and you''re a family friend."


    "Good, great job sticking to cover, Andy."


    "Yeah, well, I told her I wanted to learn to play the saxophone. Ugh¡­ I feel so stupid¡­"


    "Hey, it''s not impossible. Why''d you say that anyway?"


    "Mom''s a musician. It was the first excuse that popped into my head," I huffed.


    "Don''t worry, you did good. It''s our job to make sure that the questions don''t get too intrusive."


    "Who exactly knows I''m a Ward anyway?"


    "At school?"


    "Yeah."


    "The principal."


    "And?"


    "The principal."


    "Seriously? No one else? What if there''s an emergency?"


    "You tell me," he said with a sly grin. "This was one of the things you should have learned already."


    "The principal will call me into her office. When we''re alone, she''ll tell me that my uncle has passed away and that I''m being pulled from school. You or another agent will meet me out front in as normal an appearance as possible," I said by rote. This was in one of the procedural handbooks. "If a different agent, they will include the words ''home,'' ''hope,'' and ''safe'' in their greeting to confirm their identity. After this, they will take me to Wards HQ, where I can dress as Rubedo and await dispatch."


    "Damn, kid," he whistled. "I didn''t think you''d have that memorized."


    "This still doesn''t explain why none of the other teachers know."


    "It does. We''re not taking any chances with your identity. I suppose having a few more teachers know to help coordinate could be helpful, but it''s not worthwhile. A single contact is enough for one Ward. It might be different if there were a number of Wards in the school, but there''s just you."


    "Yay for being the youngest."


    "Why? Did you want to tell your teacher?"


    "No, absolutely not. I just felt a little uncomfortable with the digging. She means well I think, but she''s showing a lot of personal attention towards me because I''m the only blind kid in class and a man who is obviously not my father is picking me up from school."


    He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Yeah, I see where you''re coming from. I''ll have a chat with Director Lyons. We''ll work something out to get her to stop."


    X


    I huffed and puffed as I cleared my first mile. A little over twelve minutes. It wasn''t slow per se, but it definitely wasn''t anything to write home about, especially given my flagging endurance. Dead average, but dead average for an eight year old would leave me dead for real.


    "Off," David, Ranchero at the moment, said, motioning me from the treadmill. He had the same easygoing smile on his face, but there was a deeper undercurrent of tiredness even as he jogged on the machine next to me.


    "Cooldown," I staggered out.


    He rolled his eyes and pushed some buttons, slowing the pace way down. "Five minutes. It''s not good to go full hog like that every day."


    I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. Two minutes into my cooldown, I could feel Yasmine, Hat Trick, enter the gym. She popped her skateboard into an ollie and stashed her entire outfit into her cap with one fluid motion, replacing her outfit with workout clothes and a bandana. She made a beeline towards Ranchero and me.


    "Twelve minutes? Damn, brat, you slow," Hat Trick teased, leaning in to see my time and ruffling my hair. She immediately recoiled. "Ugh, you''re sweaty."


    I rolled my eyes but kept jogging. "This is what hard work looks like. Try it sometime."


    "Ooh, midget''s got fangs."


    "Keep it up and I''ll turn you into a frog."


    "Pfft, yeah right."


    "Double double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble."


    "What, you a bruja now, muchacho?"


    "Alchemist," I corrected.


    "Where did you learn Macbeth?" Ranchero cut in incredulously. "Little dude''s got class."


    "Wait, can you actually turn me into a frog?"


    "No." As if to prove that the World Rune did in fact had a mind of its own, it decided that now was the best time to nudge forward an idea, a very purple idea. My vision faded into a psychedelic aurora of colors and tastes. Laughter, the sort filled with unbridled joy and all-consuming wonder, resounded in my ears. Colors became tastes and sounds became smells before the world twisted back into place.


    I was brought out of my daze by Ranchero snapping his fingers. "Hello? Off the treadmill, Rubedo. Don''t work out too hard at your age."


    "Uh, yeah, sorry." I turned to Hat Trick. "Sorry, no frogs. How do you feel about squirrels?"


    "Wait, was that a tinker fugue?"


    "No, that wasn''t. Those are much worse, more like full on trances than just daydreaming like that. I guess you gave me an idea."


    "So you can turn me into a squirrel?" she asked, her brow nearly meeting her hairline. "Your powers are weird."


    "No, no I can''t turn you into a squirrel. Or any other creature. It was a joke, but you did give me an idea, so thanks." I snatched a towel I''d set aside and headed to the showers.


    "Where''re you off to?"


    "Shower," I called back. "Then to fill out a few procurement forms." I couldn''t enchant myself some pixie dust, or whatever the hell Lulu used to turn people into squirrels, but it was yet another good reminder that I should be looking outward, at more than just the twin cities. ''Yes¡­ Polymorph isn''t the only way to shut someone down¡­''


    Author''s Note


    Slow war is slow, but don''t worry. Andy''s going to be busy in his own way. He''s also hopscotching through the weeks bit by bit, though I can''t call anything a timeskip per se.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.2 Antebellum

    Antebellum 2.2


    2000, June 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Before I could get to my lab, I was stopped by Redbird. Every time I met him, I was surprised by just how far he towered over me. The man had to be nearly seven feet tall, or maybe he just looked that tall since I barely hit four-two.


    "Hey, Rubedo," he called tiredly. "How''s it going?"


    "Pretty good, Redbird," I replied with a polite bow. "I just got off a run. I''m still really slow, but I''ll get there."


    "I know you will," he said in his way that was both indulging yet not patronizing. I still didn''t know his name, too much of a security risk to just let a bunch of kids know Protectorate identities, but he had an easy grin about him.


    "How about you, Redbird? How are things?"


    He knew what I was really asking. "Things aren''t too bad out there, Rubedo. Your potions have already saved lives from what I''ve heard. Team One''s set up out north so we''re a bit far from the battles breaking out."


    "Is that a good thing?" I asked with a raised brow. "You don''t look like the kind of man who likes sitting around."


    "I don''t," he let out an aggressive sigh. "If I had my way, I''d be up there supporting Oathkeeper. But yeah, it''s a good thing. Royalle''s a terrible matchup for Dos Caras, but me and Echo? We could help. That we haven''t been reassigned to Oathkeeper means things aren''t desperate enough to start mixing teams around. That''s a good thing." He seemed to be telling himself that as much as he was talking to me. "But you let us worry about the gangs. You''ve got a meeting with the boss."


    "Director Lyons or Royalle?"


    "Director Lyons."


    I didn''t miss the slight scowl on his face at the mention of his team leader. "Go on up."


    "Will do. Thanks." I bowed.


    "None of that. We''re colleagues now, my little friend. Powers are all expressions of the spirit and it doesn''t do your spirit any good to be so wound up all the time."


    I nodded agreeably. "Sure, thank you, Redbird."


    The man walked off, leaving me contemplative. It was certainly an interesting take on powers. With so few people understanding the mechanics in this world, he was hardly the first to claim some spiritual or mystical origin. Hell, he might even be right. In canon, there was Haven, the team centered around Christianity. I found out during my readings that they were actually the second iteration of a similar attempt called the Stars of Bethlehem. And of course, there were whispers of religious extremists who worshipped the endbringers. The Fallen weren''t quite an organized institution yet, but I knew they would be soon enough.


    That was just in America. China saw the rebirth of esoteric martial arts and Taoism while warrior sages claiming Buddhist enlightenment wandered Tibet and Nepal, fighting the Chinese Union-Imperial in the name of political and religious freedom. I unfortunately knew how that contest would end. There were dozens of capes named after Greek, Egyptian, or Roman gods in the Mediterranean and the near-Middle East; who knew how many believed they were avatars or descendants or whatever? And in much of rural Africa? Tribal ancestral and shamanistic worship had always held strong. I couldn''t imagine that declining now that shamans might literally have superpowers.


    ''I wonder what Redbird really believes,'' I mused as I knocked on the director''s office. ''Is he religious or just spiritual? Does that make him more or less conflict-prone?''


    "Come in, Rubedo," Director Lyons said.


    I pushed the door open and bowed. "Hello, director," I said. "How did you know?"


    "Besides that I called for you? There is a camera with a view of the hall I can tap into. Take a seat, and try not to drip over my chair too much."


    "Yes, ma''am. I just got out of the shower." I tied my towel loosely around my neck.


    "I can see that. How are you liking things so far?"


    "I see the necessity of console and PR training, but find them tedious," I said honestly. "I appreciate physical conditioning and the first aid course as I feel more tangible improvements."


    "So you''ve said, but you do need those lessons anyway."


    "I understand."


    "Do you know why you''re here?"


    "No, ma''am. I was going to put in some procurement orders to try and make something new, but I don''t think you read minds."


    "That''d make my life a lot easier, but no," she said with a wry smile. "To put it simply, people aren''t happy with your health potions."


    "In my defense, ma''am, I did give them a detailed list of what they can and cannot fix."


    "You did and that''s not why. You see, there is a law called the NEPEA-5 and it makes parahuman involvement in markets difficult. I mentioned it to you before."


    I nodded. "I''m familiar with the law, director."


    "You are?"


    "Yes, I read up on it when you last mentioned it. It''s sometimes mockingly called the ''Elite Bill.'' I was under the impression that since I am a federal employee, under eighteen, and producing medicines, it doesn''t apply to me. Surely there are some exceptions in place?"


    She sighed and ran a hand down her face. "In a perfect world, it wouldn''t. Most are grateful, but there is a vocal minority who are trying to claim that your potions will disturb the market."


    ''Of course. Fucking Earth-Bet,'' I thought, rolling my eyes. "Is it the pharmaceutical companies or hospitals who are upset with me?"


    "Both. As you know, we work with the Banner University Medical Center, the largest hospital in Phoenix. We chose them because they happen to have one of the better organized and staffed emergency rooms. However, other hospitals in the area are claiming that your potions represent an unfair advantage, as are pharmaceutical companies."


    "That¡­ is disgusting."


    "I agree, and I suspect they''ll be shot down by any federal judge, but it will go to court."


    I processed that for a moment. "Wait, I''m being sued?"


    "No, we are. A civil suit has been filed against the Phoenix PRT."


    "I made literally less than a hundred bottles!" I raged.


    "It''s not about what you''ve made. They''re afraid of what you represent."


    I shook my head. "I''m not a PR wiz or anything, but this would kill their reputation. Suing a Ward with medical tech because¡­ the potions decrease the number of patients they can charge? And this in the middle of a gang war?"


    "It would, but that''s not important. And the gangs have been surprisingly subdued since SSM''s initial strike. They''ve filed a court order and until this is resolved, you cannot produce potions for use by hospitals and that could take months. If I had to guess, they''re doing this because they intend to rearrange their business in the meantime. Restructure so things like emergency bandages, anesthetics, and other products used in trauma centers take up less of their product pipelines. Either that, or the executives are taking the chance to jump ship off the stock. It''s a bit above your head, but it''s possible to make a company nosedive while still reaping a profit."


    "They''re buying time. But do they know that I can''t mass produce these potions? I can''t possibly affect an entire section of the medical field, can I?"


    "Probably not, not at the pace you''re going," the director said. "But they don''t know that. Tinkers like Hero can only produce enough tech for themselves, maybe a few more people. You seem to be able to manufacture enough potions for dozens. Given how new you are, they''re betting that your production rate will rise significantly if left unchecked."


    "Idiots. So what happens now?"


    "Now? We blast them over their PR suicide and make them pay for every second of this mess."


    "The NEPEA-5 has to have exceptions, right?" I tried again. "It can''t be completely blank."


    "No, no it does not. At least, none that apply to you specifically. It was only passed recently after all. There are too many kinks to be worked out. There are some thinkers who are employed by the Federal Reserve, the Securities and Exchange Commission, and similar to monitor the markets and they are exceptions to the ''no influencing the market'' rule for obvious reasons."


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "The joy of being the first medical tinker?"


    "Indeed. They don''t expect to win, not in the long term. This is the kind of case that catches national attention and eventually, it will head to a big enough court that Congress will take notice and add addendums to the law."


    "But they don''t need to win, just buy time. What happens to me then? Will I be expected to show up to court?"


    "No, you will not. This is a job for our lawyers and PR department. As for you¡­" Director Lyons dug into a cabinet and pulled out several sheets of paper. "Well, you did say you wanted procurement forms. You''ll still be making those potions, you understand?"


    "Yes, ma''am. Even if we can''t distribute to hospitals, they can still be used by our own, right?"


    "Good. Now, what else did you need?"


    "I''m already here so I may as well," I shrugged. "I have four requests, but they might be¡­ tricky."


    "Go on."


    "Night phlox flowers. They''re also called ''night candies'' sometimes. Any strain will do, but they''re native to South Africa."


    "Africa. You want flowers. From Africa." She shook her head in exasperation. "You''re quickly turning out to be the most troublesome of my Wards."


    "Apologies, director. If it makes you feel better, I''m sure they can be found in local stores. Native isn''t the same as exclusive after all."


    "No, it''s fine, but I''m going to need to know what could possibly justify that."


    "I need a bunch to make something called Shimmer."


    "Which is?"


    I winced. "Don''t freak out?"


    "That''s not encouraging to hear."


    "Okay, so Shimmer by itself is a very powerful regenerative draught, as effective as a health potion, but it works differently so the two effects can stack. It can even give someone superhuman abilities for a short time, strength, speed, the whole package, while the potion is still in their system."


    "That sounds wonderful. So what''s the downside?"


    "It makes you¡­ mentally unstable?"


    "Rubedo," she said warningly. "You will not make narcotics with your tinkering budget."


    "Ehehehe¡­ brand new sentence?"


    "Rubedo."


    "Hear me out, ma''am. If you overdose, yeah, it''ll make you bonkers, but that''s basically true of every drug. In smaller doses, it can supplement the health potion I have now, even regenerating limbs if administered in controlled doses over a long time. Hell, if you stick to just a drop or two, it''d even double as a painkiller."


    "I''ll¡­ consider it¡­" she said flatly, taking all but three of the procurement forms away. "I''m willing to give you a lot of freedom, but a psychoactive drug is going to be an automatic no without a lot of oversight. This might change when you are fully a member of the Protectorate, but as a Ward, I just can''t authorize something like that."


    I sighed. It wasn''t unexpected. "Okay, but the others?"


    "Tell me about the others. We''ll fill these forms out together. Just in case."


    "How do you feel about black widow and cobra venom?"


    The deadpan stare could make even the Kindred nervous. "No."


    "You haven''t even let me finish." I whined. I''m eight. I''m allowed to whine.


    "Against my better judgment¡­ what do you need highly toxic poisons for?"


    "Actually, a poison and a venom are very different in appli-" I saw the tired look on her face and decided that caution was the better part of valor. "Okay, fine. I want the venoms so I can refine them into extremely potent versions of themselves." Two women, as enchanting as they were terrifying, came to mind. I wouldn''t be able to manufacture Vilemaw''s poison, that thing was practically a god, but the venom of a mere spiderling? The noxious mist used by Cassiopeia? Those shouldn''t be too far outside my abilities.


    The incredulous look on her face was priceless. "You¡­ want to make something¡­ even deadlier than black widow venom¡­ And you think I''d let you?"


    "You didn''t let me finish. I want to make a super-deadly venom because I can then refine that into a universal antivenom. You know, a venom that attacks all the impurities inside the body instead of the body itself. It''d be another easy way for me to contribute without leaving my lab."


    "That does sound useful¡­ I''ll have to think about it. And the last thing you need?"


    "Don''t worry, it''s nothing dangerous. Or addictive. Or hard to get. It''s less than two hours'' drive."


    "But you saved it for last because¡­?"


    "Imayormaynotneedtocutdownanationalforest," I rambled out.


    "One more time, Rubedo."


    "I need trees. The species doesn''t matter, but the age does. I need fossilized trees and the best way for me to find them is to take them from the Petrified Forest National Park. It''s like two hours away but¡­ you know¡­ national park."


    "I don''t have the authority to cut down a national forest for you," she said dryly.


    "I know, I know. Could you kick it up the chain? Maybe have Director Costa-Brown bring it up as a possibility?"


    "Believe it or not, I don''t have tea with the head of the PRT every week. What do you even want with that stuff? And how is a fossilized tree different from any other tree? Or rock for that matter?"


    "It just is," I huffed out, a little annoyed myself. This meeting was taking far longer than either of us expected. "And I think I can use it to make Petricite. Yeah, that''s what I''m calling it. Basically, it is something that absorbs ambient energy and I think that it can be used to make handcuffs that can keep people from using powers."


    "I thought you were a potions tinker?"


    "Alchemy," I corrected, "which is a lot more than just fancy drugs. And besides, it''s not like handcuffs are mechanically complex or anything. The handcuffs would seal away all external expressions of powers like fire breath or something, but someone whose powers are internal or isolated to just their bodies would be fine like brutes or people with flight. Although¡­ I should be able to make a Petricite Elixir that seals all powers as long as it''s in their system¡­"


    "How sure are you that this will work?"


    I shrugged. "Maybe¡­ seventy percent? It might react differently with different powers."


    I was taking a big risk asking for this, but I decided that the gamble was worth it. In the end, it came down to one question: Does a Shard''s dimensional fuckery have any basis in magic? What convinced me was the impossibility of powers like Shaper''s. An archive of biological knowledge was one thing, but spatial manipulation did not in itself account for such radical changes in biology, not unless Amy wasn''t really fixing biology as much as replacing cells with parallel dimension counterparts. And she wasn''t. That much, I was certain of.


    Ergo, Shards must be able to use mana even if they themselves lack an ability to quantify or perceive it. If they weren''t using mana consciously, I had a hypothesis that they were somehow drawing mana from their host, however limited that may be. After all, I knew for a fact that souls existed.


    What little I knew of the origin of Runeterra''s universe and the nature of the soul supported my hypothesis. It wasn''t a guarantee, but it was enough for me to take a shot at it.


    "I''ll see what I can do," the director said. "I should be able to get you a small branch or something. Deputy Director Irish might have a better idea of how to go about this; he used to be a ranger."


    "Yeah, that''d be great, director. Thank you very much."


    "Good, that''ll be all, Rubedo." As I stood to leave, she called me back. "Rubedo, one last thing. I''ve approved each Ward and Protectorate to carry one Elixir of Iron and a health potion for emergencies."


    "Thank you, ma''am."


    X


    That night, my thoughts wandered to the Illuminati of Earth-Bet: Cauldron. What would the boogey-lady herself want from me? Did me getting sued have anything to do with her Path? Was I even a visible variable on the Path? Or did the World Rune protect me in any way?


    That last one, I knew was false. The World Rune was Inspiration, an idea made manifest. It wouldn''t protect me from anything unless I made something that could. That left the question: How would Contessa react to this case and how could I influence her? No, that very notion was arrogant. Still¡­


    It may be laughable to think about, an eight year old manipulating Contessa, but she wasn''t omniscient, nor was she a mind reader. She didn''t know about a variable until it became relevant to the Path, and only knew about that variable inasmuch as it was relevant to the Path. In fact, until quite recently, she probably didn''t even know I existed and would have been briefed only when Alexandria mentioned a medical tinker.


    I finished up my meditations for the night and set down the Mana Crystal in a box in the closet. Not very secure, but having an actual safe in a low-class apartment like mine would stand out.


    Right now, I could comfortably say that I was a Cauldron asset. They wouldn''t throw me away until 2005 at minimum, when Riley became Bonesaw. Even then, I''d definitely be much more mentally stable. There were medical capes, but few with my versatility or ability to stockpile treatments, certainly none able to grant powers.


    ''Assuming the patron saintess of dandy hats doesn''t actively want me dead¡­ how can I leverage this? How can I make sure she protects me, unwittingly or not?''


    The answer was simple: I needed to be so goddamn valuable as to be irreplaceable.


    Cauldron''s goals were threefold: First, kill Scion with minimal casualties. Second, in support of the first, preserve as many powerful capes as possible for the final fight. Third, establish a foundation for a post-Scion world. Brockton Bay was their experiment towards the latter, a petri dish exploring the effects of cape feudalism.


    If I wanted to be irreplaceable, I needed to be someone with tech that could help them in one of their goals. The first would be impossible unless I could gain the help of a celestial. Visions of the Star Forger threatened to scorch my eyes but I pushed them down. The third was too nebulous and impossible to quantify from outside their organization. The second though¡­


    ''Could I become irreplaceable using healing tech and Petricite? How many capes'' survival would I have to ensure for Contessa''s Path to decide I''m more valuable to them alive and in good health?'' That made me pause. ''Wait¡­ is this why I''m being sued? I wouldn''t have this train of thought if I didn''t think I''d caught their attention. I wouldn''t have thought that, at least not this soon, if I hadn''t received a lawsuit sure to make national news.


    ''Okay, let''s assume Contessa is using the lawsuit. Why? To refine and restrict the NEPEA-5? No, she doesn''t actually care about it. Or if she does, it''s too nuanced for me to tell without Path to Victory on my side. She surely could have written any exceptions into the law as she damn well pleased when it was first being drafted. To make me produce powers in a bottle exclusively? Maybe, but then that means she intends to make sure the PRT loses this case, forcing me to deviate from health potions to something else. Why weaken her own puppet organization? To make me famous in my own right? Possible. That would tie me closer to the PRT, right?


    ''Or maybe, she wants the PRT to gain more influence by winning this case. Simultaneously, she''s trying to nudge me towards powers creation by using this case and a burgeoning gang war. Did¡­ Did Phoenix just become a petri dish for my own not-Cauldron vials? At the very least, she can''t make the gang war flare up too violently, or I might get caught into the thick of things instead of staying on the sidelines and remaining her potions-mule. Right?''


    I threw myself down onto my bed, possibilities upon possibilities swirling in my mind like a Freljordian blizzard. It was impossible to predict Contessa. I probably understood Path to Victory better than she herself did. At the very least, I had insights she lacked. Even so, I could conceive of any number of ways the next few weeks could go and the best thing I could think of was to simply be the best damn Ward I could be.


    "Fuck thinkers," I mumbled as I allowed sleep to take me.


    Author''s Note


    Wow, that conversation really dragged on longer than I expected. So much setup¡­


    That''s the trouble with the hat lady (Not you, Cait); you can''t play around her unless you''re a blindspot or she willingly shuts off her powers.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.3 Antebellum

    Antebellum 2.3


    2000, June 6: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I sat in the Wards common room sofa with my books spread out on the coffee table. I had two sets of textbooks, one in braille and one in plain English. I took the braille books to school but relied on the Oracle''s Elixir to breeze through my homework. With the Wards being my "after school program," I kept my English textbooks here in HQ.


    I heard the "masks on" buzzer go off. I reached into my pocket, but relaxed. Behind the door, through a haze of pink mist, I could see Yasmine tapping her foot impatiently.


    "What''s up, shortstack?" she said as she marched in. Even in her civilian guise, Jazz liked to wear a heavily customized baseball cap with a flat bill. Hip or chic or something like that. She dropped her backpack next to the table. "You doing homework?"


    "Yup."


    "Need some help?"


    "Nope."


    "Mind if I join you?"


    I waved to the seat across from me. "Be my guest. How was school?"


    She snorted. "You sound like mi papi."


    "Good man. Still, really, how was your day?"


    "Fuck Mr. Wilson, that''s all I''ll say."


    "Fuck Mr. Wilson," I said in solemn solidarity.


    "Fuck Mr. Wilson," she repeated. We stared at each other for two seconds before chuckling. "How ''bout you, shorty?"


    "Miserable. Ever try to pretend to be blind? Because that''s what school is like for me. Without the Oracle''s Elixir, I''m stuck tapping away with a stick. Doesn''t help that there''s a fucking gang war going on in the background that I''m not allowed to help with."


    "Shit, yeah, that sucks. They can''t homeschool you?" She put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "And dude, relax. Even I''m not doing a whole lot. I''ve been riding along with paramedics, but the real fighting? Yeah, no way in hell is Director Lyons letting me get anywhere near that. Trust me, you''ve saved lives."


    "I know," I sighed. "I''m just frustrated. I know why, but that doesn''t mean I like it."


    "Life sucks."


    "Amen."


    We fell into companionable silence as we tried to knock out our homework before the others arrived. Jazz was a bit of a paradoxical character, I found. She typically dressed like a skater, though I heard she was a fan of costume design in general and liked to cosplay as other capes on occasion. She was definitely at the teenage rebellion stage, especially regarding teachers, but also tried to give off the image of a "chill" big sister to me by doing things like letting me swear.


    I quickly wrapped up my homework and opened up my phone to browse the burgeoning internet.


    "You''re done already?"


    "Yup."


    "I miss elementary school."


    "I''ve been working at this longer than you."


    "Still sucks."


    A while later, the buzzer sounded again, revealing Penelope and David. The two walked in holding hands and I noticed Jazz look wistfully towards the older boy.


    ''Nope, not dealing with another Vista-Gallant situation,'' I promised myself. ''I didn''t see anything. Fuck that.'' "Hey, David, Penelope," I called.


    "It''s weird how you can know we''re here without even turning around," David said. He winced at his girlfriend''s probing elbow.


    "What he means to say is, ''Hey, Andy, hope you had a good day.''" Penelope made her way to the kitchenette to pour herself some water. "And I think that''s cool."


    "Yeah, that''s what I meant. No offense."


    "None taken. I either have super-vision or none at all. It''s honestly pretty weird for me too."


    Soon enough, the buzzer rang for the third and final time, letting in Raquel, still dressed in her leotard from gymnastics.


    "Hey everyone," she chirped. "?Qu¨¦ pasa?"


    "Hey, Raquel," Penelope greeted her back. The older girl gave her a once over then frowned.


    "Oh no, what''s wrong?" Raquel started to pat herself down.


    "I could be wrong, but I don''t think you''ve ever been a big fan of Eidolon," she pointed out, gesturing to the emerald-green water bottle Raquel had attached to her backpack. It was shaped like the hero, with his billowing cape twisted into a handle and the hood attaching a cap to the hero''s head.


    She frowned and unclipped the bottle. "No, I mean, he''s cool and all, but this definitely isn''t mine. I''ll return it tomorrow," she said with a sigh. "I know who it belongs to."


    "It''s okay, chica," Jazz said. "It just makes our days interesting, ya know? Keeps us on our toes."


    "My friends shouldn''t have to be on guard around me," she sulked, good mood ruined.


    "We''re not," our leader assured her. "But friends should look out for each other."


    I clapped my hands. "On that note, good news!"


    "Yeah? You finally figured out girls don''t have cooties?"


    "Shut up, Jazz."


    "What''s the good news?" David said, leaning back. "Anyone mind if I turn on the TV? Like a little background noise."


    Penny led the shorter girl to the sofas and sat between Raquel and David. "Sure, why not? What''s up, Andy?"


    "I was talking to the director the other day and I got permission to give you all an Elixir of Iron. You know, a holdout power in a bottle for emergencies. I''ve already made one each for the Protectorate and some of the field officers so it''s your turn."


    "Seriously? Sweet! It''s the one that makes you a brute, right?"


    "Yeah, it''ll make you about twenty percent larger and turn your skin into steel. You''ll also gain a bit of extra physical strength to make sure you can run and support your own weight and whatnot." I placed four bottles on the coffee table. They were made of plexiglass, nonreactive and durable without being heavy. The silver liquid swirling inside looked like liquid mercury. "Go ahead and take one each. Keep them in your lockers and take them when you go out on patrol."


    "Thank you, we appreciate this. I''ve read reports about the cost of tinkertech and¡­" she let out a low whistle.


    "Yeah, for real, little dude," David smiled. "Now I can be a brute without a herd of bulls."


    "Last resort only," his girlfriend scolded.


    "I know, I know. I''m just saying."


    "I''m gonna add this to my FUBAR hat," Yasmine said as she whipped out a military helmet. She promptly stuffed the potion inside the helmet and stuffed the helmet back inside her cap. At my questioning glance, she shrugged and shot me a devious smirk. "''Hat'' is pretty flexible. Bandanas count. So do helmets. Really, it''s headwear. This one came from a retired Navy SEAL who gave his stuff to military surplus. It doesn''t make me any more athletic, but it does make me an expert in everything a SEAL should know. Throw in the potion and¡­"


    "Ah, damn. Your power''s a lot more versatile than I thought."


    "Most capes have something like that," Raquel added. One of the bottles teleported across the room to appear in her hand. "We usually have a few holdout abilities or some unique aspect of our powers we keep for a rainy day."


    "What''s yours?" I couldn''t help but ask. "Your power is just moving things, right?"


    "I don''t have one. If I do, I haven''t thought of it yet. It''s a part of why I''m a rescue-cape. Even when I graduate to the Protectorate, I don''t think that''ll change."


    "Right, anyway, I just wanted to get the elixirs out to you guys before I holed myself up in my lab. Before I go, any updates about the gangs?" I asked the elder Wards. The two had been patrolling with two older Wards from the other teams, Wildshot and Diamondback.


    David and Penelope glanced meaningfully at each other. "Not much," David said. "It''s died down a bunch in the last two weeks."


    I looked at Yasmine. From the look on her face, even she wasn''t buying it. "Yeah, pull the other one," I scoffed. "We''re young, not stupid."


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "I''ve been on patrol with Diamondback and Dave''s not wrong," Penelope said. "We''ve responded to some cases of arson, but I''ve only dealt with a single violent crime in two weeks. I''m sure a part of it is that the Protectorate leaves us the safe routes, but still. It''s been remarkably quiet."


    "Same for me with Wildshot," David added. "We broke up two street fights, but one of them was just a pair of drunks, no affiliation at all."


    "That''s¡­ good, right?" Raquel said tentatively.


    "I sure hope so, Raquel."


    X


    I poured the last of this week''s quota into its vial and leaned back in my chair. The dehydrator rang just in time, making me smile with hope. Pulling out the tray, I poked the goopy pink puddle.


    "Not long enough," I muttered and shoved the tray back in. "Let''s see if another overnight will dry it out completely."


    This was my pet project, my first attempt at something original. If I could make magic potions, there was nothing to say I couldn''t make magic pills. After all, pills were just medicine in powder form. I was hoping that if I could dehydrate the Oracle''s Elixir completely, I could scrape it off, grind it down into a fine powder, and then stuff it inside a gelatin casing. The pills would be both easier to carry and less likely to break or spill in a fight. It would also make long-term storage more viable. The vials weren''t overly large or anything, but they quickly added up. If this worked, I planned to make all my potions into pill form so my teammates could pop them like Tic Tacs.


    It''d take a while longer though. I''d already ruined a tray when my first dehydrated mess stuck to the tray and couldn''t be scraped off at all. This time, I''d layered a sheet of rice paper underneath so I could just remove the rice paper and grind it up alongside the dried elixir.


    X


    2000, June 7: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The day after found me at my first official PR event, discounting my debut of course. I was once again left impressed by how much thought went into planning an event like this. It was Wednesday and even that was chosen with the goal in mind. It was a fact that most PR events were held during the weekend so as to draw as big a crowd as possible. My first event was midweek specifically so that wouldn''t happen.


    Following my debut and the news that I was being sued, I''d quickly built a reputation as a serious, determined boy who just wanted to make potions and help people and wasn''t afraid to go against my bosses. I looked genuine in other words, and that meant attending obviously scripted events should be done in moderation.


    ''Did Contessa plan the lawsuit so it''d help my image?'' I wondered. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. There was no use in trying to guess at her special brand of bullshit. Even if she did, it was certain to bite me in the ass if I dove down that rabbit hole.


    So what was my first event? How could they make a cape''s appearance look "real" if I wasn''t allowed to be at the hospital? Simple. They planned a playdate.


    "Ready to go, guys?" Stingray called.


    "Joy." I could see Hat Trick rolling her eyes even through her mask.


    Ranchero grinned and put an arm around both girls. "Cheer up, Hats. It''s free food on the boss'' dime."


    The five of us started walking down the street towards El Jefe''s, a popular Mexican restaurant seven blocks away from HQ. It was chosen because it was conceivably within walking distance, popular, and was the least disagreeable choice among the team. Basically, Ms. Youngston approached Stingray and told her to treat ourselves and make it look natural, humanize the heroes. I suspected she wanted to make me a known quantity for the coming smear campaigns. Of course, this wasn''t just about me. This was also Ms. Youngston''s way of taking the elder Wards away from the more conflict-prone patrol routes, at least for a night.


    "Yeah, Hat Trick, I thought you liked Tex-Mex."


    "I like mi abuela''s food, not what gringos call Mexican food."


    "Don''t mind her, Sting. She''s a food snob," Masked Bandit sniffed. "Her abuela does make amazing tamales though."


    "I''m not a food snob. You just have no respect for your heritage, chica."


    "I do too! So what if I mix ketchup with my hot sauce?"


    "Blasphemy, that''s what."


    "Ladies, can''t we all get along?" Ranchero tried to play peacekeeper. "Isn''t one burrito as good as another?"


    Both girls turned to him, judgment in their eyes. "Absolutely not," they echoed each other.


    "Maybe us white kids should stay out of this," our illustrious leader said with a laugh.


    I tuned out their friendly bickering in favor of looking over the people. We were just walking down the street and people still insisted on snapping pictures. With the Oracle''s Elixir active, I was aware of absolutely everything around me: every eye, every camera, and every pointed finger. It was an unnerving feeling. During my debut, I was largely sheltered from it through the knowledge that it was a stage. The stares were expected then. Here, I was "in the wild" and I''d be lying if I said the attention wasn''t getting to me a little.


    "Relax, tune it out," Stingray said. She''d stalled so she could walk in step with me. "It''s always weird for the first time."


    "Oracle''s," I explained. "I see everything and I can''t not see everything."


    "Ouch. Yeah, that sounds bad."


    Just then, I noticed, felt as much as saw, a phone land in Masked Bandit''s kangaroo-like pouch. I gave her onesie costume a small tug. "Pocket. Phone."


    "Oh, thanks!" she beamed at me and fished the expensive looking phone out of her pocket. She held it in the air. "Hello! Anyone? Does this belong to anyone?"


    The way she waved that phone in the air drew all the attention to herself. She even nailed the apologetic smile and skipped over to the person who''d lost the phone.


    "The Masked Bandit strikes again," someone in the crowd whispered.


    "Seriously, she''s adorable."


    "Yeah, I can''t be mad at that."


    The person she''d taken the phone form, a college student it looked like, smiled as he shook her fuzzy paw gloves. "No worries, Bandit."


    "Thank you, and I''m really sorry," she said again, bowing at the waist. As she skipped back, she shot me a knowing wink.


    "Did she do that on purpose?" I whispered to Stingray.


    "Maybe? Once you get past the cutesy act she puts on for PR, she''s surprisingly perceptive. She probably didn''t want you to feel too singled out because you''re the new Ward."


    The rest of our trip to El Jefe''s went without incident. It was clear from the reactions of the public that Masked Bandit was bar none the crowd favorite. Ranchero, Stingray, and Hat Trick all had their fans, especially when Ranchero decided to summon a hardlight bull and ride it for a block, but the sheer enthusiasm, feigned or not, on her part made her overwhelmingly popular. People seemed to take it as a badge of pride to have something stolen by her.


    We were seated in the corner booth and a waitress came by with five glasses of water and menus. I frowned as I looked down at the cheap coloring book. "?La fiesta esta ahora!" it read. A cheeseburger with a smiley face burned onto the bun stared up at me. There was a little maze in the shape of a sombrero on the next page.


    "Let me see that menu when you''re done, Hats," I said, shoving the coloring book away with disgust.


    "Ey, someone spent a lot of time designing that." I could hear the mirth just dripping from her tone.


    Ranchero slid his menu over to me. "Here, Rubedo. I know what I want already. They have a great chimichanga and I''m feeling the queso dip today."


    I nodded in thanks as a little girl came over to take a picture with Masked Bandit.


    "You sure are popular," I said as I browsed the menu.


    "Jealous?" she replied teasingly. The raccoon hood really made her mischievous side stand out. "You''ll get your share of fans soon enough."


    "Yeah, don''t worry ''bout it. Hat Trick''s really popular with the performing arts crowds, I have my whole cowboy shtick, and Stingray''s actually competed in exhibition matches for boxing and stuff." Ranchero said. "We all have a niche. PR''s pretty devious like that."


    "Not looking forward to having a fanbase honestly. It seems like it''d be troublesome. Should we be talking about PR like this though? This is still technically a PR function."


    "It''s fine. This booth is far enough away to avoid being overheard. It''s why we always eat at this spot," Stingray chimed in.


    "Alright then, what''s good here?"


    "Ooh! Can I order for him?"


    "Bandit," Stingray chided tiredly. "Not everyone likes spicy food."


    "But la muerte is tradition," she whined.


    "She''s right you know," Ranchero said with a shit-eating grin.


    "What is it?" I asked. "I don''t see it on the menu."


    "Secret menu. Habanero and Sonora arcana pepper blended into a mole sauce poured over two enchiladas stuffed with spicy, slow-roasted pork. It''s actually really good in small doses."


    "Okay, so why is it called ''the dead?''"


    He shrugged. "No idea. It is a lot of habanero though."


    "I''ll take it."


    "Yes!" Masked Bandit pumped her fist.


    "You like spicy food?"


    "I''m Korean, so yes."


    "Oh, right, don''t you guys eat spicy cabbages?"


    I nodded. "Kimchi. And yes. It''s fermented vegetables. Cabbages are the most common, but you can make kimchi out of turnips, cucumbers, and a few other stuff. And it''s not always spicy."


    Ranchero scrunched up his nose. "Not gonna lie, fermented cabbage sounds weird."


    "Sauerkraut is basically that. Pickles are fermented cucumbers. A lot of cultures have them," I pointed out.


    "True. Not a fan of pickles either."


    When my order came, the waitress placed a steaming plate of two enchiladas completely smothered in a spicy mole. Three lumps of pico de gallo, guacamole, and sour cream jutted out like islands in a pool of lava. Seeing how the PRT was paying, I also grabbed myself a glass of horchata, a sweet rice and cinnamon drink.


    "Have you ever had horchata before, Rubedo?" Hat Trick asked. "Didn''t expect you to know it."


    "Yeah, it''s good. It reminds me of a Korean rice drink called sikhye. The cinnamon is definitely a nice touch. What''d you get?" I asked as I put a bite of enchilada in my mouth. It was almost bitter from the unsweetened chocolate and I got a nice hit of spice that coated the tongue. Perfect.


    "Tacos. Carnitas, al pastor, and carne asada. Want one?" She gestured to her plate.


    "Sure, trade you a bite of pastor for some enchiladas?"


    "Deal."


    As we traded food, Ranchero grumbled. "How do you eat that? It''s too spicy."


    "Because you''re white," the two Latinas and I chorused as one. A moment of ethnic solidarity was had.


    "Sting, they''re ganging up on me," he whined with an exaggerated pout.


    "There, there, cowboy." She rolled her eyes but couldn''t fully suppress a smile. "Just enjoy your fried affront to cooking."


    "Hey, chimichangas are great!"


    "I don''t understand how you never gain weight."


    "What can I say? Punching bad guys really works up a sweat."


    "We don''t punch bad guys though," I pointed out. "We''re Wards."


    "You don''t punch bad guys. The rest of us have all had fights. Not anything crazy dangerous, but we do handle some of the smaller stuff."


    As we were talking, I felt the Oracle''s Elixir wear off, darkness encroaching at the edges of my senses. I fumbled with the waterskin attached to my belt, still not used to the costume, and brought it to my lips. The by now familiar taste flooded my mouth, overwhelming the heat of the mole. A moment later, my world expanded again.


    Bandit noticed and asked. "How often do you need to do that?"


    "Hour and a half. My potions last longer when I''m the one using them."


    "Wait, how does that work?"


    "Dunno, guess they''re tailor-made for me or something," I shrugged.


    "Any of you want dessert?" Stingray asked. "Now''s the time to pig out you know, while we''re not paying for our own dinner."


    Bandit scrunched her nose in protest. "I wish. I''m going to be paying for this tomorrow in gymnastics as it is."


    Ranchero and I ordered fried ice cream and Hat Trick grabbed a slice of cheesecake. When the food came, Stingray took several bites of her boyfriend''s dessert, much to his consternation. Hat Trick rolled her eyes with poorly hidden annoyance and I resolved once again to stay away from that awkward love triangle.


    I turned my attention back to my own ice cream and cracked the fried exterior with a spoon. I raised it to my lips and took a bite, only to hit solid steel.


    "Thanks, this stuff is pretty good," Bandit said with a cheeky grin. A fried corn chip, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon instead of salt, disappeared from my bowl.


    "I thought you didn''t want one?" I grouched.


    "I''m weak, what can I say?"


    "Thief."


    "Brat."


    "Midget."


    "Drug dealer."


    "Trash panda."


    "You didn''t!" she gasped.


    The two of us glared at each other for several seconds before we burst into laughter. I took a bite then pushed the bowl in her direction. For a single evening, we forgot about the city at large and became children again.


    Author''s Note


    I speak very rudimentary Spanish. I had a teacher who insisted on calling himself el Jefe, which is the only reason I know what that means. I figured it''d be a nice, inoffensive name for a Mexican place. And yes, I do mix ketchup with my Tabasco. Fight me.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.4 Antebellum

    Antebellum 2.4


    2000, June 13: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    About a week later, I leaned back in my lab chair and read over the email Director Lyons sent me.


    Rubedo,


    Your power-limiting cuffs have been approved. We were both mistaken. According to Deputy Director Irish, the Petrified Forest National Park protects only twenty percent of all petrified wood in the state. The rest are held by the Navajo Nation and various private entities. A company known as Xanterra procures petrified wood from external sources and sells them in the park''s gift shop.


    Deputy Director Irish has taken it upon himself to contact a company representative and has acquired a ten pound sample for your use. It is available in your mailbox. If your "Petricite" works as intended, we''ll see about acquiring more.


    Amelia Lyons


    Director of the PRT


    1 (603) 413-4124


    prt_


    I grinned and made a mad dash to my mailbox. Sure enough, nestled in a cardboard box was a piece of fossilized tree. No, it didn''t matter what type it was specifically. The petrified wood was surprisingly colorful, a mix of the expected grays along with reds, blues, and even some purple hues mixed in.


    "That''s quite the paperweight you got there," David said behind me.


    I handed it to him for him to examine. "Hey, David. It''s pretty cool, huh?"


    "Yeah, what''s with the fancy crystal?"


    "It''s a piece of fossilized tree. You know, like from the Petrified Forest National Park. And yeah, it''s a crystal. Fossilized trees turn into quartz, which is why it breaks so cleanly into reflective surfaces like this."


    "Uh huh¡­ and you''re getting that in the mail because?"


    "It''s a tinkering ingredient. Magic tree powder."


    "Right¡­ Alright, little dude. You have fun."


    David walked off, muttering something about wacky tinkers and mad science.


    I locked the door to my lab and placed the fossil in my hands. I looked in my crystal drawer and found it mostly empty. I''d just finished making some potions after all. Most of my reserves were at home. I sat down on the floor with my legs crossed and waited for my thoughts to quiet. I allowed my breath to still and sank into the now familiar meditation. As always, the comforting warmth of mana welled up from within my soul, a little more eagerly than it had yesterday. Bit by bit, I was growing stronger.


    Instead of condensing the mana into a crystal, I poured it directly into the fossil. It didn''t sink in immediately, almost as though it was resisting my efforts. No that wasn''t quite right. It felt firm yet porous, like a hill of sandstone I had to slowly erode into shape.


    One crystal''s worth. Then two. Then five. It took me almost a full hour to infuse the fossil with mana and convert it into a Petricite ingot. I made note of the rate of conversion, about one Mana Crystal per two pounds of wood. Unlike before, no new memories filled me. Petricite wasn''t a material made by man; it was a byproduct of the Rune Wars. Strictly speaking, petricite trees could grow, much like any other tree, albeit very slowly. By Garen''s time, they were seeing a noticeable drop in available trees.


    I got the impression that if I managed to find a fossilized seed, maybe a prehistoric acorn or pine cone or something, I could turn it into a living petricite seed, introducing a brand new species into the world.


    I stared at the lump of ash-white wood in my hand. "Now what to do with you¡­"


    I ended up filling out a few more procurement forms for a water jet cutter to shape the petricite, along with a crucible, furnace, drop hammer, lathe, and other things I''d need for my new forge. Oh, and ten pounds of steel, ash, and lime. Petricite wood wasn''t by itself all that useful. It was hard, but brittle, and stone wasn''t exactly great for armor. On its own, Petricite could be used to build walls and fortifications, but even those would be relatively weak compared to plain old brick. It needed to be powdered and mixed into other materials to make the walls that surrounded Demacia and armor that the Dauntless Vanguard used.


    ''Heh, bet they thought an alchemical tinker would be relatively cheap to provide for,'' I thought, amused.


    X


    2000, June 14: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The day after saw me taking a break from my lab. The whole team was gathered in an underground testing facility with a representative of the eggheads. Really, it was just an old parking space that had yet to be remodeled by the time the PRT moved in. They took one look at the empty lot, shrugged, and decided to let the capes have it.


    "Hello everyone, my name is Dr. William Marshall and I am the head physician here. I was told that you were here to get accustomed to the Elixir of Iron."


    The man was tall and broad, not at all like one would expect of a stereotypical doctor or scientist. He was built like a brick shithouse with some extra muscles stapled on top for good measure. A thick but well-groomed beard framed his jawline and a thin scar ran along his right cheek. His brown hair was kept short at the sides, with a few extra inches up top that was gelled into a sleek finish.


    "Yes, sir," I said with a bow. "After that, I also have something else I''d like to try."


    I''d brought my Petricite along. I still had no way to carve it in any meaningful way, but I figured that we could at least test how it interacted with cape powers.


    "Good. We''ll start with the elixir first before moving on to whatever you''ve got planned, Rubedo. That way we''re not holding up the rest of you."


    I grinned and handed them out. "Bottoms up, everyone."


    Five bottles were emptied in rapid succession, grimaces all around.


    "I take it that it''s not pleasant?" the doctor chuckled.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "Tastes like rust blended into a smoothie. Chalky and really metallic." Ranchero said, holding back a hurl.


    "Seriously, what''s in that?"


    "Ask me no questions and I''ll tell you no lies. Besides, it should take effect right about now." Sure enough we started to grow, twenty percent for them, thirty for me. I grinned and placed a hand on Bandit''s head, giving her hood a good tussle. "Heh. I''m taller than you now."


    "This is so not fair," she pouted. She was only three inches taller than me normally, so after the elixir, I was a tad taller than her.


    "My potions work better for me than for anyone else. Better effects, lasts longer, the whole shebang." ''Thank you Time Warp Tonic.''


    "Nice, so we''re super durable now, right?" Stingray asked, eyeing her new gunmetal sheen appreciatively.


    "Right."


    She walked up to a heavy bag attached to a pressure sensor and took a boxer''s stance. She bobbed and weaved under imaginary punches before stepping forward to put her weight into a single, textbook-perfect jab. The fluid motion from standing to striking caught me off guard. With Oracle''s I could see and feel every motion she took, every contour of her body and costume as she transitioned into her punch. I wasn''t expecting that kind of grace from an amateur boxer.


    ''I wonder if her power has anything to do with it?'' I thought. ''Her power extends the distance of her thrusts and gives them a piercing effect. Does it also subconsciously make her better at thrusting attacks in general?''


    The heavy bag shook with the impact, the chains that held it up rattling.


    She stepped back and took another stance. "Not bad. What was that, doc?"


    "1,822 psi. That''s a bit north of a punch from your average heavyweight boxer. How serious were you?"


    "Ehh, not very? I just wanted to get the hang of it. Bigger me''s got two left feet. Now for the serious punch."


    "No, wait. Come here and wear some sensors. I want to make sure intense activity won''t affect you adversely while on the potion."


    "Yes, sir."


    After she got kitted out in a myriad of sensory equipment, she faced the heavy bag again. "Okay. Powers or no powers?"


    "Hard as you can, but no powers. Give me a baseline."


    "Yes, sir."


    She took a step back. In the next moment, she lunged forward, striking with all her newfound metallic weight. "HA!" she shouted as her fist met the bag. A loud bang echoed her voice.


    "3,677 psi. Well above a normal athlete. For the record, a 2,000 psi punch would make a normal athlete a boxing legend. This is also quite a bit higher than your unenhanced max at 2125 psi."


    "Awesome! Now with powers?" She seemed practically giddy.


    "Yes, but move to the other machine," the doctor said, gesturing to a machine that looked like something out of a punching game. It was padded, but the texture of the surface material seemed to be Kevlar, or maybe some different weave. The target was attached to thick coils of metal shaped like springs, which in turn fed into a machine to better measure the impact. "This baby was designed by Percussive, a kinetics-tinker out in Boise. It''s completely mundane, thank God, but it''s more durable than anything we knew how to build beforehand."


    "Sweet! Alright, here I go!"


    As Stingray boxed the air and hopped around, I turned to the others. "Is she always this¡­ happy?"


    "Haha, yeah, when it comes to boxing anyway," Ranchero spoke fondly. "She''s definitely the best fighter in the Wards, better than a lot of people in the Protectorate, honestly, at least when it comes to pure hand to hand. A big part of that is because of how much she loves boxing."


    "Yeah, passion is what carries you far," Hat Trick said. "I think it''s a bit much sometimes, but damn. Gotta respect that, you know, squirt?"


    "Huh. So, even if you dress up as a boxer or wear one of those helmets used in karate competitions, you''d lose?"


    "No," she said, a little too quickly.


    "Yes," my other two teammates said at the same time.


    "Maybe. She''s really good, alright?"


    "Respect."


    "Respect," they echoed.


    Stingray decided that she''d had enough fun shadow boxing and pulled her arms in like a coiled viper.


    "Stingray Straight!" she shouted.


    The punch was a bit different. Like before, I could feel her kick off the ground with her back foot and step into a perfect jab. The force of her kick twisted around her hips and her shoulder into her bicep. As her arm snapped forward, she added a twisting motion with her wrist that made her punch curl through the air like a drill.


    The impact pad didn''t stand a chance. The machine behind it was mostly fine, if a bit dinged up. The springs would need to be checked over and the frame looked like it had scrunched up a bit. The pad? The hole was so clean that it looked like someone had taken a laser and carved through it.


    "How was that, doc?"


    "12,938 psi," Dr. Marshall said with a low whistle. "Or, that''s as much as the machine was able to clock without breaking. We''d need to bring in specialized tinkertech to measure you fully, but that''s for another day. And I see no abnormal changes to your heartbeat, blood pressure, or anything else of note either. I think the elixir is fine to use. Just in case, we''ll look at the rest of the team."


    The rest of their hour was spent in the ring, one by one getting their asses handed to them by the metallized Stingray. The only reason they didn''t suffer any broken bones was because they were also similarly metallized. As for me, I simply did some calisthenics and ran a mile as per the doctor''s orders. Eight was a bit young to box with someone like her. Using the sensors hooked up to them, the doctor was also able to gauge how much force they could withstand under the influence of the elixirs. When the elixir wore off, we gathered in front of the doctor again.


    "Alright, nothing major''s come up. I''m approving an elixir for each of you as a holdout weapon." His face became stern. "And I do mean it. The elixir is a weapon. Against a normal person, it may as well be power armor. You''re immune to small arms and even Masked Bandit has enough power behind her hits to crush cement. Do not use it unless absolutely necessary. Are we clear?"


    "Yes, sir," we all chorused.


    I then ran over to the bag I''d brought, the one with the Petricite. I pulled it out of the box, making sure to not touch the rock directly. "This here is Petricite, and I think it can inhibit powers."


    "Excuse me?" the doctor looked at me skeptically. "Are you certain?"


    I wriggled my hand back and forth. "Ehh¡­ maybe? It''s the most mysterious of everything I''ve made so far for sure. If I''m right, it should prevent any cape touching it from using their powers."


    "Is this the thing that you think might regulate my powers?" Masked Bandit asked.


    "Yeah. Anyone want to be first?"


    "I got this," Ranchero said, wrapping an arm around Bandit''s raccoon onesie and tousling her hood. He touched the pale, white stone. "Huh, it just¡­ feels like a rock?"


    "That''s because it is. It''s kind of in the name ''Petricite.''"


    "So what do I do now?"


    "Try to use your power. Call a bull."


    He furrowed his brows in concentration. Then, an eyebrow rose in curiosity. "Huh¡­ I¡­ can''t?"


    "Wait, really?" Stingray took the ten pound rock from her boyfriend and removed a glove. "I don''t feel any weaker."


    "I was right then," I nodded. "I have a hypothesis. Petricite will prevent outward expressions of powers. Projections, shaker effects, lasers, shields, etc. It will not prevent internal changes that have already taken place, not unless you swallow some of it. It can''t suppress a brute like Stingray, but projections are fair game."


    "Could I have a sample, Rubedo? There''s quite a bit to test."


    "I''ve put in several procurement forms for a metalworking forge setup in my lab. I don''t really have a way to cut this into manageable chunks until my water jet gets approved." I gestured to Masked Bandit. "If this works for her, I was thinking I''d take a sliver maybe and carve it into a bracelet or something. Too small and it''ll only dampen powers."


    The raccoon-themed heroine tentatively placed a hand onto the stone. "I¡­ I can''t steal Sting''s glove. It works!" The next second, I was nearly bowled over by the girl. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou."


    "You''re welcome," I said as I awkwardly patted her back. ''The whole accidental kleptomania thing must have been bothering her more than she let on.''


    Wards Team One retired back to our common room soon after. I left the chunk of Petricite with the good doctor; he promised to put a bit of pressure on the director to get me what I needed.


    Author''s Note


    Leave the phone number alone or you''re going on the naughty list. It doesn''t belong to anyone.


    Xanterra is indeed the name of the company that sells petrified wood in real life. It''s also true that the Petrified Forest National Park only holds twenty percent of all such wood. It just happens to be the most localized concentration thanks to a riverbed. Something something sediment. Something something geology. Something something too smart for me.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.4.5 Heather Suzuki

    <div>


    Interlude 2.4.5: Heather Suzuki


    2000, June 13: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I allowed myself a tired sigh. Even with the eldest Wards'' assistance, trying to keep a lid on a gang war while simultaneously eyeing a third major gang was not easy. People dismissed the Westside Crips. Hell, even Royalle, that overpowered arrogant jackass, tended to brush them off as a bunch of has-beens who got beaten senseless by Alexandria.


    Admittedly, they were.


    But people conveniently forgot that at one point, the Crips genuinely, unironically looked at a woman who could wrestle Behemoth and thought, "Yeah, we can win this." They weren''t insane, most of them at any rate. They were just that dangerous once upon a time. Alexandria strangled Mortician, but Cryptkeeper, Headsman, and La Torcha were still around.


    ''Thank God only La Torcha moved to Phoenix,'' I thought as I walked through the Phoenix headquarters after yet another late night of patrols and stamping out fires. Somewhere along the way, I headed to the canteen and grabbed myself a vaguely coffee-flavored cup of swill and sat in the corner.


    ''But¡­ what if La Torcha calls them in? She''s got a crew of six capes, but that doesn''t mean she can''t bring in reinforcements. She wasn''t just Mortician''s squeeze; she was their tactician. Is she quiet because she''s afraid Alexandria will fly east and finish her? Or is she waiting for something? She''s got the most mooks after all-''


    I was startled out of my thoughts by a hand on my shoulder. My hand immediately moved to my sword as the storm within threatened to make itself known.


    "Woah, easy, Bushi-babe," Janet, my longtime friend from college and head of PR said as she backed away rapidly. "Sorry, didn''t mean to scare you. You were off in your own head again."


    "I told you not to call me that," I growled without any real heat. Janet would do as Janet does, always pushing buttons to see how people ticked.


    "Still mad you didn''t let me name you Bushi Dame," the mousy blonde teased as she sat across from me.


    "Shut up. I know you only included that stupid name so I''d accept Oathkeeper. I barely even speak Japanese for fuck''s sake."


    "Maybe not, but no one else needs to know that. And, you understand plenty so you can always make your answers short. You''ll look very serious and professional then, which works for you. The understanding is the important part, not the speaking."


    "You''re impossible."


    "Besides," she shrugged, "the samurai look totally suits you. Much more dignified than my other mockups. They love you, you know. Your team, the Wards, even the field agents. Almost a decade of service and not one death on your watch. They say it''s your personal oath."


    "Well they''re full of shit," I rolled my eyes. "You know there is no oath. I''m just lucky."


    "Maybe, but again, the optics matter."


    I nodded. Optics mattered, but having a rock to stand on mattered more. I was that rock for so many; Janet was mine.


    I could still remember it like it was yesterday. When I¡­ got my powers out in San Francisco, the director there gave me a choice: remain or get assigned elsewhere. I heard my college friend was out here so I moved too. Janet was the island of familiarity I needed to settle, both from my move and¡­ more. I banished the thought in favor of continuing our old spat.


    "One mockup was an Ultraman gimmick. Another was a sailor uniform," I growled. "You know, for the head of PR, you''re horribly uncreative."


    She gasped as a hand flew to her chest. "Blasphemy! You''re the one who showed me old Ultraman shows! You used to pretend you were the ''Warrior of Light'' or something. In college!"


    I slumped, resigned but involuntarily amused nonetheless. There was no winning with this one. "What do you want, Jan?"


    "Nothing. I just thought I''d check in on my best friend."


    "Well I''m fine."


    "You''re never fine when you say that. When you''re fine, you watch your Ultraman collection while eating whatever insult to food you cooked up."


    "Hey! My cooking''s great," I defended.


    "Roast beef, French dip style sandwich. With miso soup instead of au jus." She stared at me flatly.


    "It''s way better than it sounds," I said mulishly.


    "Lovely, so your palate is still disgusting. Good to know."


    I suppressed the urge to slap the mousy midget. She''d die and it''d be awfully inconvenient finding a new bestie. "Are you here just to make fun of me?"


    Her mocking smirk softened. "I told you, I''m here to check up on you. What''s up?"


    "Nothing. Patrols are fine. Agent Johnson got shot a few days back but Rubedo''s healing potion patched him right up again. Agent Steinhart had a run-in with Stampede, but another potion was able to stabilize him long enough to drag him to the surgeons."


    "That''s good, right? So what''s the problem? Wonderboy''s stuff really works."


    "The problem," I sighed, "is that they''re too quiet. A few days to plan? Sure, we expected that. Civil war among the Peckerwoods? Predictable. But weeks? Villains aren''t this easygoing. It''s not just the Crips. Both the SSM and Peckerwood capes have stuck to small-scale fights, most of them without powers."


    "And¡­ that''s bad?"


    "It just makes me nervous. We''ve had a lot more street fights, driveby shootings, arsons, even a few homicides here and there, but almost nothing from the capes themselves. Jan, the Peckerwoods'' gang leader died. They''re supposed to show how macho they are and how they''re not to be fucked with by escalating, not keeping their heads down."


    "Hey," she said, placing a hand on mine from across the table. "Don''t think too hard. You know you have a habit of worrying too much. Maybe we should just accept the gift horse without taking it to the dentist."


    ''I can''t do that, not when there are lives riding on my judgment,'' I thought glumly. The storm within pressed against me, a dull rumble reminding me that it''s always on the horizon. Still, I did my best to give her a comforting squeeze back. "Thanks, Jan."


    X


    2000, June 14: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    ''I should have called a dentist,'' I thought sardonically, thinking back to the conversation yesterday.


    Calavera and four Southside Mesa grunts had been in the process of setting fire to Sunshine Auto Wash, a suspected Peckerwood front. Already, the building was on fire from an ignited propane tank and Bull Rush, a Peckerwood cape, lay strewn about the lot like a macabre postmodern art piece. Bits of him were charred black and the smell of offal made me want to gag but I held it in.


    Gyroscope and I had responded with six PRT agents, though only myself and three agents had Elixirs of Iron in our pockets. Seeing the high-ranked blaster, we immediately drank our elixirs while the others fell back a ways and took up flanking positions. Despite their usefulness, not everyone had access to the potions yet. Rubedo''s production rate couldn''t keep up with demand and there was a not unreasonable fear that some might go "missing" if we were careless.


    Gyroscope backed off even further, taking to the air on his hoverpack and alighting on a stoplight. He pushed something on his wrist and the capsules attached to his costume whirred to life, taking to the air like a swarm of hornets. He was a reliable partner, a tinker who specialized in his namesake. With incredibly advanced gyroscopes that "balanced things in multiple higher dimensions," he made drones that could be deployed with any number of cumbersome gadgets stored in folded space. The rest of his tech was comparatively mundane, but when a drone smaller than a baseball could carry a shield of reinforced metal more commonly found on armored vehicles, "mundane" served just fine.


    I dashed towards her as I saw a dozen skulls the size of basketballs merge into one the size of a dumpster. "Surrender, Cal-"


    I didn''t even get to finish the obligatory greeting before she chucked her blazing skull at me. I wasn''t upset. If anything, this was cathartic. The capes had been dancing around each other for weeks now and there was a sense of liberation at finally letting the storm out.


    Oathkeeper, Janet called me, the stalwart warrior in the eye of the storm. Come what may, I would stand tall, a sword to protect. I would face the storm in the name of duty and justice.


    All utter bullshit. The public saw the miniature hurricane that surrounded me and liked to imagine that it was my tightly controlled wrath, righteous anger at all the wrongs in this city. Me? It was every moment of anxiety and stress, every thought of paranoia and fear that I couldn''t put to words finally roaring out into the world. This, this was how I de-stressed.


    The winds that had built up for weeks now sought freedom and they could not be denied. The storm became my shroud, launching me forward with all the fury of a tornado. It surrounded my nodachi, and holy shit was learning kendo just for the costume a pain in the ass. Even years later, I was an adept, but not a master by any stretch, not that I usually needed to be.


    My sword met Calavera''s attack. Practically anyone else would have been consumed in an explosion that could blow entire houses to rubble. Me? The storm roared and met the challenge, a chorus of four winds blasting the explosion aside in a textbook parry as though condensed fire and force was no more threatening than a bamboo shinai.


    I charged on through, my projected arc set to meet the arsonist''s face with the pommel of my nodachi. Bullets from the four SSM soldiers ricocheted off of my wind armor, doing jack all. I saw one go down and the rest scatter after my own men returned fire. Live rounds, keeping perps alive wasn''t worth risking my own men, not when they started lethal.


    She danced behind a tree. It turned to so much kindling before my sword fully touched it, the raging winds more than enough to rip it apart.


    I let the wind around my sword uncoil. It ruptured the very air around us as it did everything else, arcing out in a horizontal strike that could cleave train cars in half. She dropped to the ground and rolled, letting the attack fly harmlessly above her, but she wasn''t immune to the sonic boom like I was. She let out a shriek of pain she couldn''t hear even as she retaliated.


    My storm gone for the moment, I had to block Calavera''s retaliatory fireball with my scabbard. It exploded into wooden shrapnel, the impact throwing the two of us apart.


    I skid along the ground as I willed the storm anew. It built up slowly, the wind picking up around me and lightening my footsteps but providing less defense than it had before.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    My opponent didn''t let that go to waste, launching dozens of skulls after me. The explosion that destroyed my scabbard also marked me in their sights. Every skull homed in on me, becoming a guided missile to anything that had been struck by them before. I ducked one and cut apart a second, letting myself be carried away by wind and force.


    I didn''t have to defend myself for long. Gyroscope''s drones did a flyover, nine of them carrying oversized metal plates that wouldn''t be out of place on an M1 Abrams. His specialization allowed them to balance and orient perfectly, each forming a shield wall in front of me like my own portable Roman legion.


    I took the moment to flip through the air, landing behind a large delivery truck, right between two SSM gangbangers.


    "?Qu¨¦ mierda!" they yelled. I rolled my eyes and flexed, allowing the gale to pick them up and bodily throw them from cover.


    A flaming skull that had been following me struck one, diverting all other skulls in the near vicinity. A series of smaller explosions and screams followed. I felt a pang of guilt at that; he definitely wouldn''t survive his boss'' attention.


    ''Later, Heather,'' I scolded myself. ''You''re Oathkeeper. Act like it.''


    With that, the storm howled full force and I encircled it around my sword once more. Calavera hadn''t been idle. She called up every fireball she had, combining each skull like before. But before we could clash, a barrage of gunfire finished off the second SSM soldier I''d thrown out of cover. The three elixir-fed agents turned on a dime to defend their unpowered comrades, but one was too slow and a flanking agent took a bullet. Another unpowered agent rushed to drag him off the lot and behind our armored van.


    We both turned to a group of eight men and two women marching towards us, two capes at their helm. The Peckerwoods had apparently decided to stop hiding, showing up in force. This wasn''t all of them, but it was half their capes and probably a quarter of their grunts.


    ''Lockjaw and Stampede,'' I thought. I recognized them from an earlier briefing. Halloween''s death had resulted in quite a bit of internal chaos from what little the PRT could glean. It surprised me to see the two willing to work with one another.


    "Boss?" Gyroscope''s voice came over the comms. "What''s our plan?"


    "Get the injured out of there," I shouted. I landed between the capes and my men, a whirlwind shoving them apart. I grunted into the mic. "SSM inbound?"


    "None I can find."


    Lockjaw was already transformed; he was a changer who turned into a rock monster with an excessively large jaw. Two protruding tusks extended from his lower jaw, pointing upwards and outwards like wicked daggers. He knelt and took a large bite of the asphalt. It audibly crunched and molded into a cannonball.


    Stampede, a cocksure man with blonde hair and blue eyes, dipped into a mocking bow. "Oathkeeper! Gyroscope! I''m glad the heroes were so quick to defend the right sort," he said, "but I''m quite sure me and the boys have got things handled. Do you mind?" I hated how handsome he looked in his pressed, wine-red shirt with bull horns encircling his shoulders. Despite having a straightforward power, he made it work through raw eloquence and charisma. Hell, even Janet thought he''d make a good hero, if he wasn''t a fucking scumbag.


    "You''re insane if you think we''re leaving without Calavera," I bit back.


    "We could let them fight it out," James Leeson, the PRT agent on console, spoke up. He''d remained silent during combat, but chose to chime in now. "If we withdraw, they''d just wipe themselves out. Calavera''s strong, but I don''t think she can beat both at the same time."


    "Absolutely not," I answered them both. "Leaving is permission, telling the gangs that we''re letting them escalate their little war without government involvement. That''s not how things work, agent."


    Leaving would mean condoning whatever happened here. It would mean a return to the Protectorate capes sitting on our asses as gang leaders did whatever the fuck they wanted with my city. It''d mean bottling the storm again, always at the ready but with no outlet to vent. I couldn''t stand the stifling pressure again. I wouldn''t.


    I adjusted the storm-clad sword in my hands. "Gyroscope, contain the Peckerwoods for a bit. I''m going to take out Calavera."


    "Yes, boss," came the reply. The three powered agents made ready, my answer to Stampede obvious.


    The man shrugged as if he had no care in the world. "Pity. I thought Japs were smarter than spics."


    Lockjaw took that as the signal to fire on one of my agents, the ball of asphalt launching with the force of a cannonball. The agent, an Agent Tyson if I remembered right, grunted in pain as the makeshift cannonball punched straight through the bulletproof riot shield and dented his steel-like arm. The tough son of a bitch swallowed the pain and rushed forward anyway with his police baton. On the enlarged agent, it looked more like a toy cricket bat, but the Peckerwoods scattered anyway, well-accustomed to the dangers of an irate brute.


    The rest of my men provided support as Gyroscope''s drones descended to corral the new arrivals.


    Calavera, with her one remaining unpowered soldier, had been backing off, mayhem caused, mission accomplished. I couldn''t let her get away so I leapt like a bat out of hell and let the storm carry me towards her. She''d been combining skulls by the second while we talked and the biggest fireball of the evening launched towards my face.


    I had no choice but to focus the storm into my sword, uncoiling in a violent display of destruction. The air cracked and ruptured in a furious spiral. It wasn''t enough. She was a blaster-seven, someone with enough power to mimic tactical missiles given enough time. We''d stupidly given her that time.


    The explosion ripped through my lamellar armor, shattering plates and punching me with the force of a warhead. I made a note to thank Rubedo even as I was launched backwards. My sword dispersed much of the blast, but even the residual was enough to leave massive scorch marks on concrete and liquefy the asphalt.


    Her final SSM soldier fared no better. She''d shoved him out of the way in a token attempt to protect him, but that was too little too late. Being closer to Calavera than me, he took the explosion as it was, a torrential downpour of fire and force.


    Calavera herself was launched in a beautiful arc, her costume smoking. She rolled and I saw her arm bent the wrong way. She shrieked something in Spanish, probably not for polite company. I mourned the Manton Limit; that arbitrary bullshit had allowed her to survive her own explosion, only injuring her arm as she collided with the ground.


    My own downward strike had been deflected by Calavera''s flaming skull, tearing a massive gouge through the parking lot but missing her with the direct edge.


    With the storm building again, I was forced to dodge her explosions even as she made a fighting retreat. Gyroscope''s drones fell around me into a defensive formation, giving me time to take stock of the situation.


    I saw two blooming clouds of tear gas, probably fired by the last remaining unpowered agent. Four men were disabled, left retching on the ground. Lockjaw was immune to gas-based attacks while in his rock-monster form and Stampede had simply run out of the gas with ease.


    Stampede charged, that cocky smirk still on his face, and ran over one of the agents. The elixir was not enough. Steel skin sounds great, but against a brute known for running through vault doors, it meant little. The villain had enough sense of mind to not rip his opponent in half and for that, I promised to not shove a tornado up his ass. Even so, the agent whose name I couldn''t remember was blasted back with a sickening snap. Steel skin did not mean bones couldn''t break.


    Agent Tyson, that crazy bastard, had made his way into the cloud of tear gas and was hammering away at the men, utterly ignoring the snot running down his own face. That''d probably get him a disciplinary hearing in the future, but I had bigger concerns at the moment.


    "Gyroscope, take out the rest," I barked into my comms.


    "Yes, boss," he said. His drones rammed into the six remaining Peckerwood soldiers, bowling them over even as they tried to take potshots on the steel-skinned agents.


    I turned to check on my last powered agent and swore. Lockjaw had given up on ranged combat and leapt straight at the seven feet tall man. The villain''s jaws unhinged with an ominous crack and pointed tusks closed on the agent''s right shoulder. His jaws were so large that they covered a good portion of the upper torso. I heard the whine of tortured metal and the scream of the dying man.


    I''d never had a man die under my command. I knew I wasn''t some miracle-worker, just very lucky. Still, I saw red and Calavera became a distant afterthought. The winds surged around me in response. Street signs and lights tore themselves from rest. Trees were uprooted and flung about. I screamed and the storm screamed with me.


    "LOCKJAW!"


    I sprinted forward and swung at the beast made of stone. It was crude, a heavy baseball swing rather than the refined and precise cut of kendo. In the moment, I wouldn''t have had it any other way. The gale that blew from my sword was a wild, untamed thing. It would have cleaved him in half, had Stampede not dashed out between us.


    I knew Stampede''s power to be one that ignored kinetic force while he was running. It was a deceptively simple power that made him all but unstoppable while in motion, one that made him insufferably arrogant.


    "Now, I admit my partner is a tad crude, but there''s no need for raised voices, Oathkeeper," he drawled.


    The storm had died down but I was in no mood to hear him and rushed forward anyway. I heard Gyroscope and Agent Leeson say something, but I was beyond listening. He ran towards me and aimed a backhand at my helmet, but I stamped the ground and a rush of wind carried me out of reach. I cut downward, but he managed to lunge forward, removing most of my momentum and letting his power counter the rest. My sword skidded off his shoulder as though there was some barrier even as he ran by me.


    We traded blows until I was too slow on the dodge and he bowled me over. It was only the cloak of wind that pushed me out of the way of his descending foot. The gale carried me backwards, skidding along the ground until I could roll to my knees, using my sword to balance me.


    "Where are you going, Oathkeeper? A Jap belongs beneath my feet," he taunted.


    "Breathe, Oathkeeper," Agent Leeson spoke, finally piercing my red haze. "Don''t let him get to you."


    I slowly got to my feet as the six Peckerwood grunts flanked their powered officers. I breathed in deeply and let it out in a controlled exhale, feeling the storm breathe with me. It did not quell. Instead, it gained momentum with every breath like a bellow feeding the fire. I had no sheath, but held my sword in a textbook iado stance. Not a master; with my power, I didn''t need to be.


    "Enough. Surrender, Stampede. I won''t ask again." Below hearing range, I whispered into my comms. "Targeting Lockjaw. Handle Stampede."


    He grinned and began to charge. The world fell away and only Lockjaw and Stampede remained. The shroud flared behind me and I felt like an angel was at my back. "Cut once. Cut clean," my sensei had told me. A nodachi had no business being this fast, but neither did I.


    My sword came up in a horizontal draw, parrying Stampede''s run with the pommel. I felt the storm disperse a little, but it was enough to redirect his momentum into Gyroscope''s drones. The look of realization when he figured out that he wasn''t the target would be one I''d cherish.


    In the next blink, I was in front of Lockjaw. A stone body was great for defense, not so for quick reaction. In the same stroke I used to parry Stampede, I cut Lockjaw across the chest. The sonic boom from my storm''s release shattered his stone body, sending him flying. He crashed into the burning auto wash and did not emerge again.


    Agent Tyson had turned to the mooks. Even six on one, the elixir was an overwhelming advantage in the hands of a trained combatant. With no cape support of their own, they went down in short order.


    I drew my sword and aimed it cleanly at Stampede. "Now, I believe this is the part where I accept your surrender."


    Before I could do anything else to make good on my threat, I screamed as I felt jagged teeth close on my legs. Screams from my men confirmed the same, leaving only Gyroscope. Looking down, I saw steel jaws, with curved teeth that went straight through my armor.


    I turned and faced the new arrivals. "Beartrap," I bit out.


    "Sorry to cut in like this, chica," the lanky black man said with a carefree shrug. He was leaning next to a car that had pulled up. "If I had my way, I''d let you castrate the fucking cracker, but eh, boss-lady''s rules. Her words, my command."


    Next to him, Lawless, Bone Maiden, and Parade stepped out. La Torcha''s Crips.


    "What''s Torcha''s game?" I tried. I didn''t expect a real answer, but was surprised to see truly clueless shrugs from them all.


    Bone Maiden spoke. "Who knows? Seriously? She just told us to come bail out the trailer trash. They''re gone now by the way, so our job''s done. Show up, make sure the capes live to fight another day, then get out. Easy money."


    I glanced around and sure enough, the grunts were still on the ground but both SSM and Peckerwood capes had made themselves scarce. "Shit," I swore.


    "Ta-ta~" she waved as they got back into their car and left.


    That was when the cops and news crew arrived. Minutes later, the area was cordoned off and Gyroscope and I stood pretty for the cameras. He lent me his hand while I used my nodachi to balance subtly. Best not to draw attention to my mangled ankles. I tried not to wince too obviously as I recited some bullshit fed to me through my comms. All the while, only one thought ran through my mind:


    ''Just what the hell was La Torcha''s game?''


    Author''s Note


    I''ve decided to mark my interludes as "x.y.5" rather than "x.A" because I might include these in the middle of my arcs again. I''m doing this primarily to show that what Andy sees of cape life is the sugar-coated version. Things are happening behind the scenes and our eight year old MC has a very limited perspective on things.


    Oathkeeper''s definitely got a conflict drive. Hers isn''t about aggression or battlelust. Instead, it''s from anxiety and stress, bottled up until she lashes out in a tantrum that literally blows people away. The need to do something. Hope I portrayed that right.


    Yes, calling someone a "Jap" is usually a slur, though it depends on the location. In the US, "Jap" was used as short for "Japanese" during the WWII internment camps and so developed a negative connotation. However, in other parts of the world, for example Singapore, a Japanese person might just be called a "Jap" with less malice. Spic should be obvious. Don''t call Hispanic people that.


    Also note that this is before the advent of Dragon''s containment foam. Lacking an option between tasers, rubber bullets, and anything stronger, they default to plain old lead in a firefight. They''re effectively using a mix of riot and SWAT gear.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.5 Antebellum

    Antebellum 2.5


    2000, June 14: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I''d cleaned up after testing and grabbed a bite to-go with Agent Morrison and David before returning home. After a quick shower and an hour of meditation, I set the sixth Mana Crystal down on a basket and turned on the news. It''d been three weeks since Dos Caras killed off Halloween and I had no more clue about the brewing war than any other plebian on the street. The news, as doctored as it undoubtedly was, was still the best way for me to hear anything.


    With a frustrated sigh, I took a drink from my Oracle''s stockpile and settled down for the late night report:


    "And with us, we have our field correspondent, Laura Henderson, to talk about the ongoing spat of gang violence," Jack Thomas, one of the anchors for ABC News, said. "To you, Laura."


    The camera switched over to a pretty blonde with a little too much makeup over her face. Behind her were three police cruisers surrounding two car wrecks and an ambulance. EMTs, cops, and two Protectorate heroes had secured the scene. "Thanks, Jack. We''re standing on the corner of South Greenfield Road and East Main Street where Sunshine Auto Wash, a suspected front for the Peckerwoods, was hit by an arson attack just minutes ago. Notorious villains Calavera, Stampede, and Lockjaw were seen in heavy combat resulting in the deaths of six gang members and one PRT officer. Thanks to the combined efforts of Oathkeeper, Gyroscope, and six agents, eight gang members were taken into custody.


    "This marks the fourth arson in just three weeks. Bull Rush, another member of the Peckerwoods, was pronounced dead on site by the EMTs, bringing the total death toll to a staggering seventy-eight people. Thankfully, no civilians were caught up in this latest attack." The curly blonde turned towards the statuesque woman in samurai armor. "Oathkeeper, a word, please?"


    The black-clad warrior''s expression was hidden by her half-mask, but the irritation was practically palpable. "Mark my words: Gang members or not, white supremacists or not, this was a tragedy. They didn''t die for some noble cause or to protect their own." She pointed angrily at a street lamp that looked rather dented. "See that? They died for that. One meaningless street corner. Everyone they loved. Everything that mattered to them. Gone for that. One. Lamp. This was a tragedy. Gyroscope and I¡­ The Protectorate¡­ We will do all in our power to end this. This I swear," she promised, the very picture of a resolute warrior ready to march. "Now excuse me, I have work to do."


    Even the plucky reporter seemed subdued after that. "Thank you, Oathkeeper, for those stirring words. With the death of Bull Rush, the Peckerwoods have been reduced to just four capes. We can only hope that this means we''ll soon see an end to the violence. Back to you, Jack."


    I leaned in to my mom''s side as she wrapped a tired arm around my shoulders. "You don''t need to worry about things like this, my son. I''m sure the heroes have it handled."


    ''If only you knew,'' I thought, but couldn''t bring myself to pop that bubble of optimism. "They do," I said instead. "Oathkeeper''s strong, one of the strongest in the state."


    "You''re not going out there." A question as much as a statement.


    "No, no I''m not. I''m just making potions for everyone else."


    "Good."


    Even as we sat there, I couldn''t help but feel like the silence was the quiet before the storm.


    ''Is it¡­ Is it already time to stop being the alchemist?''


    2000, June 15: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I finally figured out why dehydrating the Oracle''s Elixir into pills didn''t work. I needed Mana Crystals. To be more specific, I needed an extra Mana Crystal for each potion because something got lost in the dehydration process. Somewhere along the line, the mana that made up the elixir evaporated into the air along with the water and I needed another crystal to stabilize the substance into powder. Or maybe not? Even I wasn''t entirely sure about the why. In any case, two crystals in exchange for a far more compact and durable product was¡­ selectively worthwhile.


    It wasn''t worth it, not for the Oracle''s Elixir anyway. I moved on to the Elixir of Iron and health potions. Those would benefit from being miniaturized, but since I was the only one who drank Oracle''s, blowing another crystal on each one was unnecessary.


    After a productive day at the lab, I was at home, thinking about what I wanted to do with my stockpile of fifty-three crystals. It had dipped a bit when I was forced to build up a stockpile of Elixirs of Iron and health potions, but I''d restocked my reserves during the past few days of meditations. The question was, what did I want to do with so many?


    I had no intention of taking them into the PRT. Hell, they didn''t even know I had these. As far as Director Lyons knew, I was pushing myself ragged in the lab to churn out a quantity of potions exceeding my standard output. The director was busy with a civil suit and playing politics. The PRT liaisons were busy managing a suddenly far more active Wards team. The Protectorate heroes were busy trying to clamp down on the gang war before it could escalate. This was my chance to build with minimal oversight, to make something that wasn''t strictly alchemical, something with a little more¡­ oomph.


    As if that idea was all it''d been waiting for, the World Rune leapt like an eager puppy into my focus, shoving ideas upon ideas into the forefront of my mind. Most of them were ideas I''d considered and discarded for one reason or another: too expensive, too obvious, too dangerous, too reliant on another piece of tech, not impactful enough¡­


    One of the best things I could make was a Hex Core, the very same implanted into Viktor like Tony Stark''s arc reactor. It was the foundation of virtually everything else in Viktor''s arsenal, though it didn''t start that way. The transhuman genius made it in several iterations, starting with Blitzcrank. He hadn''t intended to make a sentient golem, only to make something that could help clear debris after an accident in Zaun. The golem grew beyond he''d ever expected. Years later, when he abandoned Piltover in favor of his glorious evolution, he remembered the sentient golem and made something that could learn along with him.


    The Hex Core wasn''t just a battery, but it wasn''t entirely honest to call it an AI either. It wasn''t sentient, not truly. It could learn, but it was designed specifically to integrate with Viktor himself, and he wasn''t insane enough to have another personality piloting his body. The modern miracle could be used to channel incredible amounts of mana to do anything from power cybernetics, fire lasers, calibrate gravitational fields, generate magnetic force fields, or even create ionic storms comparable to any natural tornado, all the while refining its own processes to be more efficient and streamlined.


    And yet, for all its promises, I cast it aside. It was one of the greatest, most versatile creations I could make at the moment, but it was too reliant on me building something else to pair with it. I needed a standalone invention, one that could help me protect myself while being discreet. I wanted a holdout weapon.


    I opened up my notebook, one I kept specifically for the purpose. It was written in Korean, with sketches and doodles along the edges. This notebook contained many of the ideas I''d considered, the less destructive ones at any rate. I browsed the book with some amusement. The very first thing I scribbled in these pages was not from Piltover or Zaun surprisingly enough. It was from Ionia, Jhin the Virtuoso to be specific. Who knew the man was such an inventive mechanic?


    For example, the man built his own mass accelerator to work with Whisper, his pistol. I found it funny that such a powerful weapon came from outside the twin cities, but moved on. Too expensive. Too conspicuous. I had no intention of replacing my arm or grafting a mass accelerator to my shoulder blade. For one, it wouldn''t grow with me.


    I eventually settled on the weapon I''d been agonizing over for weeks: Senna''s relic pistol, as wielded by Lucian. I was honest enough to admit that I had no idea how to dual-wield, or shoot a gun of any sort for that matter, but in my current age, learning to shoot a single pistol was far easier than picking up a melee weapon or mastering two pistols simultaneously. Lucian, I was not.


    The relic pistol wasn''t the only gun in Runeterra, or the only pistol for that matter. Sarah Fortune used twin pistols called Shock and Awe. Gangplank had one, and Samira''s gunblade was infamous. I still chose the relic gun.


    Sure, there were no undead to fight, but Lucian''s pistols had two advantages over more conventional weapons: First, they used no ammo, and no bullets meant they would be more likely to be seen as props rather than the incredibly potent weapons I knew them to be. Second, like every other relic weapon used by the Sentinels, they were fueled by the sheer righteousness of the wielder, the light of their soul made manifest. There was a World Rune in my soul, a light brighter than any. If there was one thing I knew I''d never run out of, it was mana.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Thus decided, I began to plan¡­


    X


    2000, June 22: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Things moved rather quickly after my Petricite was confirmed to work on external expressions of powers. It was amazing how much money the PRT was willing to throw around when they felt motivated. Or maybe, they''d always had this money and hardware prepped and were using the trial to push me towards creating power suppressors; I wasn''t discounting Contessa-induced fuckery.


    Regardless of how it happened, I got a forge installed into my lab. Some of it was used, donated from a local agricultural university, but that was fine as long as they were all in working order. After a rather extensive safety lesson from a local smith, mostly to put the minds of adults at ease and cross the "t''s" for bureaucracy''s sake, I was ready to begin.


    I let the World Rune guide me as I ground the block into powder through a series of steps. First, I put it into a large bag and shoved the bag beneath a drop hammer until I had petrified wood that resembled coarse gravel. Then, the bag was emptied into a shatterbox, a machine that uses vibrations, friction, and constant pressure to grind stone to powder. Equal parts lime and ash were added in to mix evenly. Several hours later, I had a bag of powdered Petricite, as fine as beach sand and ready to be mixed into an alloy.


    Seeing how I wouldn''t be sticking around long enough to melt any steel plates, I called it an early night.


    X


    As I was being driven home by Agent Morrison, I thought about just what I''d need for my holdout weapon. To start, I''d need the unique stone used to form each relic weapon. The stone had to come from the Blessed Isles, bathed in light magic.


    ''Am I going to have to travel to a holy site and open a quarry there?'' I wondered. ''I don''t think the pope would be happy with me. Does the Vatican even exist on Bet? No, there''s got to be a better way. What exactly is it about the stones of the Blessed Isles was it that made them so special to the Sentinels?''


    I delved deeper into the well in my soul. My connection to Runeterra deepened as I searched for the answers. It was only far in the distant past that I found the truth: a magic spring. There was a literal Well of Life at the center of the Blessed Isles, the same well that first captured Maokai''s attention and the same well that birthed the Hallowed Mist. The well''s water had nourished the isles, filling them with life and magic and drawing nature spirits from all over to dwell within its shores.


    Maokai may have discovered the Water of Life, but it was the Vesani people, nomadic, vulpine travelers from Ionia, who pioneered its use. Ahri''s distant cousins were especially sensitive to magic, even among the Vastaya. They explored the uses of memory magic as a form of energy and eventually discovered how to combine it with the sacred water to power golems that protected Helia, the capitol of the Blessed Isles.


    It was at this point that I took a metaphorical step back to admire the sheer ingenuity of that. The Vesani were so gifted with magic that they made AIs out of their own memories to create semi-independent golems, a feat that would only be replicated by Viktor in the creation of Blitzcrank a full millennium later.


    ''Mad respect, pity they didn''t last.'' Thinking about the Ruination filled me with melancholy, but I did get what I wanted. The isles themselves weren''t special, the well on the other hand¡­ ''Holy water¡­ Yeah, I can do that¡­''


    X


    2000, June 23: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The following day was Friday, which meant yet another infuriating day of pretending to be blind in a building full of children I couldn''t relate to. The only upside to my obvious disfigurement was that I made people nervous and no one wanted much to do with me. Even in my special education class, there was a palpable distance between us. I told myself I was fine with that, and the adult part of me was, but a different, eight year old part rebelled at the constant isolation.


    Still, this school day wasn''t as bad as the others. It was the end of the year and it showed. The entire elementary school was gathered inside the auditorium to watch a public safety presentation delivered by two very familiar heroines. I couldn''t quite suppress a shit-eating grin as I listened to Hat Trick and Stingray act sweet and cheery for us "snot-nosed ankle-biters." Mostly Hat Trick. This would bother her for the rest of the day for sure. My only regret was that I had no Oracle''s to see the show properly.


    "¡­ and remember, stick together, follow only adults you trust, and be safe," Hat Trick said, sounding a bit stilted.


    "Right, thank you for having us, everyone!" Stingray finished. She had that peppy tone she used whenever she was talking to the public. I didn''t have to see to know she had her pearly whites displayed into a wide, encouraging smile. She really was perfect for PR stunts like this: tall, pretty, well-spoken, and with a cool, upfront power. It was no wonder she''d be sent to reassure the public.


    The principal took the mic from the two Wards. "Yes, thank you, Stingray, Hat Trick. Can we get a round of applause for the two heroines?" The auditorium filled with enthusiastic clapping. "Now, I think we have time for a few questions about the Wards. Anyone? Yes, Mr. Silva?"


    A teacher took a portable mic to one of the older students, a fifth grader I''d heard of during recess as being a bit aggressive. He wasn''t a bully, but he was a little pushy with the younger kids and insisted on being Royalle or Eidolon during their games of "cape tag."


    He spoke up somewhere to my left. "H-Hello, Stingray," he said, uncharacteristically nervous now that he was talking to a real heroine, "Ha-Have you met Eidolon before?"


    "No, ''''fraid not. He''s a very busy man. But you know, of all the heroes I''ve met, my favorite is Mouse Protector. She''s not the strongest hero, but she makes people laugh and sometimes, that''s worth its weight in gold."


    Another question, different student. "Why do you shout ''Stingray Straight!'' whenever you punch bad guys?"


    I could practically feel Hat Trick rolling her eyes. "Why not?" Stingray responded. "It makes people smile, right? Help me think up a super move for the rest of my team and post it on PHO, okay?"


    I grinned and raised my walking stick into the air. Soon enough, I felt a teacher put the mic in my outstretched hand after a light scolding. I stood and grinned. "Hi, I''m Andy. I''ve never seen heroes before," I said, waggling my eyebrows. I was told it looked unsettling. "Mind if I ask you a question?"


    "Sure, Andy, go ahead," Hat Trick said, a tad forced.


    "Where''s Rubedo? How come I''ve never heard of him going on patrols? Is it because he''s a scaredy-cat? Mom says I shouldn''t do drugs. Does this make Rubedo a bad hero?" I couldn''t quite manage to suppress my shit-eating grin.


    "You-" Hat Trick began, but stopped when Stingray placed a firm hand on her shoulder.


    "Rubedo is a respected member of the Wards," Stingray said, her tone wooden. "He does not join us in patrols because his power is unsuited for combat, but he has expressed his wishes to be more involved. His medicines will save many lives and I am proud to call him my friend and teammate, even if he can be a little difficult."


    "What''s he like?" Someone else, a girl a ways behind me, asked.


    "He''s a brat," Hat Trick said bluntly. "Him and Masked Bandit love to bicker, but they''re good kids."


    X


    I felt the hit coming the moment I stepped into the Wards common room but let it land. "You''re such a little shit," Hat Trick growled.


    "Whatever do you mean?" I said, rubbing the back of my head.


    "PHO''s talking about ''Rubedo the drug dealer'' now. Are you happy?"


    "Very. Never been smugger. Is that a word? It is now."


    Stingray shot me her "big sister''s frown of disapproval" and passed me a cookie from the fridge. "Well, I hope you''ve had your fun, because you have remedial PR lessons today. And every day for a week."


    "Aww," I let out an exaggerated whine. "I have important sciencing to do!"


    "Should''ve thought of that before you called yourself a drug dealer, kiddo. That was hilarious though," Ranchero laughed. He then saw his girlfriend''s glower and gulped. "I mean¡­ that was irresponsible and very unheroic¡­ and maybe a little funny. But definitely irresponsible!"


    "Whtchee," Masked Bandit cracked an imaginary whip. The last half of the cookie in my hand disappeared into hers. "Thanks for the cookie, Rube."


    "You''re welcome," I said dryly. "Now if you''ll excuse me, I''m going to go get chewed out by Ms. Youngston. Maybe I can get my tinkering done before I have to head home."


    X


    I didn''t get much done. I severely underestimated just how miffed Ms. Youngston would be with me. Disappointed, apparently, because I was supposed to be the chosen one. Or, at the very least, the easy to milk PR cash cow. I gave her team more work to do so that meant she''d be giving me more work to do. Circle of life. Bureaucracy. Same difference.


    She eventually decided to use me being a "drug dealer" as evidence for how the ongoing lawsuit has damaged my reputation. I didn''t plan that, but damn. Had to admit, she was good.


    Nonetheless, "not much" wasn''t "nothing" and I was able to upgrade my team''s Elixirs of Iron with pills of the same. I also got to make drafts of Senna''s relic pistol and portion out the ingredients needed for my Petricite alloy.


    Author''s Note


    I feel like I''m going to get questions about the death toll so I''ll talk about it here. Let''s start with the obvious: Brockton Bay is NOT NORMAL. Their gang violence stemming from Bakuda''s madness and the Empire getting outed represent exceptional circumstances. Bakuda and Oni Lee were uniquely suited to mass destruction. The Empire had an enormous advantage in both powered and unpowered manpower alongside major heavy hitters like Purity and Hookwolf. That kind of violence typically doesn''t happen, in Worm and in the real world.


    For reference, the LA Race Riots of 1992, one of the most notorious riots in US history, resulted in the deaths of sixty-four people over the course of six days. And that was when seemingly the entire city blew up and out of towners were driving in to "protect" businesses. Forty-three in three weeks isn''t an unreasonable death toll for a conflict between two local gangs, powers or no powers.


    I''m also going to get a lot of questions about Arcane, so I''ll preempt them here: Arcane is not canon to Runeterra Prime. The Viktor of Arcane is very different from Viktor the Champion. He and Jayce did work together in both timelines, but they had very different relationships. And yeah, the lore behind the Hex Core is that it is self-adapting.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.6 Antebellum

    <div>


    Antebellum 2.6


    2000, June 24: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I was always an early riser in both lives. When my family moved to California in my past life, my dad looked for any jobs he could find with his limited English. That turned out to be construction work from the crack of dawn to sunset. My mom made me and my sister wake up at six in the morning each day so we could have breakfast with my dad before he had to head out to work. "Family should eat together," she''d said.


    Despite being a single mother, my mom was in a much better place than my old parent thanks to the benevolence of the PRT. She may have refused any stipends, saying they were for me when I got older, but that didn''t mean the PRT had done nothing about our situation. Every weekend, she had English classes at a local community college, with tuition mysteriously waived.


    That meant Saturdays found both me and mom up and early, sharing a breakfast of rice, fried eggs, and kimchi. A glass of neon-pink sat on the table.


    "Where are you headed today, son?"


    "I''m going to the PRT as soon as Agent Morrison can pick me up, mom," I told her. "They need me there."


    She looked at me with a proud smile that warmed my chest. "Don''t work too hard."


    "You don''t have to worry. I enjoy this; I promise. Besides, the more I make, the safer my friends will be."


    She cleared the table as I took a morning shower. Half an hour later, Agent Morrison picked me up just in time for mom to see me off before she too went off to class.


    "Thank you for taking care of my son," my mom said in her broken English. She bowed deep, in the same way she used to bow to my tutors in Korea.


    "Aww, shucks, ma''am. Don''t bow. It''s my job."


    "Thank you for picking me up anyway, Agent Morrison," I added, bowing with her out of courtesy. "I''m sure you''d rather be doing something else."


    We got into the car with a final wave.


    "Ya know, son," David''s dad began in his old country drawl. "You''re supposed to be watching children''s cartoons and eating cereal in sludge that''s more sugar than milk, not going off to work."


    I shrugged. "What can I say, Agent Morrison? Tinkering is my hobby."


    "Maybe, but it shouldn''t be your only hobby, ya hear?"


    "Yes, sir. I listen to jazz."


    "Oh, right, you still trying to learn music like your mama?"


    "Yes, sir," I lied. I knew a bit of piano from my past and I could sing without being completely off-key, but I didn''t exactly have an instrument to practice with here. "Mom says I should start learning notes and pitches, then work on learning to read sheet music."


    "Hah, like studying, eh? You got enough of that fancy pink juice for that?"


    "Yes, sir. The potions last longer when I drink them."


    He nodded and focused back on the road. My apartment, located in the hilariously unimaginatively named Phoenix Heights neighborhood, was not quite in the downtown area, but close enough that it received regular visits from hero patrols. At only fifteen blocks from HQ, it was only a few minutes'' drive.


    X


    I sat through my mandated remedial PR sessions and was in my lab after snagging a ham and cheese sandwich from the PRT cafeteria to go station for lunch.


    I them made full use of the alarm system built into my lab to multitask. Now that the PRT knew my potions could be condensed into pills, each final output would require two Mana Crystals rather than one. I''d thought about not mentioning it for a while in order to further build my crystal reserves, but in the end, I scrapped the notion. It wasn''t worth making a fuss over, especially since the dehydration process was such an uninvolved process on my part.


    After loading the dehydrators for the next twelve hours, I picked out the bricks of high-carbon steel they''d provided and melted them down in the furnace provided. While I waited for those to melt, I sketched out a simple design of an amulet for Raquel alongside knuckle dusters that could be inserted into Stingray''s gloves. Hopefully, she wouldn''t need them, but Petricite knuckles couldn''t hurt.


    Technically, I could just give Bandit a little lump of Petricite and call it a day, but that wouldn''t do. She''d have to be holding that lump constantly if she wanted to suppress her power. My idea was to make a two-sided amulet, one face made of regular steel and one with a Petricite-infused alloy. The amulet would then be attached at two ends to a rotating joint and chain so she could wear it as a necklace. She could then flip the coin whenever to forcibly shut down her power in her civilian life. I hoped that this would let her get out more; we were the only friends she had thanks to being homeschooled because of her power and it wasn''t healthy.


    The furnace was uncomfortably warm at over 2,700 degrees. I gingerly took out each vat of metal, only a pound each so I wouldn''t strain myself and spill it on accident, and stirred in the ten bags of Petricite. After loading another, much smaller crucible with steel, set aside so as to not make Petricite alloy, I returned to my sketchbook.


    By the time evening rolled around, I had two, flat discs of metal, one the characteristic sheen of carbon steel and the other an ivory-white. Tomorrow, I''d forge them together into a single disc, stencil on a design, and slap a chain onto it.


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    Next to those were two sets of knuckles, made in several disjointed pieces that could be inserted into the padding of Stingray''s gloves. I had to take her measurements from the spare costume she kept on base, but I thought I got it right. They weren''t just so she could punch harder. Pieces of Petricite could be made to protrude from her palms and fingertips. They''d come into contact with her opponent and allow her to shut down their powers at close range.


    I also intended to make something for Ranchero and Hat Trick, but they were difficult for different reasons. Ranchero didn''t rely on any weapons, nor did he have trouble controlling his power. For lack of anything better, I set aside a few pounds of the alloy so I could hammer them into plates. I''d sew them into his shirt later. Even if they saw no offensive use, they would insulate him from cape powers.


    As for Hat Trick, she had the opposite problem: She was too good at using¡­ anything, depending on her headwear for the day. I considered a baton or spear as she liked to use her riot police gear or knight''s helm, but decided to get her input.


    It wasn''t entirely altruistic. The last thing I did was take Three pounds worth of the miracle alloy and shape it using the drop hammer until I had an even, rectangular block with a single protrusion at one end, vaguely gun-shaped "L." I smuggled that back home with me and left the designs for my teammates'' gear strewn about the lab. By leaving the lab intentionally sloppy, with future designs clearly on display, I hoped to ensure that the bit I was taking for my own use wouldn''t be missed.


    X


    2000, June 25: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I ate an early breakfast with mom on Sunday morning and bid her goodbye for the day. I was wearing a thick pair of shades to hide my scar along with a wide-brim sunhat, shorts, and t-shirt. In my pocket, I held both an Elixir of Iron, Elixir of Wrath, and several Oracle''s Elixirs in pill form. Most people wouldn''t pick on a blind kid, but I refused to not have any options in an emergency. My backpack held several empty bottles.


    Rather than call Agent Morrison to head to HQ, I stepped outside and tapped my way to the stairs. I wasn''t supposed to know how to read the numbers.


    "Hello, dear," Mrs. Clarkson called. She was an elderly black grandmother who lived four doors down. "Do you need help getting down the stairs?"


    I bowed. "That''s okay, ma''am. I don''t need any help."


    "Nonsense, young man. I''m going down anyway to water the flowers. Come on, take my hand." She grabbed my sleeve with surprising strength. I sighed internally and allowed her to lead me down. There was just no arguing with grandmothers.


    Mrs. Clarkson lived alone, retired from her work as a chef some years ago. She was friendly, though a little too mothering in my opinion. She had a son who visited often named Shawn, a tall man who worked as an electrician. Mom was scared of him, though perhaps "scared" wasn''t the right word. Nervous? Wary? Suspicious? I could only hope that her behavior was dismissed as the shyness of an immigrant lacking basic language skills.


    It was fucked up, honestly. In both my lives, my Korean parents were some of the most racist people I''d ever met. The worst part was that there wasn''t even any actual malice behind it, just a nervousness stemming from being an immigrant from a homogenous culture. No matter where it came from, they were very quick to stereotype. I''d thought it was funny when I was much younger than I was now. Spiritually, I mean. Now, I could only try to befriend the man as much as possible. Exposure therapy was a thing, right?


    When I got to the ground floor, I bowed, thanked her again, and made my way towards the nearest Catholic church. That turned out to be the Immaculate Heart of Mary. There, I was greeted by a priest.


    "Father Morales?" I asked.


    "Yes, who are you, young man?" I''d done my research the night before. The Heart of Mary was a mid-sized church catering to the Spanish-speaking population. Father Manuel Morales was the head priest here and liked to greet his congregation by name.


    "My name is Andy and well," I gestured to my eyes with my walking stick. "I know I''m a little early, but do you mind if I come inside to pray before the altar?"


    "Of course, my son. God has a place for all his lambs."


    And with that, I was in. He showed me to the altar and let me be as I sank to my knees. I surreptitiously swallowed a single mouthful of Oracle''s and allowed my vision to bloom outward. While the father prepared for his sermon, I feigned prayer. Was it sacrilegious, what I was doing? I wasn''t sure if the God existed anymore, but I used to be very religious because of my previous mother. Still, I couldn''t deny that the supernatural was a verifiable existence, one I couldn''t ignore.


    ''Should I pray to you, abba? Or does my soul belong to another? Bard? Aurelion? Another Aspect perhaps? Would Kayle hear me and grant me justice? Would Taric give me his protection? Can Atreus make me brave? Or maybe, it is the Kindred who claim my soul now. I did die after all¡­''


    I blinked away tears. My mother in this life wasn''t religious, so this was the first time I''d stepped inside a place of worship. There was something weighty in the air, an almost palpable feeling of reverence and history. Sitting there at the altar of the God I used to worship, I couldn''t fully suppress the feeling that I''d been lost to another. A heavy melancholy filled me. Was it divinely inspired? Or merely the sorrow of a man who''d lost his identity?


    ''Perhaps one day I''ll find my answer.''


    I had come planning to meditate while feigning prayer for lack of anything else to do, but the hour passed quickly and soon, I''d taken a seat at the corner of the furthest pew, listening to the father''s sermon.


    When the sermon ended, I remained in my seat and ignored any attempts to welcome me into the flock by the local parishioners. At last, everyone but the priest left and I tapped my way to the altar. I soon caught his eye.


    "Andy, my son, what troubles you?"


    "What makes a man?" I asked him. "Is it the god he worships? Or his history?"


    "You have deep thoughts for someone so young."


    "I''ve been told, father."


    "I believe the answer is up to the individual. But there is one thing I know: Seek and you will find."


    "Matthew? Ask and it shall be given, right?"


    "Indeed. That is not to say that all answers are given to us immediately, but the first step of any journey is to begin at all."


    I nodded. In a way, they were empty platitudes, meaningless nuggets of wisdom. And yet, hearing his words made me feel a little better. "Thank you, father." I opened up my bag and showed him the empty containers. "Father, would it be much trouble if I took some holy water home?"


    "No, of course not. I''d be happy to bless some water for you."


    "Just some from the stoup should be fine."


    "It is never a burden to pray over a child, my son."


    I bowed. "Thank you, father."


    Author''s Note


    Most Catholic churches have stoups, little basins or fountains where priests can wash their hands for sacraments. This holy water, sometimes even on a spigot, can be taken for free by the churchgoers. It''s encouraged that you donate, but it isn''t always required.


    If you were curious, holy water isn''t chemically special. It''s just regular water prayed over by a priest, with a dash of salt for purification purposes.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.7 Antebellum

    <div>


    Antebellum 2.7


    2000, June 25: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    After storing the holy water in my room, I called for pickup and headed to the lab for the afternoon.


    I was finished by four. I ended up with roughly twenty-five pounds of Petricite alloy separated into ten bricks, ready to be machined into handcuffs or whatever else the director had in mind. One of them was a little lighter than the others, the one I''d used to make the amulet, glove inserts, and armor plates for my teammates. I''d probably be scolded for making them without approval, but I couldn''t be bothered to care. Stingray had a close run-in with Gatling of the Peckerwoods the other day and a bit of power negation wouldn''t have gone amiss. Besides, the more I "accidentally" used up in my excitement, the more difficult it would be to notice some of my stock was missing.


    Each brick had taken another Mana Crystal to ensure the Petricite was fully merged with the steel, but the result was a material that was heavily absorbent to magic and esoteric powers. It was the very same steel used to craft the armor of the fabled Dauntless Vanguard. Such an armor would be too heavy for me, but I promised I''d make myself a set one day.


    I loaded them all onto a small cart and dropped them off with Dr. Sanchez, Head of Power Testing. The write-up for this was sizable, but I was let go within the hour.


    That night, I dropped my teammates'' new gear into their owners'' lockers and settled into my first full, unsupervised shift on console.


    "Ranchero, Wildshot, this is Rubedo on console," I spoke into the mic as I topped myself off on Oracle''s.


    "This is Agent Carter on console for the PRT. Glad to have you, Rubedo."


    "Howdy, partner," Ranchero''s voice sounded through the headset in an even thicker accent than his father''s. I knew he played up the cowboy theme in costume, even going as far as to wave around a lasso he barely had any idea how to use, but the fake accent always got a chuckle out of me.


    "Hey, good to meet the littlest Ward. Wildshot of Wards Team Three." I could see on Ranchero''s camera a sandy-haired young man with a similar motif to Ranchero. He wore a red bandana over his nose alongside a large ten gallon hat. At his side were twin repeating crossbows. Anachronistic, but probably more PR friendly than actual revolvers.


    "Short patrol tonight," Ranchero said, more upbeat than in his civilian guise. With a spin of his lasso, he summoned a golden bull. Ten seconds later, another joined it. "Let''s¡­ Run wild!"


    "Your puns are bad and you should feel bad."


    "Bah, this is why you''re single, Wild. No sense of humor. Right, Rubedo?"


    "No comment."


    "Children," Agent Carter said tiredly. "Focus."


    The Wards mounted the bulls and began their patrol. Their route would start from the Tempe Police Department HQ just south of Salt River. From there, they wanted to circle Arizona State University, take the roundabout to Tempe St. Luke''s Hospital, then finally head north again to cross Salt River back into Phoenix for pickup. If all went well, it was a four hour walk, two and a half by bull assuming they didn''t stop for anything.


    The two Wards trotted along on their golden bulls for ten minutes, signing autographs, taking pictures, and generally making sure they were seen. Contrary to my original estimation, in ten minutes, they crossed less than two blocks and I had a newfound appreciation for Taylor''s hatred for such patrols. I''d zoned out for a bit thinking about my new pistol when Wildshot''s mic came live.


    "Console, I''m hearing yelling," he said. "South, three blocks away. Permission to investigate?" Ranchero had already turned his bulls in that direction.


    "Granted, but be careful. You have your potions?"


    "Yes, ma''am. Pills, ma''am," Ranchero said. "I made sure Wildshot got both the healing and brute ones."


    "Good. Ranchero, call out a few more bulls until you feel you have a high enough brute rating. Wildshot behind. Intel only."


    "Yes, ma''am," the two Wards echoed.


    I glanced at the city map and found the nearest Protectorate patrol. "Cloudstreak and Bunyan are eight blocks away. Two minutes ETA. Should I call them?"


    "Negative, Rubedo. We''ll reach out if things escalate."


    "Yes, ma''am."


    Ranchero took point, swinging his lasso every ten seconds until he had a small wedge of six bulls. Each bull he summoned provided him a higher brute rating so long as they "lived," but with diminishing returns. During testing, I''d heard he summoned forty for a brute seven rating. Impressive, if it didn''t take north of six minutes to accomplish. Under normal conditions, he typically never called more than eight. There were only so many angus bulls he could cram onto a street before they got in each other''s ways.


    I watched on Ranchero''s bodycam as the two reached the scene. Eleven men faced each other, four to seven. They were clearly divided along ethnic lines, which meant one side was Peckerwood for sure. I couldn''t see much else in the twilight, my pericognition limited through video, but Wildshot wasn''t similarly hampered.


    "Four Hispanics, seven whites," he spoke crisply. "I see gang signs on both sides. PW and SSM. Won''t be long ''til someone sees us. Ranchero isn''t exactly subtle."


    "Don''t blame me for being fabulous."


    "Ranchero," Agent Carter snapped. "Business now."


    "Yes, ma''am," he coughed. "Should I surround them?"


    "Hold position. Wildshot, are they armed and how?"


    "No guns in sight, but I can see a few bulges that might be pistols. I wouldn''t discount smaller weapons too, ma''am."


    "Rubedo, are the police aware of the problem?"


    I checked the local dispatch for the street names. "No, ma''am."


    "Let them know. No capes, not our problem."


    "But ma''am," Wildshot cried.


    "We''re here to keep people safe and arrest villains. Any of them draw?"


    "No ma''am," the ranged hero sighed sulkily. "Just insults and slurs."


    "If we go in now, there''s a good chance our presence will escalate things into violence. Hold position and try to make your bulls inconspicuous, Ranchero. Pull back a bit if you need to."


    Ranchero maneuvered his bulls until they were out of the gang members'' line of sight. Two bulls were hidden flush against a bus while the others ducked behind a corner. It said much about Earth-Bet that only a handful of people glanced twice, choosing to make themselves scarce from the potential cape fight.


    We watched for a minute before twin gunshots pierced the night. A revving noise filled the air.


    "Ma''am, Sawtooth inbound!" Wildshot shouted.


    Before the Wards could react, a giant of a man fell from the sky like a meteor in between the gangbangers. He wore a leather jacket with "SSM" embossed onto the back, a white wifebeater, and ragged jeans. His only nod to a formal costume was the burlap sack he wore over his head with holes cut out for eyes.


    He shouted something I couldn''t understand in Spanish before swinging his trademark chainsaw-shotgun in a wide arc. It was an abomination of a weapon, a "sword" with two shotgun barrels stapled to either side of the motorized blade. It was suggested that he was a ballistics tinker purely based on how he could fire the shotguns without breaking the chainsaw. Even so, the demented blade ripped through the first of the Peckerwoods and a nearby fire hydrant, sending blood spraying through the air.


    I was shaken out of my stupor by Agent Carter''s shouting. "Rubedo, ETA on cops!"


    "Four minutes, ma''am," I snapped back.


    "Ma''am," Ranchero said urgently.


    "Go, prioritize civilians, bulls first. Wildshot rear! I''ll call Protectorate console."


    "Yes, ma''am!" the two shouted as Ranchero ushered his projections into a stampede.


    Everything devolved into chaos as the thundering of hooves filled the air. I saw all but two Peckerwoods scatter. One was the one who had been sawn in half, but the other was shrinking.


    In the blink of an eye, a full-grown komodo dragon lunged towards the SSM cape with deceptive speed.


    "?Pinche puto!" Sawtooth shouted, loud enough for Ranchero''s mic to catch. I rolled my eyes at one of the few curses I understood in Spanish. Still, his reaction time was better than his language and he managed to shove the sleeve of his left arm into the lizard''s mouth. Miraculously, the leather held.


    ''Must be armored,'' I mused as I checked on the Protectorate patrol. Cloudstreak and Bunyan were eleven blocks away and gaining, one much faster than the other. ''Good. Streak must be a mover.''


    Sawtooth said something else before aiming his twin barrels at the ground. With a deafening bang, he sailed through the air, his jacket torn from his opponent''s jaws. The giant of a man took aim with unexpected precision, firing twice into the komodo''s body. Its toxic saliva sputtered as its torso erupted in gore. That was as far as they got before Ranchero''s stampede arrived.


    He had time to call a seventh. Three bulls charged shoulder to shoulder, forcing the gangbangers to scatter. Two more circled around the intersection on either side, keeping them from simply running away. One bull nicked an SSM member with its horn, the force alone enough to knock him on his ass with a torn bicep. His pistol clattered to the floor. Two more gunshots filled the air, but the hardlight bulls ignored the bullets completely.


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    I glanced at the Protectorate response timer. "One minute ''til Cloudstreak," I said. "Bunyan shouldn''t be far behind."


    The komodo dragon changed again while we weren''t paying attention. He rapidly gained mass until a full-blown t-rex stood roaring into the night sky. Wildshot let loose with his repeating crossbows, but both shots were ignored. He winced as he ducked behind cover to avoid a gunshot.


    "Tranqs aren''t working," he growled over the mic. "Freeform''s changing too fast for the drugs to take hold."


    "Focus on the grunts," Agent Carter ordered. "Ranchero, stand back and crowd Sawtooth. See if you can keep him busy."


    "Yes, ma''am," they barked out as they rushed to follow the senior officer.


    The Peckerwoods, seeing the massive t-rex on their side, regrouped behind a van and began firing at anything that moved. One of the SSM grunts went down clutching his thigh. Before they could finish off the other three, a golden bull rammed straight into the van, cratering its side and tilting it precariously onto two wheels. That was enough for the five of them to scatter again.


    One of the Peckerwoods was running past a STOP sign. Two crossbow bolts fired with pinpoint precision landed through the notched holes of the street sign and into his arm. He was out moments later.


    "Got ''em marked," Wildshot said.


    I glanced over to his bodycam. He was still crouched behind a car. Rather than rise to take aim, he fired both repeaters into the air, emptying the magazines in the span of six seconds.


    I had to switch to Ranchero''s camera to see what happened. Each bolt swerved in the air, homing in like demented hornets to separate targets. Six shots, six hits, each on a major vein.


    I let out a low whistle. "Damn, that''s impressive."


    "Thanks, kid."


    "Enough patting yourselves on the back. Move the gangbangers out of the cape fight," Agent Carter barked.


    "Yes, ma''am!" Ranchero scrambled. With no need to secure the perimeter any longer, he had six bulls charge Sawtooth and Freeform, forcing them to disengage. Each bull didn''t last long on its own, but that was enough for him to start moving the gang members. I saw both villains put their fight on hold to slaughter the bulls.


    Wildshot tried to distract them by throwing a rock into their eyes, but Sawtooth shot his out of the air and Freeform ignored it completely. The size difference between a t-rex and an angus bull was so large that the bulls could only gore Freeform''s shins at best. The wounds closed practically as soon as they were made even as the tyrant lizard''s jaws closed on each projection.


    Sawtooth blended his way through one bull and dodged the horns of another, only to get clipped by the third. He swore and fiddled with something on the shotgun before firing into the ground, launching himself skyward again. He landed atop a car and took aim at Ranchero from mere feet away


    "Ranchero, Sawtooth," I yelled. I felt utterly out of my depth just watching this.


    Ranchero summoned another projection as the shotgun roared. The latest golden bull died the moment it was called. I thought for a moment I''d lose a teammate so soon.


    Before he could take aim again, Cloudstreak descended on a stream of billowing white clouds. Four fist-sized hunks of hail launched towards Sawtooth, forcing him to fire on them instead of Ranchero. Cloudstreak herself was a woman clad in a form-fitting white costume with blue clouds providing tasteful accents. Her domino mask did nothing to hide her disdain for the Peckerwood cape.


    "Ranchero, Wildshot," her voice echoed through the speakers with a faint Jamaican accent. "Withdraw. We''ll take it from here."


    A whirling chainsaw blade, attached only to the hilt by a rappelling wire, lashed towards the heroine, only for a thick cloud of white to shroud her like a shield. The blade roared but found no purchase and for a moment, I wondered what her clouds were actually made of. Were they just cloud-shaped dimension-fuckery or did Shards physically alter clouds to be denser than metal?


    Sawtooth turned around and fired behind him, thrusting himself forward and catching the rebounding blade into its slot with expert skill. He swung overhand, this time at the seams of the forming clouds, and they parted before they could fully solidify. Cloudstreak launched herself back with a curse. Freeform was nowhere to be found.


    "Go!" she barked out.


    Ranchero ran back, but called a bull to assist her as he retreated.


    Seconds later, the ground shook with yet another airborne cape. Bunyan had arrived. He was a tall man with a busy, red beard dressed like a lumberjack in jeans and flannel. Sticking on-brand, he hefted a giant axe almost as tall as he was with one hand. Standing from the cratered asphalt, he glowered at the SSM cape.


    "Now would be a good time to surrender," he growled as he held his axe aloft. It wasn''t my imagination. The lumberjack cape was rapidly growing taller, gaining entire feet in seconds as though he''d been drugged by Lulu.


    Sawtooth shrugged and said something else I didn''t understand in Spanish before twisting something on his ridiculous chain-sword-shotgun. Its teeth spun even faster, creating visible heat shimmers in the evening light.


    "Ranchero, Wildshot, pull back. This is as far as we go. You two did well," came Agent Carter''s voice threw the comms.


    "Ma''am, if we stay, we could provide support," Wildshot tried.


    "Negative. Pull back. SSM capes are too willing to kill."


    While the two Wards were arguing with console, I saw Bunyan lunge forward with his axe. He launched himself with enough force to crater concrete. He shrank as he flew through the air, gaining speed and concentrating force due to his newly decreased mass. His axe blade met Sawtooth''s in a shower of sparks, forcing the two apart.


    Cloudstreak wasted no time releasing more clouds from her hands, covering the world around them like a veil. It created an arena of sorts, forcing Wildshot and Ranchero out of the fight while locking the two Protectorate Capes in with the villain.


    "Pull back and look for civilian casualties," Agent Carter said.


    I doubted there would be any. It wasn''t as though people couldn''t sense a confrontation coming from a setup like that. Still, "keeping civilians safe" was an excuse the Wards could swallow rather than "let the adults handle this" so they said nothing and got to work securing the perimeter. It was then that the cops finally arrived.


    ''Guess cops being late is a multiversal truism,'' I snorted.


    It was over in minutes. The gang members were rounded up. Sawtooth, lacking mobility in the cloud cover, could do little against a high-end brute like Bunyan. When the clouds dispersed, it was to Cloudstreak sauntering confidently with her partner slinging an unconscious villain over one shoulder.


    "Where''s Freeform?" I asked. "He was a t-rex then¡­ I think I lost him sometime when Cloudstreak arrived."


    "Yeah, he does that," Ranchero said with a frustrated sigh. "He can turn into any living thing he''s ever touched so guy''s slipperier than an eel."


    "How the hell''s he a t-rex then?"


    "Museum," three voices echoed.


    "We''ll get him next time," Agent Carter said. "He''s dangerous, but doesn''t go out of his way to target civilians. He''s less of a priority than SSM right now."


    ''Huh,'' I thought. ''The white supremacists follow the rules? Wouldn''t be the first time, I guess.''


    X


    2000, June 26: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I of course saw last night''s escapades blasted over the Monday morning news. Wards heroically kept civilians from harm. Protectorate heroes Cloudstreak and Bunyan arrived in time to arrest nine gangbangers and one cape with multiple homicide charges under his belt. The dead Peckerwood member didn''t even get a mention.


    I ignored it all in favor of something far more vital: breakfast.


    Doenjang-jjigae, Korean version of miso stew, was a staple in both lives. Tofu, mushrooms, clams, squash, onions, scallions, and potatoes gave the dish a deep, hearty flavor that warmed the soul. Funky fermented smell aside, it was a favorite of mine that reminded me of home.


    "What are they saying?" my mother asked as she picked out some kimchi.


    "A powered gang member was arrested last night," I said.


    "Were the Wards involved?"


    "Yes," I answered truthfully. "Don''t worry, they were two of the oldest and they were there only long enough to make sure civilians didn''t get hurt."


    "Kids shouldn''t be involved at all. What about you?"


    "I was in the office, didn''t even leave."


    "Good. Yusung, I don''t want you to fight."


    I sipped some broth and tofu. "I know, mom. I''m just working on something for my team."


    "Are you going in again today?"


    I shook my head. "No, the contract is thirty hours per week. Just because it''s summer break doesn''t mean I need to spend all my time at the office."


    "That''s good. You should be a child. Do you want to go to the park?"


    "You have work, mom. I''m just going to do some homework, read a book, listen to music, maybe meditate a little. I promise."


    "Okay, son. I worry about you."


    "I love you too, mom."


    X


    I wasn''t entirely truthful. I intended to stay home, but the moment mom left the house, I brought out my three pounds of Petricite alloy and bottles of holy water. I started by converting each bottle into the Water of Life found in the deepest fountain of Helia. Or at least, my best approximation of it.


    Runeterra followed the same general rule as most fantasy settings: Age meant power. And the Water of Life? It was old. It predated Helia and much like True Ice, I would need a hundred Mana Crystals for a single thimble-full. The stuff Maokai saw when he was first born on the Blessed Isles was far from practical at the moment, but that didn''t mean my quest was a lost cause.


    The Ruination had corrupted the sacred well. Though the relic weapons held a portion of the water''s holy power, it was just that, the cinder of a cinder of what it once was. By the time the first Sentinels got their hands on the stones of Helia, the pool had been diluted by the countless undead and corrupted nature spirits into something much more manageable. This, this I could do.


    It was unsurprisingly more expensive than a regular healing potion, at five Mana Crystals per bottle. Considering the sizable stockpile under my bed, that wasn''t much of an issue.


    Then came the part I wasn''t sure about: I soaked the Petricite alloy in a pool of the Water of Life while flooding both with Mana Crystals. The goal was to infuse the concepts of "life" and "light" into the metal.


    Strictly speaking, I was treading new ground. Petricite trees as a species were born of the Rune Wars and native to Western Valoran, not the Blessed Isles. The Blessed Isles, before the Ruination, predated the Rune Wars by centuries. And yet, I had reason to believe that Petricite alloy would be a worthy substitute for the stones quarried there.


    Petricite wasn''t just a magic dampener after all; it, being a plant, absorbed mana and used it to grow like any other form of energy. That was why the white forests had so little mana, because the trees hogged it all. My hope was that with the naturally absorbent properties of the magical wood, I would be able to infuse brand new concepts into the metal, creating a relic weapon despite the lack of the Blessed Isles.


    Forty. It took forty goddamn crystals and four hours of constant focus before the World Rune pulsed with satisfaction.


    ''Shit, there goes my stockpile,'' I grouched.


    Still, I couldn''t suppress my glee. It was hardly Avarosa''s bow, but damn¡­ The alloy itself had been trimmed and reshaped by the sacred water and transmuted by the World Rune into something else. Instead of the metallic sheen it held before, it now looked to be made of a pristine, white marble that glowed dimly with a light from within. Its body had also been slimmed down, as though tailored for younger hands. I knew that even as I aged, the grip would not fail me.


    The grip of the gun had taken inspiration from Lucian''s twin pistols. Rather than stone, it had instead doubled down on the metallic sheen, transmuting into a magic-absorbent metal that looked like it was made of wrought iron. It was shaped like a bat''s wing. It coiled around the stone, though it lacked the "S" inscribed on the side for Lucian''s wife.


    If I didn''t know any better, I''d call it a glorified prop. Perfect.


    I reached out and held it in my hands, feeling the weight of my new pistol. Even at just three pounds, I found it hard to steady with one hand and knew it''d be a long while before I crafted a second. Sometimes, being a kid sucked.


    I allowed the World Rune to jump to the surface and fuel the pistol. The inner light brightened in answer and I knew that I could fire this thing as quickly as I could think the thought, the beauty of a soul-fueled weapon.


    "Now¡­ how do I test this thing?"


    Author''s Note


    Repeating crossbows are not like automatic weapons. They don''t "rapid fire." It really just means you can pull a lever (or a trigger) to load the next bolt and draw. Wildshot''s are two one-handed repeaters carrying tranq darts instead of steel bolts. Because they''re one-handed, they only store five bolts each.


    Gee¡­ the gang leader with virtually limitless shapeshifting escaped¡­ can''t possibly be a bad thing¡­


    I can''t be the only Korean that eats jjigae for breakfast, right?


    Lucian has two relic pistols, but they look distinct if you care to look. One has an "L" carved on it, the other an "S" for his wife, Senna. Her pistol looks sleeker and the grip flares near where the hammer would normally be. The grip''s also edged at the other end almost like a bat''s wing.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.8 Antebellum

    <div>


    Antebellum 2.8


    2000, June 26: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Phoenix was not Brockton Bay. It did not have a convenient Boat Graveyard where all the local capes went to test their powers or beat their breasts in shows of force before scouting competition and recruits alike. In fact, its overall economy had increased as a result of Leviathan''s appearance.


    Phoenix was a hub for the aerospace industry, military and civilian alike, manufacturing everything from helicopters to electronic circuits and navigational components. With land and sea very much in jeopardy, people invested heavily into aerial transportation. Companies like Boeing and Northrop adjusted significant portions of their production lines into designing more efficient cargo planes.


    It was also a hub for medical devices and pharmaceutical companies, which may have explained that farce of a lawsuit.


    I had no intention of letting the PRT know what I made so using their firing range was right out.


    There wasn''t an easy way for me to test out my new relic pistol. The single downside to the weapon was that it literally glowed in the dark after all. Still, I did my best to find somewhere secluded and easily overlooked.


    I snuck out near midnight with a crude mask and sunglasses along with dad''s old military dress coat. It was one of the few things mom kept of him and I hated having to use it as a disguise, but I had nothing else. I obscured the Korean flag and any identifying insignias with masking tape. It made me look like an idiot, but that was better than being seen as dangerous or tracked back home because I wore a foreign military medal.


    Several blocks away from my house was Encanto Park. It was one of if not the biggest park in the city, with its own mini-island and an "amusement park" in the middle. The amusement park had train rides, carnival games, and other small things to keep the kids busy while parents shot the breeze. The park, being a public space, didn''t officially close until eleven and I was worried that the security guard would not have dozed off yet. Instead, I set my sights next door to the Encanto Golf Course. It was a full eighteen-hole course with a driving range and practice green. It also closed at six, meaning the whole area was deserted.


    After all, who''d bother stealing from a golfing green?


    The lights near the driving range were on to deter entrants, but I wasn''t interested in the expensive golfing equipment. I made my way around to the furthest hole and climbed the fence. I mentally cordoned off my target range in a section of the course isolated by a miniature grove. It was as close to alone I''d get in the middle of a city like Phoenix.


    I took my place at the edge of the grove, legs spread shoulder-width apart for stability. With my right hand holding the pistol and left hand supporting the wrist, I took aim at a tree about thirty feet away and fired.


    There was no easy description. The recoil was somehow both physical and spiritual. My soul lurched. A burst of mana was drawn from the well and fed directly into the gun''s grip. From there, it pulsed a brilliant blue before, with the pull of an imagined trigger, it launched into the tree. My hands jerked a little from a recoil I wasn''t expecting. Light shouldn''t have mass like that, right?


    I tossed any expectations of being able to dual-wield out the window. I could tell that aiming properly in the middle of a fight would be a challenge even while bracing with both hands. The gun wasn''t exceptionally heavy or anything, but I was a pint-sized little snot at the moment.


    "One day," I promised myself.


    I walked up to the tree and saw the damage. There was no neat bullet hole, but I did see a small indent along with some scorched bark. I felt that if I put in more mana, I''d get a bigger blast.


    I took my position again and shot a few more blasts of mana at different quantities. The biggest burst made a sizable dent into a tree, enough so that I had to move for fear of breaking the trunk altogether with repeated rounds. It also came with a large recoil, enough to make me stumble back and fling my hands above my head. After that, I stuck to minor mana bullets and focused on trying to fire as many of them as I could without dropping my accuracy too much. I was no Lucian, but one per second seemed like a respectable amount. It was like a mental muscle, one I needed focus to use.


    To close off the night, I found a different tree and decided to emulate one of the Purifier''s signature techniques.


    I delved deep into the World Rune and drew out memories of his practices with Senna. It was an interesting experience. The memories I found weren''t at all like my own. I could remember my mother''s smile, the jjigae I had for breakfast, the designs on the back of my spoon, and more. With Lucian''s memories, individual details like Senna''s hair ornaments or the way she laughed and mocked him teasingly were vague, like mist in the breeze. The style, each movement and focus as he channeled mana into his pistols, those were as crisp as the winter wind.


    This time, I didn''t just allow the mana to flow, I pulled. The drain was palpable; I could feel the mana travel through my spine and my arms to pool into the relic pistol. There, instead of releasing, I held it and condensed it, shaping it into a nearly solid mass. I took a deep breath and released on the exhale.


    This time, when I fired, the kickback tossed my arms over my head. The result was not a single shining bullet, but a beam of light that ripped a neat hole straight through the tree. I could smell the burning wood from where I was standing.


    I stared dumbstruck but moved when I heard the wood creak and begin to fall on itself.


    ''Nope, not sticking around.''


    I spent the rest of the night firing bullets of varying intensities. I used the bare minimum amount of mana to practice my aim and fired stronger shots into the earth. I wanted to see if it was possible to tire myself. The answer was yes: By the time I snuck back home and crawled into bed, there was a soul-deep exhaustion. The World Rune was as bright as ever, but my body didn''t take well to channeling mana constantly. It was just one more thing to practice.


    X


    That night, I was once again brought to the altar that housed the World Rune. The nine orbited the three Keystones, with one I knew to be Time Warp Tonic lit. I felt the same pull as before and knew that I was about to ignite a second star.


    It was by now a familiar scene, but rather than contempt, it bred in me a greater sense of gravitas. My connection to the World Rune was widening and my very soul trembled with anticipation.


    I stepped onto the altar and a star came to me eagerly, shining with a light that warmed my soul. Azure flames covered my right hand and when they faded, three runic tattoos in the shape of stylized bullets decorated the back. Memories, instructions, and knowledge flooded my brain, settling into the very core of my identity as though they''d always been mine.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Minion Dematerializer," I whispered.


    In game, the player got three items that could instantly vaporize a minion. Good for farming early on when a Champion''s damage didn''t scale. Good for getting gold. Good for removing the enemy''s cover so you could land your skill shots.


    "Wouldn''t it be funny if I could just zap away an endbringer?" I laughed to myself. But no, if I channeled that kind of mana through my squishy human body, I''d go the way of Tyrus in the blink of an eye.


    Just as the chrono-acceleration provided by Time Warp Tonic came with the hard limitation of having to drink a potion first, Minion Dematerializer came with its own limitations. To start, I''d gain a "bullet" every twenty-four hours. I could hold up to three, one per rune.


    Once activated, I could channel the mana stored in a tattoo for three seconds before releasing a beam of highly concentrated mana with a pre-coded spell. It would dematerialize anything it hit first regardless of physical makeup, transmuting the target into raw mana and dissipating it harmlessly into the atmosphere.


    The final limitation was based on mass. It could transmute anything with a comparable mass to myself, a restraint necessitated by my own body''s ability. On the plus side, anyone missing a me-sized sphere of matter is probably going to die regardless of what happens to the rest of them.


    I''d built myself a holdout weapon and received the most aggressive of the minor runes in response. Was the World Rune adapting itself to my desires?


    With that mildly concerning thought, I allowed myself to leave my mindscape, emerging to a new day.


    X


    2000, June 28: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I spent nearly all of yesterday in meditation. I woke up, had breakfast with mom, saw her off to work, then meditated for three hours at home until lunch. After lunch, I called in an absence from the Wards, telling them that I meditate more effectively at home. It was partially true even, but mostly to hide how my crystal generation rate had increased yet again.


    It wasn''t much, barely a minute shaved off my time, but an extra crystal was nonetheless an extra potion. More importantly, normal powers didn''t improve like mine did barring a second trigger. Best to keep that little tidbit on the down low.


    So I spent all day after lunch meditating too, until mom came back and she forced me to do something childish, that being watching Disney movies with her. For the record, the Korean translation of The Lion King left much to be desired.


    Nine hours. Nine, nonstop hours of meditation got me fifty-three Mana Crystals. By my estimate, it should have been a bit higher than sixty, but I found my focus flagging if I didn''t take frequent breaks. I stored most of them in the old box under my bed and set twenty of them aside to take to the Wards. I didn''t know what I wanted to make for myself next, but the next egg never hurt.


    The day after saw me at Wards HQ with only Raquel for company.


    I''d received an email from the director telling me she appreciated my concern for my teammates, but that all changes to costume design must go through official channels. She''d then confiscated the majority of my Petricite for further testing and fabrication into handcuffs and the like. Bitch move, but bureaucracy was a bitch so that wasn''t unexpected. Even so, my little theft hadn''t gone noticed and that was the main purpose.


    Almost as important, I got belated permission to give Raquel her amulet since that wouldn''t change her costume in any way so that was what I was doing at the moment.


    "Hey, Bandit," I called. I was in my civvies while she was in full regalia. "How was your PR tour?"


    "Horrible." She pouted. "Ms. Youngston made me hand out raccoon-themed ice cream to kindergarteners."


    I couldn''t suppress my snickers. "Sucks."


    "Shut up. I''m not the baby anymore. Why aren''t you doing this?"


    "I''m currently being sued, remember?" I asked dryly. "Can''t exactly give out potions at hospitals. Besides, my costume doesn''t make me look like a stuffed animal."


    She flopped down onto the sofa with a frustrated whine. "I just want to do something meaningful. Is that so much to ask? Sting and Ranch are off on grownup patrols. Hat Trick is on ride-alongs wearing a surgical hat. Even you''re making super important potions and stuff."


    I ran a hand gently through her hair. "You matter, Bandit," I spoke softly. "It might not seem like it, but you do. The cheery act you put on in public, even if it''s all a lie, really does mean something to people. There''s a reason you''re the most popular Ward, you know? And for the record, I wouldn''t want to be Trick right now. Paramedics see some shit."


    "What good is being popular if I can''t help anyone? Isn''t that what heroes do? Save lives? Well, I haven''t been doing a whole lot of that."


    "Didn''t you ride-along as a first responder to that arson attack the other day? Saw that on the news. I heard you pulled someone from the fire."


    "One."


    "Still more than me," I said honestly. "I''m told my potions help, but I''ve yet to personally see any of that."


    "I just¡­ I just wish I could do more," she said, almost at a whisper.


    "Me too," I admitted quietly. "Me too." We sat there in companionable silence before I remembered my original reason for talking to her. "I have something for you."


    I took out the necklace and presented it to her. It was a simple affair, a chain with a circular coin in the middle, one side white and the other a metallic gray. She eyed the necklace then looked back to me thoughtfully before her expression settled on a mischievous smile.


    "Aww that''s sweet, Andy," she cooed, "but you''re a little young for girls."


    "Fine, if you don''t want your Petricite amulet, then who am I to force you?" I said with a voice as dry as the Grand Canyon. I made to pull away.


    "Nonono, I''ll be good," she whined. She tried to blink the amulet from my hands, but it clattered to the floor. All she received was the chain itself.


    I looked at the amulet. "And now we know it works. You can''t blink away the Petricite alloy, can you?"


    "Yeah, now can I please have the magic doodad?"


    "Doodad? Lulu would love you," I grumbled, but tossed her the amulet nonetheless.


    "Who?"


    "A cheerful midget. Now, one side of the coin is made of regular steel so you can rest that against your skin. When you want to shut your power off, all you need to do is flip it so the Petricite is what touches you directly."


    "Thanks, easy enough to understand."


    "Yeah, made it idiot-proof for my favorite trash panda," I smirked.


    "Jerk," she replied with her tongue sticking out.


    "Maybe, but I''m the best jerk."


    X


    After a bit of friendly back and forth, Raquel took her turn on console while I holed myself up in my lab. Not all of the Petricite had been taken; enough remained so that I could work on an elixir to negate innate powers. Brutes, movers, changers, and thinkers generally weren''t affected by Petricite coming in contact with their skin, so, I''d suppress their powers in the same way the mageseekers did to Sylas: poison.


    My first attempt at a Petricite Elixir was a failure, not because it wasn''t strong enough, but because it was too potent. As it turned out, eating powdered rock-tree did terrible things to your digestive tract, even in drinkable form. Thankfully, I didn''t have to find out the hard way; the World Rune informed me that what I''d made would "clog the pipes" so to speak and cause intestinal failure.


    I remedied this by mixing the new solution with a health potion at a ratio of three to one. This would allow the potion to pass more smoothly through the body, the health potion''s beneficial effects fixing minor inconveniences on the way through. The result was a potion that would prevent the activation of all powers. However, it still wouldn''t reverse any changes. For example, Crawler would not be able to adapt to any stimulus while the elixir was in his body, but nor would the monster turn back into a man.


    Author''s Note


    The laser he gets when he tries to condense the mana in the gun is Lucian''s Piercing Light.


    Heh, I bet some of you forgot the rune page. He got Minion Dematerializer. Andy made a gun, so he gets some bullets. Never quite understood why the Dematerializer was a part of the Inspiration rune page, but *shrugs* blame Riot.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.9 Antebellum

    <div>


    Antebellum 2.9


    2000, June 29: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    My summer homework was finished in mere hours and with nothing left to do, I spent much of the day in meditation again. I wasn''t blind, figuratively, I mean. I knew the PRT hid things from us younger Wards and though I couldn''t be sure to what extent, I had my suspicions. Events were escalating and my potions were being used up as fast as I could make them. Coupled with the fact that Redbird and Echo, another member of Protectorate Team One, had been reassigned to Oathkeeper''s command and the things I''d heard implied some worrying times for the city.


    I did at least manage to find out what happened to the Petricite they took. Most of it was machined into handcuffs, but a few slivers were ground down into caps for bullets. They wouldn''t work. I could''ve told them that if they bothered to ask, but of course they didn''t. They saw a magic metal and figured they could do whatever they wanted.


    At its core, Petricite wasn''t a mana dampener, though I often referred to it that way. It was a mana absorber, a sink. There were ways to draw out the mana stored in Petricite, that was how Galio could move, but it also meant there was only so much mana a nugget of Petricite could absorb at a time before it became ineffective. Like with any energy sink, if you introduced too much energy into the material faster than its maximum rate of absorption, it''d explode like a pipe bursting during a flood. And with no one but me able to measure mana, they had no surefire way of knowing how to best use the material.


    Raquel''s amulet would passively discharge the stored mana harmlessly into the atmosphere, that was the whole point of me reinforcing it with mana in the forging process, but if she intentionally tried to activate her power constantly, she would eventually overwhelm the material. It''d then fail to inhibit her for a while until its mana reserves emptied again. Accidental, infrequent surges of her power, it could handle, but constant use? That was too much for a single nugget the size of a quarter.


    Which made the tiny caps placed over bullets absolutely worthless. They might inhibit a cape''s power for all of a second or two, but getting shot tended to do that anyway.


    If one good thing came of this mess, it was that I got begrudging permission to machine my own Petricite. Eventually, the PRT would learn that tinkertech shouldn''t be fiddled with by normal humans with few sparing exceptions, and I supposed I was just another data point on the way to that lesson. In the future, they''d give me a list of things they wanted it to do and I''d machine up the appropriate designs for them. Easier for everyone and less of a waste. That, and I got to smirk smugly at the director while explaining this a few days back. That was also important.


    My at-home meditation sessions were productive, but I couldn''t just do that all day. At the moment, I was staring at another wonder of creation, one I''d completely overlooked in my rush to make the relic pistol: the Water of Life. Kind of. More specifically, the corrupted Water of Life that was a pale reflection of the original Well found by Maokai.


    I only had two bottles'' worth left, but I figured I could use them to make something valuable.


    ''Let''s see¡­ the Water of Life comes from Helia and is inherently infused with mana aligned to life, nature, and light. Maokai found it first. Then more nature spirits came along. Then the Vesani people used it to build autonomous golems, using it to draw out their own memories. It was sacred in a way few things on Runeterra truly were, a force for creation and a conduit for raw, distilled experience that remained utterly pure until the Ruination. Surely an alchemist could make much of such a magically charged ingredient.


    The World Rune pulsed in my soul as it leveraged options into my focus: A true healing potion, one that could restore my eyes without the addictive properties of the Shimmer or the curse of Vilemaw.


    Hell, Vilemaw himself, the so-called "spider god" worshipped by Elise, was in fact a product of the Well. During the Ruination, Vilemaw was a nature spirit who became corrupted and drank of the Water of Life, gaining his godlike power. His water-infused venom was what Elise drank to gain her limited form of immortality and if I was willing to shell out, I could skip the middleman and take a sip from the genuine article.


    That was the problem: shelling out. The two flawed bottles in my hands wouldn''t be enough. Typically, age equated to power on Runeterra and if I wanted the pure Water of Life as Maokai first found it, enough to heal and empower myself, I''d need enough Mana Crystals to fill a truck. Much like a weapon made of True Ice or one of Ornn''s masterworks, the Water of Life was beyond me.


    ''What else?'' I probed my soul, delving deeper. ''What else can I do with this?''


    More relic weapons came to the surface: A shield of light that could banish the shadows and reveal all lies. A relic cannon of black and white that could wield the Black Mist as sure as it could wield the light of the soul. A crossbow so large that it better suited a ballista attached to a cart than a single wielder.


    ''No,'' I dismissed them all. ''I don''t need another weapon. If this thing can''t give me my eyes now¡­ can I restore it somehow? Charge it?''


    A different memory surfaced, one that I initially thought had nothing to do with Helia. It was a Mana Crystal encased in a blue, teardrop-shaped gem. The Prodigal Explorer would find it in a Shuriman tomb.


    ''The Tear of the Goddess,'' I thought reverently.


    In-game, it was the staple item of many rapid-fire casters because it allowed the wielder to permanently increase their mana reserves with every spell used, eventually capping out and becoming material for an even better item. If that was all it could do, I''d have no need for it. The World Rune was a limitless well after all. Why seek more mana when the little I could access already taxed me so?


    But it was so much more than that. It was an anchor, a bridge between the physical and spiritual. When Ezreal reached the Tear, it was being used as the anchor of a seal used to keep the Void from bleeding over into Runeterra. Kai''Sa, who had been investigating the tomb for this exact seal, joined him and the two pushed back the Void together. After that, the Tear was brought back to Piltover, where it remained at the university for research purposes. Even I didn''t know exactly where the Tear came from; the World Rune was silent on the matter, only that it was not truly the relic of a celestial.


    ''Does it even matter? The Tear is at least partially sacred. It''s greatly attuned to protection. It can store incredible amounts of mana. Even better, it could ultimately be used as the core for a powerful artifact, not quite a masterwork to the Forgelord''s standard, but near enough to be considered a national treasure by any kingdom. Combined with the World Rune''s ability to transmute materials for me¡­ Can I make this?''


    I didn''t even notice my hands move. Before I knew it, I had my last two bottles emptied into a bowl along with the sum total of the Mana Crystals I''d made today, twenty-eight all told. I''d probably get an earful about responsibility and "slacking off" when I showed up at the PRT with no crystals, but that was acceptable.


    On the surface, the process felt superficially similar to making a relic pistol, a whole lot of transmutation and focused meditation, but there were some noteworthy differences. Unlike the Petricite, the Water of Life had much of the concepts and attunements inherent to the Tear of the Goddess. Life, light, a bridge between the physical and spiritual, a reservoir of magic¡­ Perhaps it was this metaphysical similarity, or perhaps it was simply because I''d done something comparable before, but the transmutation came easier.


    The twenty-eight crystals merged themselves into one even as the water gathered and coagulated. At the end of two hours, I had a single, beautiful gem bluer than any sapphire. It was a little bigger than my thumb and along the tail end of the Tear was a hole, perfect for a thin chain to tie it around my neck. If I needed any proof that the World Rune would indulge my intent, this minor adjustment was it.


    I quickly found a chain and hooked it around my neck. The chain itself was a spare, one I''d gotten just in case the size didn''t match on Raque''s pendant. The moment I put it on, I felt my mana surge.


    The sensation was impossible to put to words. My magic was always there; the World Rune was quite literally grafted to my soul after all. But now, now it felt closer to the surface. I didn''t need extra mana, but in making the Tear and infusing my own intent into the creation process, I''d inadvertently made my first magical focus.


    Wearing it also reminded me of something else that happened in-game: The wearer could deal a little extra damage against minions. It was a way to make farming a little easier, a tiny nod on the part of the developers to make sure the player didn''t fall too far behind early game.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    The Tear was a bridge between the spiritual and physical. I now had a far more literal understanding of what that meant: Simply having it on my person would attune my body to mana, slowly increasing my physical body''s ability to process magic. It was a glacial process, but I''d eventually become superhuman as my body adapted to the increased metaphysical "weight" hanging from my neck. When I''d finally gotten the full use from this item, I could turn it into something else.


    ''It''s an item that evolves with me.'' I grinned. ''It''s perfect.''


    X


    2000, June 30: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I''d discovered a tangential benefit to having the Tear: It let me hide how efficient my Mana Crystal generating meditations had become. I stopped meditating at HQ because I was afraid my crystal generation rate would be monitored, making it all the more difficult for me to store up stockpiles for myself. Now, I could simply produce one every ten minutes and sink the excess mana into my greedy little necklace. I hadn''t planned it that way, but it did give me a bit more freedom.


    I was fortunate in that most of my "tinkering" could be automated. I still needed to produce the appropriate amount of crystals, enchant items, etc. but I could leave the machining to computer programs and premade casts.


    I had more free time on my hands than many tinkers, but I found that it was a curse as well as a blessing. After ensuring that all my dehydrators, casts, and furnaces were running, I was ushered off to the Scottsdale Fashion Square, the mall where I''d held my debut. The PRT was insistent on "keeping up morale" and wanted me to sign my very first merchandise.


    So, that''s what I did for three hours. I shook hands, smiled, and pretended I gave a damn about Rubedo-brand lunchboxes and whatnot while there was a gang war going on. On the upside, Director Lyons had indeed commissioned some Rubedo-brand sunglasses which I found deliciously ironic.


    Following the PR event, I changed back into my civvies. I was decked out almost entirely in PRT merch, from a Redbird-brand t-shirt and Ranchero jeans to my own sunglasses.


    I spent a rare afternoon with my mom. She fussed over me like only a mother could. We had lunch, got a haircut and some new clothes she promised made me look "dashing," and visited the local music store for some jazz CDs for me and a new metronome for her.


    All told, the interruption represented a startling bit of normalcy in my otherwise cape-centric life, one I suspect mom planned days in advance.


    I heard the central fountain gargling in the background. Mom let go of my hand and replaced hers with my collapsible walking stick. She pushed me gently onto a bench.


    "I''m going to go use the restroom. Stay here a while, okay?" she said.


    I nodded agreeably. "Okay, mom. I''ll be right here."


    I heard her walking off into the distance and turned inwards to meditate. It wasn''t like I could check my phone or anything. I didn''t get to sink much into the Tear.


    I hadn''t sat there longer than three minutes when I heard someone come up.


    "Hey, are those the new hero-glasses?" said a boy I''d never heard before. He sounded like he was a few years older than me, not old enough to have his balls drop, but not my age either. Two more footsteps accompanied him.


    I mentally sighed and turned to face him. "Yeah, Rubedo''s. Do you like them?"


    "They''re cool, but he doesn''t show up much. Mom says that''s ''cause he''s in big trouble."


    "Maybe, but these glasses are pretty comfortable."


    "Can I see?" said another voice.


    Seeing no harm in it, I took them off and held them out to that other boy. "Sure."


    "Woah, what happened to your eyes?"


    I gestured to my walking stick. "I''m blind," I explained patiently. "I got hurt, see?" I felt someone take the walking stick from me. "Please give that back. I need it to go anywhere."


    "Hey, look, I''m Oathkeeper," a third voice said.


    I sighed. I''d already drank three servings of Oracle''s during my work as a Ward and hadn''t bothered to bring any extra with me. Agent Morrison had a few, but he''d driven off already. Mom had an extra in her handbag, but she''d taken that with her. I lamented my carelessness even as I held out my hand. "Hey, give that back," I said as firmly as my eight year old body would allow.


    "No, this is my sword," the child said stubbornly. Judging by the whooshing noises he kept making, he was probably acting out some of her sword draws.


    ''Heh, I used to do the same,'' I thought bemusedly. Not quite the same, but I used to take mom''s umbrella and pretend it was a lance back in my old life. ''Still annoying as fuck though.''


    I stood and made a lunge for where I thought the "sword" would be. I knew Oathkeeper liked her iaido, so I reached near waist-level expecting a horizontal swing. I''d guessed right. My forearm collided with the pole and a slight sting shot up my arm. I grabbed it and yanked firmly, but the older boy held on. "Enough. I''d like my walking stick back now."


    "Nu-uh," he yanked back. I winced at how much effort it took me to simply hold on to the stick and couldn''t help the realization that I had a long way to go to compete with trained normal, never mind brutes and combat thinkers.


    "We''ll give the stick back if I can keep your glasses," the second voice said slyly, the one who''d asked to see them. "You don''t even need them."


    I almost lost it at that. Cover or not, playing the blind kid wasn''t fun. In school, I was known as a vulnerable student and the teachers were extra-watchful around me. I didn''t have that protection here. It wasn''t as though I could take my emergency pills and slap the little shits around via Iron either, no matter how tempting that was. The worst part of all this was that I couldn''t tell if there was any actual malice or they were just kids too stupid to know better.


    "No, they''re both mine so give them back."


    The original boy to approach me said something, but I couldn''t hear him over some girl screeching. The weight on the other end of the stick suddenly fell away.


    "Leave him alone," she growled. She sounded like she''d be around our age and had a vaguely Asian accent. It wasn''t thick enough that I could place her country, but it was there nonetheless.


    "Hey, you kicked him!"


    "Yeah, so? Fuck are you going to do about it?"


    That was as far as they got because an adult finally decided to intervene now that there was actual violence.


    "Hey!" he shouted. I could hear heavy footsteps coming our way and I pictured an overweight, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and puffing cheeks. "What''s going on here?"


    "She kicked him!" The three were readily yelling.


    "She kicked my baby," a shrill woman cried. "Get her out of here!"


    ''For fuck''s sake,'' I thought. ''You mean the mom was watching nearby? Talk about shit parenting.'' I was sorely tempted to hit her, consequences be damned. Instead, I yelled. "Excuse me!" When I felt eyes on me, I gestured generally to the middle-aged man. "Are you the mall security, sir?"


    "Yeah, can''t you see the bad-" he cut himself off, only now noticing my eyes and the walking stick in my hand.


    I smiled beatifically. "No, sir. I can''t see your badge. I was sitting here waiting for my mom. She''s in the restroom by the way. Three boys came and took my sunglasses and walking stick. I think they were pretending the stick was Oathkeeper''s sword. I asked them to give it back, but they wouldn''t. Then some girl came and helped me. I don''t know if she kicked him or not, but she''s helping me."


    "You-"


    "No," the mall cop cut off the overprotective mom. He tried to cover up his faux pas the way most people do: by being seen to be doing something. "You get those three kids out of there and give me those sunglasses back," he snapped. "They each get a warning on their record. You hear me?"


    ''Miracle of miracles, an adult doing his job on Earth-Bet,'' I drawled in my head. Still, I got up and tucked the walking stick under my arm before bowing respectfully to him. "Thank you, sir."


    "Sure, kid. Here''re your sunglasses."


    I turned to the girl. "Thank you too. My name''s Andy, what''s yours?"


    "Alice." I couldn''t see, but I could hear the smile in her voice.


    And that was how I met one Alice Nohara, daughter of super tiger-mom Shigure and major type-A personality herself. When mom arrived, she and Alice''s mom got to talking. Before us kids knew what was happening, she and Shigure were gossiping like old friends.


    Shigure and her husband, Kenji, owned a small izakaya called "Izakaya Nohara" not far from our own apartment. Alice had apparently recognized me from school, though I couldn''t say the same for obvious reasons. She was a year above me and hadn''t found a reason to hang out with someone younger during recess.


    Mom thanked her profusely.


    When the adults got to talking about hobbies and talents, read: subtly bragging about how awesome their kids were, Shigure expressed how she''d like Alice to pick up an instrument to "broaden her horizons and stand out for college applications." I couldn''t suppress a roll of my eyes, but that went thankfully unnoticed. Mom talked about her own musical career and offered to tutor Alice in the violin. She''d become a regular voice in my life from that point.


    Author''s Note


    Vilemaw''s lore is AU. His true origins are completely unknown. We only know that he is a spider god who lives in the Shadow Isles (one of the few living things there), is worshipped by Elise, and granted her a form of immortality that lasts so long as she drinks his venom. I figured it''d be an interesting bit of flavortext to say he''s a nature spirit corrupted by the Ruination who made his cave over the old Well of Life. The faded text that Markus sees near his cave in "Strand by Silken Strand" are the ruins of the sacred well.


    The mall scene is admittedly very clich¨¦, but eh. I wanted a try at handling childishness for childishness'' sake. I think this fic is a bit too mature at times, not in content, but definitely in how Andy approaches matters. He can''t help it, but there''s an inexplicable charm in kids being kids that I like. Or maybe, this scene is more important than you''d think? Hmm...


    Now, this is the conclusion of the second arc. An interlude will follow.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 2.9.5 Kevin Rivers

    Interlude 2.9.5: Kevin Rivers


    2000, June 30: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I did my best work in coffee shops and libraries. Ironic, I know. It certainly wasn''t where people expected the lieutenant of the biggest, baddest gang in town to do his business, but that was the point. I didn''t need some shitty tough-guy wannabe cholo who couldn''t rub two brain cells together looking over my shoulder and only a fucking retard kept paperwork inside meth labs. No, a quiet table at the local coffee shop at the mall served just fine, thank you.


    I smoothed my pressed gray shirt and took a sip of my drink, barista''s recommendation, before shooting said girl a playful wink and a nod. She blushed the color of her ginger hair and I considered asking her out for a "night on the town." Who knew? If I liked her, I might not even show her to the boys after I was through.


    I grinned as I responded to a message from one of my unpowered officers. He was exactly the kind of underling I liked to have: competent, but with plenty of strings I could pull. He wasn''t good in a fight, short dude with a gut like Fat Albert, but that wasn''t the point. He had a nice, disarming smile and a boisterous, cheery laugh that no one could stay mad at. The fat little bowling ball knew every goddamn cop this side of Phoenix. Guys like these were the useful ones, the sort that could do more than swing a tire iron or pull a trigger.


    Ever since me and the rest of the Crips let Stampede and Lockjaw get away from Oathkeeper, things had really been coming together. La Torcha''s plan was slow, but this was how it had to be if we didn''t want to invite the flying brick into our backyard. Some of our soldiers didn''t get that, too much fire in their blood, but that was fine; people went missing all the time.


    We, meaning Tequila and I, got an in with the Peckerwoods for that little cameo the other night.


    Tequila was a Filipina who was raised Catholic by her strict granny. Fell away, a bit like me. She was another one that was impossible to dislike, a short, curvy party girl who knew how to flaunt it. "Sex on legs," Parade kept calling her. She was a pretty face and a nice pair of tits for the peckers to stare at while I did the actual negotiating.


    I took a sip of my drink and let out a silent snort. Racist fuckers thought they were so smart, playing the spic and the nigger against each other, never mind that Tequila wasn''t Latina. Didn''t matter, we had to let them keep thinking that. Tequila shook her ass and sucked a few dicks while I promised a few soldiers here and there, organized the occasional breakout. Two weeks later, between the two of us, we knew every white trash worth mentioning, every single weapons stash, and every donut-stained pig they had on dial.


    We got what we wanted in the end. Crips always got what we wanted. Torcha always got what she wanted: More unpowered violence. More tension. Regular contact with that oily bastard Freeform. Pretty sure Tequila was his squeeze now. Perfect. Shit for her, she''s gay for Torcha, but perfect for the plan.


    I was disturbed from my thoughts by a commotion outside. I glared through the window at some fat redneck huffing and puffing towards a bunch of kids. His face was a glistening red and the mall "security" jacket wasn''t doing the Pillsbury doughboy any favors. Sure clung to that shit like a letterman though.


    Wants to quit. Wants to punch his boss. Wants to slap the kids.


    ''Figures,'' I snorted. The "law" kept him down. Society. Decency. Morality. Pretty words for the same thing: Chains. They were laws, rules that people were bound by. And me? I was Lawless, the man who heard all the desires people had. As ironic as it was that the keeper of the "law" wanted to punt a few kids, he wasn''t the one who caught my interest.


    No, it was the blind boy standing by the fountain. And he was blind. Even from inside the store, I could see the line of angry scar tissue streaking through his eyes. He faked it well enough. If I couldn''t hear his wants, I''d have thought he was a normal Asian boy.


    ''Heh. Can a chink be a chink without eyes?'' I''d have to ask Tequila that, maybe when she didn''t have a knife on her.


    Wants to hit the other boys. Wants to shoot them.


    ''Hoh? Little boy thinks he''s a little man,'' I snorted with laughter. People had the strangest desires in the confines of their own hearts. They wouldn''t voice them aloud, not even to themselves, but I heard them all. Most weren''t so extreme, especially at that age, but that only made him worth looking at more closely.


    Wants to break free of authority. Wants to fix his eyes. Wants to drink.


    The last two whispers made me pause. I drained my cup and closed my laptop before leaving the caf¨¦ to go closer. ''Fix his eyes, eh?''


    Wants to make something to fix his eyes so he never has to deal with annoying children again.


    I did my best work in libraries and coffee shops. After all, half the job of being a thinker was being in the best place for opportunities to land in your lap. I left, the cute, ginger barista utterly forgotten in favor of my new lucky break.


    X


    2000, July 1: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Contrary to popular opinion, we Crips did not have our main base above a restaurant or behind a laundromat. Nor did we buy out a motel. No, we did the other clich¨¦ thing: We started a moving company and bought some normal office space.


    Clich¨¦s were clich¨¦s for a reason though.


    Being in the supply chain and logistics industries meant we could have a large lot to separate our building from our neighbors. It meant we could have a lot of vans and that people could come and go without drawing attention from any nosy fuckers. It meant having a legitimate business, one that didn''t need too much overhead or license inspections beyond the CDL.


    I walked into the Red Sands Moving Company headquarters, whistling a jaunty tune. I found the rest of the executives in the second floor lounge. None of us were in costume, not that many of us bothered with much, but that was how La Torcha liked it. No powers or masks in the building. Deniability.


    La Torcha, Veronica, lounged like a queen on a sofa against the wall, her business skirt wrinkled from her posture. She was the president of Red Sands and dressed the part during the day. I couldn''t remember the last time she ever went out at night.


    To her left was Tequila, Camille, a Filipina who thought she was Mexican. She was cuddled into Veronica''s side like a limpet. Or maybe a cat marking her territory. If "trashy chic" had a model, she''d be it. She wore a strapless tube top that showed off her tits and midriff and a pair of ripped jeans with one leg completely missing. If she''d heard of a bra, I didn''t know it. I saw her hands twitch towards the boss'' curves and decided for the thousandth time to not touch the shitshow that was Cam''s personal life. Thinker I may be, but there were limits to even my meddling.


    To her left was Brent, also known as Parade. I knew he''d already checked out of the meeting. If he could focus on anything but Camille''s nips, I''d take it as divine providence and become a monk. He was the youngest of us at seventeen and dressed in whatever he could find from the military surplus store. Pathetic little shit couldn''t even hit on her, but he had no problem mastering women who shared her features. The funny thing was that she was about as gay as could be; she had eyes for the boss and no one else. The boss just tried to keep the punk out of the way.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Jamal, Beartrap, sat with Nisha, Bone Maiden, on the far couch. Jamal handled shipping schedules and logistics for the company''s more legitimate operations so I worked with him frequently to smuggle this or that. He was a violent fucker who liked to make his toys saw off their own legs, but he knew how to keep his hobbies to his off hours. A professional, I could respect that. The chubby fucker wore the Red Sands polo shirt, with a trucker hat with our company logo tossed onto the coffee table.


    Nisha acted as Veronica''s secretary and the face of business. Put her in a middle school PTA meeting and you wouldn''t be able to tell her apart from any other middle-aged soccer mom. She was pale, lanky, and blonde with a few acne scars here and there. Not ugly, but she sure as hell wasn''t a looker either. In other words, a face perfect for being our forgettable secretary.


    She was as checked out as Brent, but on her phone instead of ogling anyone. As one of our heaviest hitters, she got a lot of leeway for shit like that. Even I had no idea how she ended up with the Crips, but it wasn''t my business either. Of the other executives, I found her and Jamal the easiest to work with.


    "Kevin, what''s up?" Camille cheered with an angelic smile even as her eyes gave me the once over. She wasn''t checking me out; she was looking for my hidden pistol and knives. Wasn''t much of a fighter, but it was that duplicity that made the bitch so damn dangerous. I could feel her aura tugging at my focus already, her attention subconsciously making the influence worse. My gaze flickered down for a moment but I steeled myself and met her eyes. She nodded subtly, then shot Brent a longsuffering glare that even I only barely noticed.


    Wants to strip for Veronica. Wants to fuck her. Wants to make Brent watch so he knows how out of his fucking league she is. Wants to scoop out his eyes and feed them to him.


    I rolled my eyes. I knew. She knew I knew. Sometimes, being a thinker sucked sweaty balls. "Not much, fake-chola," I greeted as I took my seat to the boss'' right. I ignored the middle finger she flipped my way and took no small pleasure in seeing that once again, I was the sharpest dressed fucker in the room with a wine-red collared shirt and tan slacks. I set my spotless loafers onto the coffee table so Brent could stare at my feet and wish he could fill these shoes.


    It was rare for all six of us to meet like this; most of us were busy with our own affairs.


    "Good, everyone''s here so let''s get this meeting over and done with," Veronica said, never one to mince words. The boss looked around the room and met each of our eyes. "We''re ready. There will be several prison breaks held on the Fourth of July. Jamal''s been smuggling in the gear over the last two months. Cam''s going to stir up the Peckerwoods. The plan is to start a city-wide war, force the attention off us."


    "How sure are we that this won''t bring Alexandria out east?" Nisha tried. "I thought that was why we were sitting quiet."


    "It''s a balancing game, but that''s life, no? Tell me, Nisha, how many of our boys are held in Phoenix?"


    "Not many. They''re mostly¡­" The puzzled look on her face bled away into a wicked grin. "They''re mostly locals. Mesa. Peckers."


    "Exactly." She spread out her arms. "This is a business, ladies and gentlemen. What happens when you flood the market with low-skilled workers?"


    "A bloodbath," I finished for her. "The Peckers have been getting pushed back because Phoenix has two whole Protectorate teams. Even if the peewees don''t get involved, that''s a lot to deal with on top of the SSM. And Caras? That mad dog is going to light the fuse just to watch this city burn. With a bit of help, Phoenix blows up."


    "Yes, that''s right. Jamal''s organized the breakouts. Nisha''s kept eyes off us. You and Cam''s got inroads into the Peckerwoods. When shit hits the fan, I want you to hit them hard while making it look like the Mesas did it. Brent will tag along with Cam and take control of Freeform."


    "They bleed each other out and we get our hands on a high level changer," Jamal nodded. "I can dig it. We''re not keeping the racist fuckers long-term though, right?"


    "Of course not, Jamal. We''re going to swallow them whole then shoot the fuckers we don''t like. We can deal with the SSM after that."


    X


    I found Veronica in her office after the blessedly short meeting. It was one of the upsides of being in the wrong side of the law. High level meetings like that one ended rather quickly because none of us had the power to tell Veronica no or quibble about the plan. She decided the plan, with some occasional input from me. Everyone else shut up and trailed along.


    Veronica Camacho looked at me over a pair of reading glasses. She was going over the papers, a deceptively mundane hobby if I didn''t know for a fact she was scoping out the best places to bomb in a few days. With how the crazy bitch thought, we basically had two thinkers in our little crew.


    "Yes, Kevin?"


    "We might need to change the plan," I said honestly; best to rip the Band-Aid off now. "I got some new intel for you, boss."


    "And you didn''t tell me earlier because?"


    "I found out yesterday entirely by coincidence and spent the day following up on it. It''s legit."


    When she spoke, I tried to pretend I didn''t have cold sweat running down my spine. I saw what she could do and had no intention of being on the business end of things. "Fine, you wouldn''t do me like that. Tell me."


    "I found Rubedo. The new Ward."


    "You''re smarter than this, Kevin. We don''t touch Wards. It''s never worth the effort."


    "Even if he''s a tinker-fuck-yeah?" I shot back. "You know he makes those potions, right?"


    "Who doesn''t? Getting sued at eight over healing tech?" she snorted. "And they say I''m the monster. Those potions could be good for our boys, but they''re not worth it by themselves."


    "Yeah, well, those aren''t all he can make. Remember the steelskins?" That was what the Peckerwoods had started calling the PRT goons with brute powers. They certainly hadn''t gone unnoticed.


    She caught on quickly. "You think he makes powers in a bottle. He''s not an alchemy-tinker; he''s a powers-tinker."


    "Positive." I tapped the side of my head. "I heard him. He''s chafing, doesn''t think the Wards can use him right but can''t leave the lab setup. He''s got so many ideas too. So many wants. And you know what? I think we could provide."


    I told her what else I''d found.


    It honestly didn''t take much, though even I had to admit there was some luck involved. I followed up on a few contacts after leaving the mall. One of my moles in the police passed along something a PRT buddy had told him, something about some magic metal that could shut down powers¡­


    Yes, I was lucky indeed, so lucky that it almost felt like a trap. I''d dismissed the idea. Who the fuck would greenlight using a Ward as bait? Sure as hell wasn''t Lyons.


    I had a list of blind kids in local elementary schools by the end of the day. Wards typically lived near HQ for obvious reasons, and the blind kid was at the mall, so I was able to triangulate his neighborhood using those three data points: Phoenix Heights. It wasn''t too well off, single mother and all, but safe enough. Perfect, as it meant no one would expect the Crips to move.


    I spent last night and this morning listening in on all the things dear little Andy wouldn''t or couldn''t make because the law bound him. It was quite the list.


    When I finished, she leaned back with a satisfied nod. "Yes, you did well, Kevin. I can see why you didn''t bring this up with everyone. A Ward is a bit dicey, but what''s life without risks?"


    "So, new plan?"


    "Yes. Prison breaks still happen. We still incite a massive war. Then? Then a blind boy goes missing. I''m thinking of getting Cam to pay the kid a visit."


    I nodded. "Fair. We can''t kill the mom or that''ll break her hold on him."


    "Exactly. Nice and quiet. Does he do anything out of the house?"


    "Won''t matter much. His mom works two jobs."


    "Pity. I can respect a woman with some hustle. We take him in the chaos. Get him under Cam and no one needs to know."


    "Alright, boss. But¡­ playing devil''s advocate here. Do we need the kid right now? It''s not like he''s going anywhere, right? We could take him after we take over Phoenix."


    She thought about it. She had this habit of tapping her pen when she focused. "No, that wouldn''t work. Kidnapping a Ward is big news, Kev. If we establish ourselves, make sure we''re the only gang worth knowing in Phoenix, and then go for a Ward? No, that''s how we get that flying bitch on our asses. But if a Ward goes missing in his civilian identity¡­ an accident maybe¡­"


    "Security in anonymity. Got it. We''re going to need something to throw them off."


    "Freeform," she said simply. "We were never going to keep the racist puto for long. He''s too slippery."


    I felt a grin spread over my face. "Yeah. Yeah, I hear you, boss."


    "Lovely. Do me a favor and call in Camille. And Brent too. I have a plan."


    I walked away from her office with an easy grin. Plans changed all the time, usually for the worse. I was happy to see fate pull some strings for me for a change.


    Author''s Note


    I don''t think it needs to be said, but Kevin Rivers'' views are not my own.


    Lawless'' power is simple: He can hear the desires of anyone he can see, closer the target, the louder and more detailed the whispers, but with one caveat. The target must have no intention of acting on them in the immediate. Weird power, dead useful though.


    La Torcha thinks Alexandria has it out for her. She doesn''t. The only reason Becky even remembers her is because she''s physically incapable of forgetting. Alexandria has no interest in the Phoenix Crips.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.1 Charmed

    Charmed 3.1


    2000, July 2: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I''d hoped that making the Tear of the Goddess would have gotten me what I needed to ignite a third star in the World Rune, but it wasn''t enough. Perhaps I needed to make a "finished product," though that notion was already flawed seeing how I''d had access to the Petricite Elixir for days now. Or perhaps, this was the World Rune''s way of telling me that there was more to build with the corrupted Water of Life.


    ''Maybe it wasn''t satisfied with just the Tear?'' I wondered.


    I woke up at six in the morning and meditated for an hour, not to replenish my crystal stockpile, though I should do that too, but to sink all my gathered mana into the Tear of the Goddess hanging from my neck. It had become my new routine in the past few days. The whole point of the Tear was to slowly increase my body''s tolerance for channeling mana. Basically, I wanted to sculpt my body in the same way someone from Runeterra could.


    I got up and went through my stretches, everything I could remember being practiced by Lee Sin''s acolytes. I didn''t know exactly what my fighting style would be when I fully matured, but I figured being flexible enough to make contortionists jealous would only help in the future.


    The forms were difficult for this young body. I was left sweating buckets after a single cycle through the basic forms. There was a pressure inside of me, a feeling that I wasn''t doing this quite right even though I was, as far as I could tell from the hazy memories.


    "Not having a master is going to slow me down so much," I grumbled.


    I emerged from my room and took a shower before greeting my mom with a hug. Back in my old life, my Korean parents weren''t huggers. They showed love by kicking my ass, not letting me watch The Simpsons, demanding I get straight As. This time around, mom was definitely a hugger and the reason why depressed me a bit.


    I saw her off to her ESL class. Then, nearing ten in the morning, I decided that I wasn''t done with the Water of Life and went back to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.


    X


    It was one in the afternoon when I made my way back home, a quart of holy water in my backpack. Mass was both similar and different to many of the sermons I''d attended as a Baptist in the past. I''d stuck around for a bit after the service; churches always left me feeling somewhat introspective, even if I didn''t always agree with the message.


    I took a sip of Oracle''s the moment I got home and turned on my laptop. I found an email waiting for me addressed to all Wards.


    Phoenix Wards,


    Large-scale prison breaks have been reported all across the Phoenix Metropolitan Area and its surroundings at roughly 11:30am this morning. The coordination and methods used in these instances indicate a high likelihood of parahuman involvement.


    You are hereby ordered to remain alert. There is no declared emergency at this time, but you may be required to act in a greater capacity for the good of the community according to the Critical Response Clause of the Wards Charter.


    Regards,


    Levi Silva


    Deputy Director of the PRT


    1 (602) 555-0112


    prt_


    I let out a frustrated sigh and ran my fingers through my hair. "Well¡­ that''s ominous. And yet they''ve told me virtually nothing. How typically of the PRT."


    I opened up several local news sites and began to search for more information. As it turns out, there were quite a few prisons in the Phoenix area. Including all the city jails run by the municipal authorities and the private jails of¡­ questionable¡­ repute, there were well over a dozen. It didn''t take me long to find out what was going on. Even in the early days of the internet, word travelled fast. To say the city was blowing up would only be a slight exaggeration, and I feared not for much longer.


    According to one blogger who lived near Arizona State Prison, there was a large explosion near the gates. I managed to corroborate the information with four other entries. One of them even had a shaky video of the explosion.


    It didn''t take a genius to extrapolate: Somehow, they''d managed to coordinate a simultaneous attack on every local prison to devastating effect. Or, close enough that the detail was a matter of semantics. Question was, who were "they?"


    "Shit," I summed up in a word.


    I fixed myself a bowl of leftover miyeokguk, a type of Korean seaweed soup, and ate a light lunch before giving Agent Morrison a call. He picked up on the second ring.


    "Rubedo?" he asked, his old country drawl sounding a bit worn out.


    "Sir, are the Wards being called in?"


    He sighed. "Told him this wasn''t a good idea," I caught him muttering under his breath. "No, no you are not being called in."


    "I heard about the bombs. Is it like that everywhere?"


    "You''re not going to let up, are you, kid?"


    "Probably not."


    "Fine. Yes. Over a dozen complexes were hit, causing massive breakouts. Someone''s smuggled the inmates weapons and the mayor''s asked for reinforcements from the state."


    "How is this not our problem?"


    "It''s not our problem until there is a clear case of parahuman involvement," he said sternly. "Rubedo, son, I know you want to help. The best thing you can do now is to make more of them potions."


    I sighed. "Yes, sir."


    I gave the other Wards a call as well. Stingray and Ranchero were unusually high-strung, already tired from their patrols. Hat Trick was no better. Playing ride-along on an ambulance had to be no less exhausting than patrols expecting combat.


    I let out yet another sigh and settled down to make as many Mana Crystals as possible.


    X


    My mom came home a few hours later and we talked about our day. I told her about my new favorite jazz band. It was heavy on the sax and drums, just perfect to vibe with while meditating. I started singing and listening to jazz as a hobby for two reasons: First, I wanted to relieve mom''s worries that I was spending too much time on my cape life. Second, I wanted this hobby to be something a blind child could enjoy so I''d have something to talk about when talking to my peers or teachers at school.


    I had no true talent for music, not like my mom, but I was a passable singer and I was slowly learning to match pitch mostly successfully. I had to admit, I was happy with myself. Musical talent was something I''d lacked in my past life as well, ever since I ran out crying from my piano hagwon when I was my current age. It felt almost like I was fulfilling a long lost ambition, however minor.


    The doorbell rang at four in the afternoon.


    I glanced outside using the Oracle''s pericognition and smiled. Standing at our door was one Alice Nohara in jeans and a white t-shirt with Royalle and Oathkeeper''s faces halved and spliced together. It looked cool, honestly. I would''ve appreciated it more if I didn''t keep hearing so many negative stories about the monarch-themed hero. "Alice is here, mom."


    "Right. You have all your hero things put away?"


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Of course."


    "Your room clean?"


    "Yes, mother," I drawled.


    "Are you rolling your eyes at me?" she said in that tone all sons know. Sure, I was mentally in my thirties, but it never failed to send a chill down my back. Fear the slipper for it brings pain.


    "No, mother," I replied dutifully. "This hyoja would never dream of such a disrespectful thing."


    She flicked my ear. "That''s what I thought. Now open the door and let her in, won''t you?"


    "Yes, mother."


    I made a show of grumpily walking to the door. When I got there, I flung it open, arms spread wide for a hug. "What do, Scooby-Doo?"


    "Hi, I''m here for¡­ What?" My Oracle''s Elixir had not worn off yet and confusion on her face was positively delicious. She was a cute kid, with the expected dark brown eyes of someone with Japanese ancestry, but her hair was a bit lighter than I thought it''d be.


    ''Does she have some Caucasian in her?'' I wondered before mentally shaking my head. It didn''t matter. I made a note to pretend to be fully blind in her presence.


    I felt mom''s knuckles on my head. "Alice, welcome, welcome," she said in a thick accent, all smiles. "Ignore my son. He blind and stupid."


    "Right, hello, Mrs. Kim," she said, bowing towards my mom. She held out a small shopping bag labeled with the Izakaya Nohara logo, a cute snail with a green and blue striped shell. "Mom asked me to give you this. It''s mochi."


    "Oh, very nice. Thank you, thank you."


    I shook my head in amusement. I didn''t know what I was expecting, but her Asian mom hospitality instincts were kicking in hard.


    "I''ll leave you two to the violin lesson," I said as I excused myself. "Before I go, Alice, want something to drink? Water? Soda?"


    "Mom says I can''t have any soda," she said, nose scrunched.


    "Have soda," mom said, grinning. "Shigure don''t know, don''t hurt."


    "Lovely example you''re setting, mom," I muttered under my breath. I grabbed a can of Coke for my new friend anyway.


    "How did you know where the fridge is?" Alice asked curiously.


    "I know my own house," I said simply. "Stub your toes on the same table enough times and you figure it out sooner or later."


    I closed the door to my room and spent the next two hours in a mini meditation session trying to drown out the music lesson. Alice was¡­ horrible. To be strictly fair, I was being rather harsh on a nine year old, but that didn''t mean I didn''t reach for my headphones.


    X


    2000, July 3: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I walked into the Wards common room on Monday and decked myself out in full Rubedo regalia. With all the Mana Crystals I''d been making over the weekend, I was able to easily knock out the increased weekly quota. Strictly speaking, I wasn''t supposed to work on the weekends outside of sanctioned PR events, but I doubted they''d make a fuss of it given the circumstances.


    I spent that morning machining out four additional Petricite handcuffs and mixed a single Petricite Elixir. The elixir was confirmed to work, first tested on Sawtooth, the SSM tinker captured by Cloudstreak and Bunyan. There was an ongoing study into the psychological impact of denying a tinker their fugue and the results ranged from "not pretty" to "possibly worse than solitary confinement." The sample Petricite they''d taken hadn''t decreased his urges in any way, but the elixir did.


    Keeping Sawtooth in a manageable, fugue-less state had become one of many things added to my to-do list. He got one a week. Once consumed, the elixir disseminated the microscopic granules of Petricite through his bloodstream, the process aided by the health potion used to craft the elixir. The Petricite could eventually be filtered out by the liver, but seven days was already an immense boon.


    Around two in the afternoon, I piled everything I made, thirty-one health potions, eight Elixirs of Iron, four Petricite cuffs, and the single Petricite Elixir, onto a small cart and began pushing them out into the hallway. I made my way to the research department on the first floor and knocked.


    "Dr. Sanchez?" I called. "I have the week''s potions and a few other things."


    The egghead-in-chief opened the door to his office with a welcoming grin. His wispy, brown beard had been combed into something vaguely resembling order, a tidy point rather than the smoke-like mess it usually was.


    "Ah, excellent, Rubedo. You''re right on time as always," he said. He was the one who handled the distribution of my potions, and was also the one who helped me test them when I first began making them. "Go ahead and put them over by the corner. How''ve you been, young man?"


    "I''ve been well, doctor. It''s getting a little crazy out there, huh?"


    "Yes, yes it is, and I''m afraid it''ll get much worse before it gets better," he said gravely. That''s what I liked about the good doctor. He didn''t mince words. Maybe it was the mask that allowed people to disassociate the eight year old from the hero, but regardless of the reason, I found that he was one of the adults most willing to fill me in.


    "How so? The prisons are empty so the worst has already happened, right?"


    "Yes, that''s one way of looking at it. But now, the gangs have their unpowered members back. Thankfully, we''ve managed to hold on to Sawtooth."


    "Well¡­ fuck," I swore under my breath. Not loud enough if the warning look he gave me was any indication.


    "Now, was that all? I''m afraid I''m a bit rushed today."


    "Yes, doctor. You have a good one."


    I bid him goodbye with a polite bow and headed towards the canteen for a late lunch.


    The Phoenix PRT canteen was a mysterious beast. On one hand, it reminded me of my old life''s high school cafeteria, with a buffet style row of counters on one end that served sandwiches made to order and a juice bar with added coffee machines. Hell, there were even some obvious cliques that translated over: The researchers sat in one group, the field agents in another. Strip away the quasi-military paintjob and you''d have the nerds and jocks.


    On the other hand, there was a sense of solemnity in the atmosphere, a pressure that definitely wasn''t there in high school. It was the air of people who knew shit had hit the fan.


    I grabbed myself a premade roast beef sandwich and sat across from a fourteen year old boy named Poundtown. He was a part of Wards Team Three led by Wildshot. The older boy was massive, standing at an impressive six-two. He towered over me even while seated. He was dressed in a gray muscle-shirt, with a metal and ceramic breastplate. He wore no pauldrons, showing off some massive muscles. On his head was a stereotypically fictional Viking helmet, unwieldy horns and all. Two gauntlets with exaggerated spikes on the knuckles, rubber, not metal, were laid out next to his lunch tray.


    "Hey, Poundtown, how''s it going?" I greeted. It wasn''t too often that I saw anyone from the other Wards teams, but I saw no reason to be distant.


    He shot me a surprisingly gentle smile that was at odds with his aggressive costume. "Not too bad, all things considered. You, Rubedo?"


    "Just got through delivering a batch of potions. What''s new on the grapevine?"


    That was another good reason to talk to the others. They generally kept abreast of the PRT rumor mill better than I did, purely by stint of not being cooped up in a lab most of the time. Poundtown was an especially good one to know for the purpose. He had an unexpectedly mild-mannered, talkative personality and often volunteered for PR tours of elementary schools, daring kids to work together to "wrestle" him. How he ended up with such a ridiculous name escaped me.


    He tore open a bag of chips, sour cream and onion, and took a handful. "Yeah, funny you should mention it, but I heard from some of the PRT troopers that Royalle''s in hot water."


    "Oh?"


    "You know about Loud Crowd?"


    I nodded tentatively. It was a bar and grill with only one claim to fame: It was a well-known gang hotspot ever since the Crips took over the place. It, and its general neighborhood, was one of the places I was briefed on to avoid even in my civilian identity, as though I could go anywhere as Andy Kim.


    "Crips bar?"


    "Yeah. Royalle, Nine Lives, and Hotflash apparently hit the joint after getting a warrant through. The place is torched."


    "Anyone hurt?" I asked. This rang some bells for me; Royalle was a dick. Impulsive, too, but he wasn''t stupid. You didn''t become a Protectorate team leader without more than two brain cells to rub together.


    He shook his head. "None of ours. The bar''s ashes now though because La Torcha herself showed up to defend it. I heard those three got reamed by the directors."


    "I''d hope so."


    "Why? What do you have against Royalle?"


    "Nothing personal," I snorted. I chewed as I thought about the situation. The more I thought, the weirder it sounded. "He''s strong, but I don''t think he was thinking that through. Think about it. How many gang hangouts and safe houses do we know about?"


    "Probably more than they''re telling us Wards, but less than we''d like."


    "Right. If so many unpowered mooks broke out of prison yesterday, the cops would naturally try to follow up on where they went, right?"


    "Mhmm," he hummed assent as he took another bite of his sandwich, a turkey, bacon club.


    "Well, one of the few places we knew about just burned to the ground because Royalle got impatient. Now, it just got a lot harder. Plain clothes officers could have been sent to try and get an idea of gang movements and stuff like that."


    "Ah, yeah, that makes sense. Explains why the directors weren''t happy. Bet the cops weren''t either."


    I nodded. "Yeah. I guess he got twitchy from sitting around while Oathkeeper took point on the gang war thing." I doubted that was all, but I could hardly say so.


    Poundtown took a sip of his sweet tea. Really, it was more sugar with a side of tea. "It''s not all bad, Rubedo. I hear they caught Beartrap out of it so the Crips are down a cape."


    "At least there''s that," I agreed.


    We shot the breeze for a bit longer before I told him I had to go do more work in my lab. Still, I couldn''t suppress the feeling that things were about to get worse. Too much was happening. I''d managed to stay on the sidelines so far, for both good and ill, but I worried that I wouldn''t get that luxury for much longer.


    Author''s Note


    Anyone else''s parents thought The Simpsons was too violent or adult-themed to watch as children? I can''t be the only one, right?


    The hagwon story is actually true. A hagwon is an extracurricular school, an "academy" that a lot of Korean students go to. I started a piano hagwon when I was about Andy''s age, a bit younger actually. Except, I''m visually impaired, so I couldn''t read sheet music. I had to lean so far forward to read the notes that I did this weird t-rex claw thing while playing. I got so frustrated that I ran out crying in less than a week. And that, boys and girls, is how Fabled Webs'' dreams of being a musician died.


    Remember. When in doubt, it''s always a Ziz plot. Or Contessa. Or Andy''s paranoid.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.2 Charmed

    Charmed 3.2


    2000, July 3: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I returned to the common room after my discussion with Poundtown. A part of me felt bad for the older Ward. Not because of his name or costume, there wasn''t anything egregiously wrong with a Viking theme, even if the historically inaccurate horns were a bit over the top.


    I felt bad because his power made him a bog-standard brute, and a relatively weak one at that. He was technically a breaker or changer who turned his body into hard, rubber-like foam. In that state, he could absorb and redirect kinetic energy, letting him hit a bit harder than his minor brute rating would imply. The problem was that he couldn''t remain in that form for long, nor was the durability high enough to keep up with stronger brutes.


    A mover could always run and pick his battles. A blaster had range. A master had proxies. But when a brute wasn''t strong enough¡­


    A part of me also envied him in a way. He was a simple man who liked making kids smile and had a simple power. No one expected much of him, not even himself. There was no great expectation that he would change the medical field or kill Scion as I knew I one day must. He could live his life as a hero to children, never even entertaining the possibility of having to compromise his morals for "the greater good."


    My musings about my colleague ended as I stepped into the common room. I saw Hat Trick on console. It was a rare enough sight these past few weeks. As our resident jack of all trades, she was always busy and console seemed like a waste of her talents. She waved me over.


    "Yo. What''s up, chico?" she said with an easygoing smile, but I could see the slight bags under her eyes.


    "Hey, Hat Trick," I greeted. "Odd to see you on console these days."


    She slumped and let out a small sigh. "Yeah, I''m taking a break. Even I need one of those every now and then."


    "You deserve it," I said reassuringly, "but wasn''t Bandit supposed to be on?"


    "She got reassigned, temporarily, I mean. There was this big fire in Prescott National Forest and the rangers and firefighters wanted her flying with them for a bit. She''s the best at rescuing estupido campers and whatnot, you know?"


    I nodded. "Yeah, I could see that." It was more than just that. Masked Bandit''s power was simple in theory, but had a wide variety of applications. She could easily move tree trunks and other detritus towards herself, creating fire breaks in minutes. She could even be flown roughly to the center of the fire, where she could draw in burning wood into a focused location. "She must be pretty popular with the rangers, huh?"


    "You have no idea. She''s an honorary ranger already. Has the badge and everything. She even got invited to their annual dinner last year."


    Then a worrying thought occurred to me. "Say, doesn''t it seem a little convenient that a forest fire ignites within days of a mass prison break?"


    She mulled it over before laughing. "Chico, you''re seeing shadows that aren''t there. Wildfire season''s May to July around here. It''s honestly a surprise that it hasn''t happened earlier this year. She did the same thing last year, too. Besides, who''d start a forest fire just to pull away a Ward?"


    "Yeah, maybe you''re right¡­"


    She shrugged helplessly. "Ehh, you know how it is. When it rains, it pours."


    X


    2000, July 4: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    As many had predicted, the tenuous peace in our sunny city didn''t last. Both gangs must have felt greatly emboldened by their recent swell in numbers, because six separate raids were documented last night alone. Twenty-one people died in a single night, not all of them gang soldiers. Two buildings burned to the ground and a few more suffered significant fire and water damage. With firefighters already pressed to contain the wildfire minutes from the Phoenix Metro Area, the city had no choice but to rely on volunteers, most nowhere near as experienced as the professionals.


    It didn''t sound like a lot. In the grand scheme of things, it meant almost nothing. Twenty-one people seemed almost laughable compared to what an endbringer could do, never mind Scion. And yet, these deaths weren''t caused by multidimensional abominations. These were caused by humans, and not even powered humans at that.


    With fighting breaking out in the streets, it didn''t take long for the city mayor to petition the governor for a declared state of emergency. I had it explained to me just what that would mean.


    Already, there was a curfew enforced by the local law enforcement. Anyone out past six could and would be stopped and potentially arrested. Roads to and from the southeast were closed to all but emergency vehicles. It was up to the governor to deploy the National Guard, but I suspected that would happen soon enough.


    "Heh, and it didn''t even take us Leviathan showing up. Suck it Brockton," I chuckled mirthlessly. The thought that things would deteriorate so far in a decade that nothing less than an endbringer would qualify as a "state of emergency" was both morbidly funny and depressing..


    "Did you say something, son?" mom asked as she flipped some bindae-tteok, a type of Korean mung bean pancake. Hers had a hodgepodge of seafood and kimchi in it. We ate it whenever it rained back in Korea. Here in Phoenix, she made it whenever she was feeling homesick.


    "Nothing, mom."


    Twenty minutes later, I''d just finished breakfast when I received an email from the director''s office, calling the team back to base.


    "I''ve got to head in," I said.


    She gave me a hug. "Be careful."


    "I''m not even on the front lines. There''s nothing to worry about. Besides, you know I always keep a few potions for myself. If something does happen, I''m prepared."


    X


    I found myself alone in the common room minutes after arriving. We had a brief meeting with Stingray and some faceless PRT captain. He introduced himself and everything, but I forgot his name the moment he left my perception field. The meeting, which included a message from the city council, boiled down to: The cops can''t handle this alone and it''ll take a few days for the National Guard to mobilize. We know unpowered crime isn''t in your wheelhouse, but please send cape support.


    We were deputized, I still didn''t know if that was the right term, to act in the same capacity as Protectorate heroes for the duration of the conflict. Essentially it just meant we''d keep doing what we were already doing, but with more frequency and permissions.


    Stingray, Ranchero, Diamondback, and Wildshot were authorized to engage in combat with unpowered gang members on their own prerogative with minimal oversight and arrest criminals so long as they had video evidence, which was already a must anyway. Actual Protectorate would still focus on caped gang members. Hat Trick would work with the paramedics again.


    The big change was that the gear that Director Lyons had confiscated for being unapproved, Stingray''s Petricite knuckles and Ranchero''s armor plating, were handed back. The PRT was very image-conscious, but nothing would ruin their PR-friendly reputation faster than a Ward who got killed because they weren''t allowed protection they already had access to. That, and Director Lyons seemed mostly like an alright sort; I didn''t expect her to be so hung up on bureaucracy as to deny them an advantage and was happy to be proven right.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    As for me, I was ordered to make as many Elixirs of Iron as I could for protection, steering me away from the primarily health potion focused path I was on before. They were no good against even a mid-tier cape, but being highly bullet-resistant went a long way in scenarios like this. So, that''s what I did.


    I got into the office at nine-thirty in the morning and spent the entire day making potions out of distilled iron supplements and energy drinks. There was a sense of urgency in my actions now that I knew for a fact that my friends would be out there fighting. More than once, my hand reached down to my lower back, to the relic pistol hidden by my long robes.


    "Not yet," I told myself. "I can do more good back here than I can by being another gun."


    I loathed the feeling that I wasn''t contributing enough and threw myself into potions-making. It was all the more frustrating because had I not hidden what I could do, I could conceivably be out there fighting with them. Yes, building armor for myself came with its own problems and potions still had more impact overall than one more body in the field, but the need to do something felt like a palpable pressure on my mind.


    I was only shaken from my self-induced fugue when Agent Morrison came down to get me.


    "Rubedo, squirt," he shook me as I was condensing another Mana Crystal in my hand.


    Startled, I turned and hurled the half-formed crystal at him, barely missing his head. The crystal sailed out the door and exploded against the opposite wall. It sounded deafening in the cramped corridor.


    "Please don''t do that, Agent Morrison," I said as calmly as I could. "Tinkers don''t take well to being shaken awake."


    I didn''t have normal fugues, but found myself in a similar boat regardless. Meditation wasn''t just clearing my thoughts or breathing deeply for me. It was a literal and metaphysical dive into my soul to draw out the World Rune. It was easy to lose track of my surroundings, Oracle''s or no, and I tended to be jumpy.


    He let out a low whistle. "Geez, kid, that stuff supposed to explode?"


    I nodded. The Mana Crystal was just that, a crystal. It needed a specific structure to retain solid form otherwise, it tended to disperse into the atmosphere. Violently. "If it''s half-formed, yes. Otherwise, it''s stable. How can I help you?"


    "You''re going home," Agent Morrison said in his best dad-voice.


    I looked up at the digital clock on my desk: Eight. "It''s not that late," I argued.


    "It is for you. Your mom called already."


    "I can still make more potions."


    "Nope. I''m betting you didn''t have lunch either."


    "I did," I whined, pointing to my trash bin, immaculate save for two granola wrappers and an empty bag of chips. "See?"


    "That ain''t lunch," he drawled flatly. He then grabbed me by my not-a-hood and yanked me to my feet. "Come on, kid. I know you''re worried about your friends, I appreciate it, ''specially seein'' how one''s my son and all, but you can''t burn yourself out like this."


    "I-" I was interrupted by my own body betraying me. A tired yawn forced itself from my throat.


    "No. I''m taking you home. I''m already goin'' to get chewed out by your mother."


    "She needs to speak English for that," I grumbled.


    "Don''t give me none of that lip, son," he warned. "Lord knows I get enough from David."


    I was waging a war on two fronts and knew I couldn''t keep arguing with Agent Morrison and my own body. I trudged along behind him as he led me to the lockers so I could change into my civvies. Even with the enhancements offered by the Tear of the Goddess, this body simply lacked the stamina I was used to as an adult.


    X


    As expected, mom chewed me out and hit me upside the head with a wooden spoon. She''d cooked up a small feast for me from worry despite her own tiredness. I apologized for worrying her, ate a delicious meal of grilled Korean mackerel and gaeran-jjim , took a quick shower, then retired to my room for the night.


    But I couldn''t sleep.


    Briefly energized from the dinner and a hot shower, I pulled up a pillow and sat down to meditate once again. They could pull me from my lab, but they couldn''t keep me from preparing for the day ahead. Every Mana Crystal was a potion that could stop bullets or heal a lethal wound. Time lost its meaning in short order as my breathing became deeper and I sank into the depths of that mystical well in my soul.


    Eventually, exhaustion caught up with my young body and I fell asleep at three in the morning, still leaning against the wall in a vague semblance of meditation.


    X


    2000, July 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I woke up to the sound of my alarm with a hell of a crick in my back. Young or not, humans weren''t meant to sleep sitting down. I did my best to at least pretend to be alert, a cold shower helped with that, and shared a quick breakfast of leftovers with mom before seeing her off to work. Luckily, anyone who could afford a housekeeper was also likely to live in more affluent, safer neighborhoods. Mom was in minimal danger.


    Afterwards, I fought through my exhaustion and forced myself to do my stretches and forms, entering a sort of moving meditation while I dumped mana into the Tear. The motions were barely remembered, hazy like a long-forgotten dream. They weren''t from any particular style, though the Shojin, Wuju, and Kinkou orders as well as various military knighthoods and similar all practiced a form of calisthenics. After all, general fitness, balance, and flexibility were always boons, regardless of the specific martial art.


    As I progressed through the motions, I felt myself become more alert. It wasn''t noticeably supernatural, there wasn''t a mystical shroud of blue aura empowering me or anything, nor was I any stronger or faster. The best way I could describe it was that I had more "oomph" to my actions, like a man walking with purpose and determination, an energy derived from intent instead of some supernatural force.


    I came down from my workout high and knew that it''d be a long, long while before I could do anything even the most amateurish acolyte could manage.


    After my morning exercise, I gave Agent Morrison a call. He was a few minutes late to pick me up.


    "Hello? Rubedo?" he answered on the fifth ring.


    "Good morning, sir. I''m calling because you''re a little late picking me up. Is everything alright?"


    "Not a problem. I had someone else to pick up this morning as well. She''s an independent consultant who specializes in crisis management for the PRT. You''ll love her. Don''t worry about your identity, she''s signed so many NDAs that I''m pretty sure even she''s lost track."


    I wasn''t fully comfortable with meeting someone new before I''d put on my mask, but if a senior liaison like Agent Morrison said it was fine, it probably was. She likely knew my identity from dossiers anyway. "Great, when should I expect you?"


    "You sure you wouldn''t like the day off, kid? A gang war''s no place for little heroes like you."


    "I need to do this, sir. Besides, even if I stay home, there''s only so much music I can listen to before I go stir crazy. I''d end up tinkering anyway," I assured him.


    "Fine, kid. Have it your way. We''ll be there in a few minutes, so do you mind waiting out by the curb?"


    "No problem, sir. Thank you as always. I''ll see you then."


    I hung up and grabbed my relic pistol along with the twenty-six Mana Crystals I''d made last night. Looking at them reminded me how tired I was, but I powered through. I tucked the pistol in my backpack and saw the quart of holy water I''d received from Father Manuel. I hadn''t had a chance to do more with the material, but I was hoping to get more time later. I didn''t want to keep him waiting so I shrugged and left it there alongside my bottle of Oracle''s. Three minutes later, I was out on the curb waiting for Agent Morrison and the new consultant.


    I "saw" them before they arrived. Agent Morrison looked as he always did, though his tie was a bit crooked.


    ''I guess I''m not the only one tired,'' I thought.


    What really caught my attention was the vision of beauty sitting in the back.


    She wore a classy, charcoal-gray pantsuit with a white shirt that hugged her generous curves. Her outfit was perfectly pressed, with not a crease out of place. The only thing that broke her professional appearance was a thin, blue choker around her neck. She was short, a foot taller than me, though no one would mistake her for a little girl. She had flawless caramel skin and wavy brown hair held in a ponytail. Twin bangs framed a perfectly heart-shaped face with large, almond eyes and pouty lips that seemed both innocent and playful.


    I opened the door and bowed to her respectfully. "Hello ma''am," I began. "I''m told you know who I am?"


    "Yes," she said. She had an almost magically charming voice, sultry yet soothing all at once. "Rubedo, right? It''s a pleasure to meet another one of the Wards."


    "Another, ma''am?" I asked curiously. She wouldn''t be the first to travel around different PRT offices as needed. I knew that in canon, Dr. Jessica Yamada did something similar, doing her best to put Band-Aids on the psyches of broken heroes.


    "I travel often and have met quite a few of them, though I hope you''ll forgive me if I don''t say just who. Rules, you understand?" she winked.


    "Of course. I wouldn''t want you telling anyone else about me," I said back. "What does a crisis management specialist do?"


    "Well, cutie, I travel around and tell people how to do their jobs. Every branch is a bit different, so my job is a bit different depending on where I am. When things get messy, I show up and do my best to make things better. It means I can deal with troopers, Wards, Protectorate, or even the local police force. There isn''t any uniformly consistent thing I do. And please," she smiled beatifically, "call me Camille."


    Author''s Note


    Well then¡­ How much do you trust Agent Morrison?


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.3 Charmed

    Charmed 3.3


    2000, July 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Truth be told, Camille was very close to my image of an ideal woman. In the past, I probably would have shot my shot and made a fool of myself trying to impress her only to get pathetically rejected after buying her a drink or something. She was beautiful, charming, well-spoken, and had a career that made for an interesting life. I felt no small regret that I was stuck in the body of an eight year old.


    We cruised along slowly and surprisingly, it was Camille who struck up a conversation with me.


    "So, Andy, tell me about yourself. I hear you''ve made some big ripples for such a little guy," she smiled teasingly.


    I chuckled bashfully. "I just made a few potions. It''s not my fault some bigwigs decided I''d be cutting into their bottom line."


    "Hah, you mean fat cats are greedy? What else is new?"


    "Yeah, I should have expected that. Still, there''s plenty to do around here without throwing hospital visits into the mix. With the way the city''s been blowing up, it feels like the world''s going to catch fire."


    "Already did up north, I hear," she said wryly. "You know what they say. Bad things come in threes."


    "Yeah. Masked Bandit, another Ward, is up there right now helping out by making fire breaks and stuff." I had an idea. Hat Trick had brushed my suspicions off as paranoid, but perhaps the crisis management consultant would think differently. "Say, do you think there''s any connection between the prison breaks and the wildfire in Prescott National Forest?"


    "What do you mean? I hear it''s fire season in Phoenix."


    "It is, but the timing seems a bit too convenient."


    She scrunched her nose in thought and I couldn''t help but think the expression looked good on her. "Maybe, but it''s unlikely. From what I know about La Torcha, Dos Caras, and Freeform, it''s none of their modus operandi. There''s no reason to dismiss the possibility though. I''ll look into it," she promised.


    I nodded. Talking to her was comforting. She felt like a very charming person and those big, expressive eyes made me want to trust her.


    "Andy? You okay, cutie?" She shook my shoulder gently. I didn''t realize I hadn''t stopped nodding.


    "Yeah," I said, rubbing my eyes. I opened my bag to show her the dozens of blue crystals inside. "I guess I''m a bit tired. I didn''t get much sleep last night. I tried to make as many Mana Crystals as I could. I just¡­ I feel like I need to be doing something, you know?"


    "I do, believe it or not. I think I can understand that. But that doesn''t mean you should work yourself to the bone like that," she admonished gently. She sounded so caring, so concerned. "Say, Vincent."


    "Yes, Camille?" Agent Morrison spoke up from the driver''s seat. I didn''t know his first name was Vincent. I chuckled to myself. It didn''t seem to suit him. I thought it''d be John or Sam or something more cowboy-ish. "Vincent" made me think of "my cousin Vinnie" from New York.


    "I have that noon meeting, right? The one with Deputy Director Silva and the squad captains? Nothing else before?"


    "No, I don''t think so. You wanna play hooky? How old are you, Camille?"


    She thumped his backrest with a kick. "Hey! I''m still in my twenties! Besides, I think Andy can use some time off."


    "Been tellin'' him that. Kid could use a break."


    "I don''t-" I started to argue, but Camille placed a single dainty finger on my lips.


    "Hush, Andy. I know burnout when I see it," she chided. "You''ve worked so hard to keep people safe. Don''t you think you could use a break?"


    ''I''ve never had a total stranger care so much for me,'' I thought. She sounded so warm and genuine. "I can''t. What if someone gets hurt because I wasn''t there?"


    "That''s not on you. If they get hurt, it''s because they were unlucky or careless. You''re not responsible for them," she said matter-of-factly.


    I frowned. "I get that but¡­"


    "It''s hard to accept sometimes, isn''t it? But it''s something you have to get used to. Not even Scion can save everyone."


    "Yeah¡­" Going through my first city-wide crisis, I now had an in-depth understanding of what Amy must have felt in canon. The truth was that I didn''t care much for the average person. I cared for those close to me: the Wards, mom, and perhaps a few PRT troopers and Protectorate heroes I''d met in person. I didn''t have the iron discipline or gnawing guilt that drove Amy to care for everyone. Even so, even this much felt like a lead weight on my heart. I was older than them. Seeing them go off to fight while I sat around safe in my lab felt wrong.


    "Andy, what are the rest of the Wards up to? You said Masked Bandit was up north helping out with the wildfire."


    "Ranchero and Stingray were deputized so they''re handling regular gang members with the cops. Hat Trick is off doing ride-alongs with the EMTs."


    "Right. They''re all safe," she assured me. "None of your friends are being asked to duke it out with La Torcha, cutie. They''re all equipped with your tinkertech, right?"


    "They all have potions."


    "Of course they do. And who''s going to attack an ambulance? Even gangbangers know to not mess with the people who keep you alive. They''re not going to get hurt because you take a little break."


    "Ranchero and Stingray might," I said stubbornly, but my argument was undercut by a suppressed yawn.


    "You''re so cute when you worry," she cooed. "But EMTs and doctors take breaks too or they burn out. You''re a smart boy. You know that, don''t you?"


    I yawned. It felt so comfortable. I almost felt drunk; I''d always been a sleepy drunk¡­ "Maybe¡­ Maybe a little is okay."


    As I drifted off, I felt her pat my head gently. "You take a nap. At least until noon," she whispered. "Don''t worry. Everything will be fine¡­"


    X


    I woke up sprawled on a comfortable sofa, the two-seater more than big enough for my small frame.


    Before I could fully wake, the smooth, honeyed voice of an angel greeted me. "You''re awake."


    "Camille?" I asked, still bleary-eyed.


    "Yes. It''s almost noon. We don''t have a lot here, but Vincent and I did pick up a sandwich for lunch. There''s one for you in the fridge. We didn''t know what you liked so you''ll just have to settle for ham and cheese I''m afraid."


    "Ham and cheese is fine." I fumbled around for a bit. "Sorry, can you give me my Oracle''s? It''s that water bottle with Hero''s logo on it. I can''t see anything right now."


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    "Oh, right, my bad, Andy."


    I felt my familiar water bottle nudged into my hand. I drank and the world expanded around me.


    I sat up and looked around. The three of us were in a large, generic office that doubled as a locker and kitchenette. It had gray, faux-wood floors and eggshell-white walls with an open window that I could look out of. The office was one of several on the second floor of a warehouse of some sort. A series of walkways and ramps connected them. Down below, crates were stacked neatly atop each other.


    In the next room over, I found what could only be a rudimentary laboratory. It lacked the industrial-grade tools in my own lab, but it was surprisingly well-equipped. The lab contained an electric saw, welding torch, drop hammer, and even its own gas kiln. Another room had clearly once been an office like this one, but had been converted into a barrack of sorts, with metal bedframes bolted into the walls and Spartan nightstands. The beds didn''t exactly look comfortable, but they''d suffice in a pinch.


    Off in the distance, at the farthest edges of my range, I could see a few people taking a smoke break. A handful more were loading boxes into trucks while another man seemed to be listening to music in another office.


    "Where is here exactly?"


    Camille smiled and I felt the warm and fuzzies settle in my chest, banishing my unease. "We''re in a safehouse of sorts," she said. The uneasiness immediately returned. At no point was hearing the word "safehouse" a good thing.


    "After you fell asleep, we received notice that HQ has been attacked. I was given orders to rendezvous with other agents after taking you to safety." Agent Morrison continued. "I''ll be heading out in a little bit to figure out how I can help."


    "Wait what?"


    "Andy, calm down," Camille admonished. "This warehouse was bought by the PRT and originally used to belong to a moving company. They had plans to renovate it into an offsite training area for unconventional powers, but they never got around to it thanks to the recent chaos. Instead, bureaucracy happened and it became an overgrown storage shed. Figures, right?"


    "No, that''s not the problem, Camille. What exactly happened? How come I''m not home?"


    "It''s nothing to worry about. Please let the experts handle this."


    "Camille, please," I pleaded. "If I''m being shipped around, at least tell me what''s going on."


    She sighed. "I really shouldn''t be telling you this, but fine. There was a bombing in the parking lot. We think the support pillars have been damaged. After that, several more were found in different places so the building was completely evacuated. Bomb squad technicians are combing the building as we speak. After that, we''ll need engineers to come in and rate the building''s structural integrity. Does that help?" She looked me in the eyes, full well expecting me to not understand.


    "It does. But doesn''t this mean I should be headed home? The Wards Handbook-"


    "Says that, yes. But this is something of an emergency. I''ve never encountered a situation like this either if I''m honest. How did they get the bombs inside?"


    Her words stuck me. "You think there were moles in the PRT."


    "Yes. This means that until we know exactly how this happened, all civilian staff have been sent home and all heroes must act like their identities have been compromised. Right now, the Phoenix PRT has scattered to several different smaller offices. This one just happened to have what we needed for a small lab thanks to the whole ''was going to be a training site'' thing." She smiled wryly. "I didn''t think you''d accept being unable to help in a situation like this. And right now? We could use all the help you can provide."


    Her words struck me as odd, but I couldn''t put my finger on precisely why. I trusted her; Camille seemed like an extremely competent agent and my surroundings confirmed what she told me. Now that I looked closer, each crate had the logo of a company called the Red Sands Moving Company, a yellow sun over red mesas and a truck driving through. ''Still¡­'' "Camille," I asked, "where are the other Wards? This safehouse¡­ There are too few people, right? What about mom? Is she okay? Can I call her?"


    "One at a time, Andy," she chided gently. "I know you''re worried, but everything is fine. No one was seriously hurt in the explosion. We''re just being extra-cautious. As for your mother, she''s okay too. We made sure of that and have a few people keeping tabs on her. I''m sorry that I can''t let you call her. We''re all pretty much radio silent except for mission-critical calls."


    "And¡­ And the Wards?"


    "You know where they are. They''re off on patrols and ride-alongs. Right now, being on the move might actually be safer than being cooped up in one place. Really, Andy, don''t worry about them. Or yourself. We''ll take care of you, alright?"


    She leaned forward and locked me in place with deep, expressive eyes. The concern and assurance in her tone made me feel a little guilty, perhaps irrationally so, for asking so many questions.


    "Right. Sorry. I''m panicking a bit." I let out a breath I didn''t know I was holding.


    ''She makes sense. Right?'' I thought. ''It''s hard to think. So much is happening all at once¡­'' I didn''t voice my thoughts.


    "Thank you for indulging me, Camille," I said instead. "So what happens now?"


    "No, you''re doing great, Andy. I would have expected far worse from any other Ward. You''re very mature for your age."


    My chest swelled at her praise.


    Agent Morrison spoke up. "Given the unusual circumstances, Camille and I will work out of this safehouse alongside you. We''ll be your handlers, of sorts, until things calm down."


    "Look on the upside," Camille said, sending me a genuine smile. "You and I will get to know each other real well. It''s always nice to make new friends, don''t you think?"


    I nodded and felt my face redden a little. It wasn''t lust per se, but even in a child''s body, there was something uniquely appealing about having the friendship of a beautiful older woman.


    Her silken voice sounded just about perfect, warm and empathetic with a bit of cheerful mischief. She made perfect sense. ''She''s the crisis management consultant,'' I thought. ''If anyone can be trusted in this scenario, it''s her. There''s no chance that she can be compromised after all; she''s not even from here.''


    Mind at ease, I took another look around with the Oracle''s Elixir. The lab itself contained several large boxes of electronics, ranging from household appliances like toasters and microwaves to office supplies like computers and printers. I even saw some MIDI hardware, the sort used by high-end sound studios. That struck me as a bit strange.


    ''I''m an alchemist. Why would there be so many miscellaneous electronics lying around?'' I wondered. I turned back to my handlers. ''It''d make some sense for tinkers to be put in the same location in an emergency, right? After all, there can''t be too many spare labs lying around.''


    "Will Gyroscope be joining us? The lab next door, there''re a lot of electrical supplies that I don''t use."


    Agent Morrison shook his head. "Sorry, squirt, but no. Gyroscope is off coordinating a counterstrike against the SSM. He''s got a bunch of police tailing him; his reconnaissance capabilities are too useful to take him off the field."


    "Okay. I''ll get to work right away." My stomach betrayed me, letting out an audible growl. I chuckled bashfully. "After lunch¡­"


    X


    I ate the ham and cheese sandwich in the fridge with gusto, barely tasting it so I could get to work. More than ever, people were counting on my potions.


    I got to work immediately¡­ Or, as immediately as could be allowed. Camille was somewhat surprised to learn that all I needed for health potions were nutrient shakes, but quickly ordered some of the men loitering outside to get me as much as they could from a nearby Costco. Fifteen minutes later, I was set.


    The lab wasn''t great, but I''d never been a "tools to build more tools to build more tools" type of tinker anyway. I needed some exotic or unusual materials, but I was very low-maintenance compared to other tinkers.


    I''d found early on that if I could distill and concentrate the nutrient shakes a bit by boiling them before turning them into potions, the potions would be a little bit better. They wouldn''t suddenly regenerate lost limbs or anything, but they would be slightly faster acting, and an extra few seconds could be lifesaving in a firefight. While I waited, I reached for my phone. I figured that even though I wasn''t allowed to call anyone, I could still check the local news.


    I came up empty.


    I patted myself down even as I gave myself a once-over with the Oracle''s.


    No phone.


    No relic pistol either.


    A chill ran down my back. I turned around to see Camille and Agent Morrison. She smiled that sweet, comforting smile. "What''s wrong, Andy?"


    "I can''t find my pho¡­" I trailed off as I noticed something strapped to her lower back. A pistol, though nothing made through conventional means.


    A quick check revealed that no one around me carried ID cards issued by the PRT either.


    She must have seen something in my eyes, because her charming smile gained a distinctly harsher edge. She snapped her finger and the man I''d thought was Agent Morrison changed, bulging with grotesque muscle until a Siberian tiger lounged by her side.


    ''Freeform,'' I realized too late. I took a quick glance outside, only to find that more men had gathered. In the next room, the man who''d been listening to music stood and removed his earphones before facing me and giving me a cheery wave.


    I summed up my present circumstances in a word: "Shit."


    Author''s Note


    I realize that chapters where the main character gets duped so thoroughly are unpopular and very hard to read. Honestly? The reason this arc was so hard to write was largely because of this section. That said, I ask that you remember just what information is and is not available to Andy at present. You may know what''s going on, but from within the fourth wall, things are far more obscure, especially given the subtlety of Camille''s power. Trust is a hell of a drug, no?


    A MIDI is a musical instrument digital interface, the tech that sound technicians use to modify and remix songs in musical studios.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.4 Charmed

    Charmed 3.4


    2000, July 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    ''I swear to God, if I ever get out of this, the first thing I''m going to do is figure out how to be omniscient,'' I grumbled in my head as cold sweat broke over my brow.


    "Aww," Camille cooed. She still looked as charming as ever, but with her allure temporarily shocked out of my system, I couldn''t ignore the taunting mockery in her tone if I tried. "Is reality finally sinking in, Andy?"


    She took out my relic pistol from her hidden holster and flipped it around in her hand. The pistol itself was deadly, though not that much more so than a mundane equivalent, but that wasn''t my concern. My only concern regarding that pistol was how I could get it back; it was almost certainly useless in the hands of another.


    I breathed deep. ''If she''s hoping for a child''s meltdown, she''s going to be sorely disappointed,'' I swore.


    Instead, I gestured to the tiger staring hungrily at me. "Freeform. Since when does he work with the Crips? You are Crips, right? I thought he was a Klan wannabe."


    "He was. Let''s just say he''s had a change of heart. And yes, we''re the Crips. I didn''t expect you to figure it out so soon though. What gave it away?"


    "The guy in the other room has a gang tattoo over his heart. So, what''s this about? A few potions can''t be it, right? I''m worth a lot, but I''m not worth that much."


    I typically tried not to pay attention to tattoos and piercings, usually had bigger demands on my time, but I wished I''d taken note earlier. Looking around more closely now, the shit I''d gotten myself into was plainly obvious to me. This was the biggest flaw that came with the Oracle''s Elixir. The information could be present, but if I didn''t pay attention to it or know what to look for, it''d get glossed over in the same way normal people ignored the eye color of random people they met on the street.


    "Potions are great, but they''re not all you can make, are they?"


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about," I lied. "I''m an alchemical tinker, remember?"


    "And alchemy is a very broad subject," Camille said simply. "A little birdie told us about a magic metal, one that could even lock away powers."


    I felt a pit in my stomach form as I began to doubt everything I''d heard today. ''Just how much do they know? Who do they have on the inside? Did the attack even happen? Is Agent Morrison alive? Or was he Freeform all along?''


    It was obvious what would happen if I refused to work with them. I could erase both Camille and Freeform right this instant, but that still left me trapped in a building with only one shot left. I''d recover my relic pistol, but it wasn''t enough. Never mind my own life, I didn''t forget how they''d picked me up at my apartment. Mom was in danger.


    If there was a bright spot in all this, it was that they couldn''t hold my supply of Oracle''s Elixir over my head. They needed me to tinker or I''d be dead weight, so they couldn''t deprive me of my vision.


    I sighed. There was no point in hiding it if they knew that much already. "Petricite," I said solemnly. "I figured I''d become a big deal because of it, but I didn''t think anyone would make a move this soon. It''s not as all-powerful as you''re making it seem though."


    "Oh? Do tell."


    "It''s about as strong as steel, but can seal away external expressions of powers on contact. Too little Petricite and it can still fail. You''d need full-on medieval shackles and even then, it doesn''t work on all powers."


    She laughed. "Andy, Andy, you really don''t know how important even that much is, do you? And the best part of all this is that you''re still new! You made this within a few months of your debut. I can''t wait to see what you''ll manage next, all for us of course."


    "Fine. I know when I''m beat," I growled. "For now" went unsaid. I gestured to the vat of healing potion I''d been readying. "Healing potions. Some Petricite. What else? What exactly do you expect me to make you?"


    The man who''d been lounging in the other room came into our office. "I can answer that," he said with a roguish grin. He was handsome, with dreads swept back in a ponytail and a well-groomed beard tapered into a neat point. He didn''t bother with a domino mask, but the cocksure way he walked screamed "cape." "You''re a real impressive brat, you know that? So many neat little ideas floating around your head."


    I pegged him as a thinker from that. Knowing the Crips roster, that made him Lawless, assuming they didn''t pick up someone else like Freeform.


    "Kevin," Camille whined, still beautiful even now. I shook my head to clear my mind of her power. It was like a persistent fog, always rolling in. I could clear away the clouds, but never for long. Even being around her, knowing what a two-faced bitch she was, I wanted to like her. "Must you interrupt?"


    "Your little skit was coming to an end anyway, dear Tequila."


    "You have no respect for secret identities, do you?" she huffed. Next to her, Freeform growled low.


    He shrugged helplessly. "It doesn''t matter with him anyway. He wasn''t trying to unmask anyone before, but he''s sure as hell paying attention now. That pink stuff''s real powerful if you can handle drinking it. He already figured out who you are."


    He flipped his phone and started to dial. Four rings later, a sultry voice rang through the phone. "Kevin?"


    "Hey, boss lady. Got our new tinker on the line. He''s got a fantastic list of inventions just floating around in his head."


    "Just what do you know?" I tried.


    "That would be telling, Andy."


    "Not going to monologue? What kind of thinker are you?"


    "A smart one. I''d like to think I''m not a cardboard cutout of a Bond villain," he said flippantly.


    "Hello, Andy," La Torcha said from the phone. For a gang leader, she sounded surprisingly amiable. "My apologies if Kevin and Camille have been getting on your nerves. I promise they grow on you. Now, let''s set everything on the table, hmm? As is no doubt clear by now, Kevin''s discovered quite a few things about you. We know you''re much more than an alchemical tinker and we want you to be one of us."


    "A recruitment attempt? And in exchange you don''t shoot me?"


    "Well, there''s that too I suppose, but I see no reason to be so uncouth. Believe it or not, I don''t enjoy harming children. If I were so inclined, I could even pay your mother a visit. You wouldn''t want that, would you?" La Torcha said, her voice sickeningly sweet. My knuckles turned white at that. Almost as if she sensed my rage, she continued. "But don''t worry, your mom''s fine. Honestly? It''s easier to have you work with us than look for every chance to escape. No, no. Your life is the stick so you can go ahead and take this next bit as the carrot."


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    Camille stood up and sat next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I hated that I took comfort in it.


    "Think about it, Andy. Rubedo. You got the raw end of the deal. We know all about how constraining the Wards have been on you. You can build so much more, but the white hats won''t let you, yeah? Money. Resources. We''re not lacking compared to the local office. You want to build a gun? Great. Armor? Sure. Some kind of power in a bottle? Even better. You can build anything with us.


    "Hell, give it a few years for you to prove your loyalty and we''ll even help you build yourself new eyes. I''m promising you freedom, true, unbridled freedom. More than that, we can give you a market. We have connections with everyone worth mentioning in the West Coast. If you want the freedom to build what you want, the power to do what you want, and the money to get there, you need us."


    She stared at me with large, soulful eyes and even though I turned my face away, I could see her fine, another weakness of the Oracle''s Elixir.


    The offer itself was nothing special, downright predictable even, but it sounded almost irresistible because Camille was the one saying it. Despite it all, she was literally impossible to dislike. She had an undefinable allure that made me crave her approval. I wanted to call her my friend. I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to be happy. And if it meant walking down the road to Hell, well¡­ I now knew why Tequila was so hard to capture even with such a flimsy secret identity.


    Still, now that I was aware of what was happening, I could at least compartmentalize a bit. I ultimately had three choices: accept, decline, or fight. Really, that just left the first. If I declined, I couldn''t guarantee my mom''s safety, nor could I receive materials and information. If I fought, I''d die and I wouldn''t put it past them to kill mom out of spite. There would be time for fighting, but now wasn''t it.


    Kevin, Lawless, grinned smugly at me, already aware of my answer.


    "I accept," I said as firmly as I could. No matter what, I had to seem in control of my emotions. It was frankly the only think I could be in control of at the moment.


    "No, no he doesn''t," Lawless crowed. "He''s thinking of ways to kill us slowly. Now mostly just me. Oh ho, he even knows how to make a vaporization beam." I schooled my expression and tried to empty my thoughts; I had plenty of practice in that regard. "Huh¡­ impressive kid. He stopped thinking."


    "Stopped thinking or spoofed your power?" Camille asked.


    "Stopped thinking. You know, stopped focusing on anything in particular. Turned his mind into a white void. It''s harder than it sounds. He can''t really do anything like this, but I can''t read him either."


    ''I want to see mom,'' I thought. I saw him twitch a bit.


    ''I want to figure out his power.'' His smirk widened further. He was giving away an awful lot, though I suspected he would have been far more cautious if I didn''t look like an eight year old. A blind, disarmed eight year old.


    This offer, it scared me. As early as six months ago, I might have accepted. Had they been the first to approach me, had Camille been the first to find me, I could see myself joining them full tilt, dedicating my life and the World Rune for her sake, giving her everything just to see her smile. She was just that achingly beautiful, even now.


    I saw Lawless throw his head back and laugh as he looked between us. I knew this was her power talking and that I was severely compromised. Hell, I was hardly the first to feel this way, but even knowing that could only help so much.


    It wasn''t just her beauty either.


    How much could I accomplish if I joined them over the PRT? How much closer could I get to defeating Scion? To making the world a better place? To preparing for the disasters I knew were coming?


    I wanted so very much to make a difference, to be more than I was.


    "Holy shit."


    "Lawless?" Torcha called.


    "Holy shit," he repeated. He then started cackling like a madman. "Hahahahahaha! Oh, God. Holy shit! You''re precious, Andy! Hahahahahahaha!"


    "For the rest of the class?" Camille said impatiently.


    "He-" he wheezed. "He wants to kill Scion!"


    "What?" La Torcha''s voice crackled over the line.


    "Seriously, boss lady. I''m not shitting you, I swear. I fucking told you he''s not some prissy goody two shoes. Kid''s fucking metal!"


    "Oh? My, our little tinker has some big dreams," Camille cooed, pinching my cheek.


    I had a fair handle on Lawless'' power now. He''d been picking up on everything that I wanted, simple enough. My first guess was a more restricted version of Tattletale''s power, albeit with a broader range.


    His power could clearly cover a large area, though I didn''t have any idea as to the limit. He''d discovered much about me by spying on me without ever having entered my apartment, which meant he wasn''t limited by obstacles like walls. He was probably listening in from the other room, too.


    I played it off the only way I could think of.


    I folded my hands across my chest and said, "I want to be the greatest tinker ever. I want to prove to everyone that there is no one like me and there never will be. And well," I shrugged, "if you want to be the best, you gotta beat the best."


    "And we can help you there. Whatever you want to accomplish, you''re going to need freedom," La Torcha was quick to promise. I knew it was bullshit. She knew it was bullshit. But it contained a kernel of truth nonetheless. "You want to be the best tinker? Fine, come prove it with us. We won''t hold you back like the PRT."


    And yet, as attractive as her offer was, I could see the bigger picture. My wants and desires aside, the Crips would not help me better the world, not truly. Every advancement I made, they''d use for their own gain. They weren''t like the Undersiders, criminals with hearts of gold, or the Travelers, a bunch of kids stranded in an alien world driven by desperate hope. They were murderers, rapists, and druglords who would happily damn thousands for their own ambitions. I''d read the internal reports summarizing the circumstances that led to them getting massacred by Alexandria. They were stone-cold villains.


    More than that, joining them right now would mean burning my bridges with the PRT. Skitter had made it abundantly clear where that road led. Half the dumpster-fire that was her cape life could be blamed on her paranoia and stubborn unwillingness to mend bridges or utilize existing resources. Yes, the PRT was corrupt, but she''d so thoroughly poisoned the water that any hope of reconciliation was buried in an avalanche of mutual distrust.


    And Director Lyons wasn''t Director Piggot. I had to keep reminding myself of that. The PRT of now was not the PRT of Brockton Bay. As much shit as the PRT got in canon, most of it admittedly well-deserved, in the here and now, they represented resources I couldn''t hope to tap into if I left. In the end, Camille''s promise was but empty air: The Crips couldn''t hope to equal the PRT and they certainly couldn''t match the ones pulling the strings.


    "I accept," I said again. Seeing no point in lying with a thinker in the room, I added, "For now."


    "Ha!" Lawless barked. "The nerve of this brat, eh, Teq?"


    "Give it time, Andy," Camille cooed, pulling me tighter into a side-hug. "We''re going to be the best of friends. You''ll see."


    "We''ll talk more later," Came La Torcha''s voice. "For the moment, I want him making as many health potions as possible. Just remember, Andy. The more you help us, the more we''ll be willing to help you."


    When the call ended, most everything I had in my backpack was returned to me. I had to explain just how my creation process worked, but did the best I could to not get into details. I needed the Mana Crystals to make health potions and the quart of water, they didn''t know it was blessed, was deemed harmless. I made a point to not think about anything except obeying La Torcha; I had no doubt that Lawless would be sticking around to keep an ear out for any treacherous thoughts.


    Author''s Note


    Camille cannot use the relic pistol. There isn''t some magic DNA scanner to it. Rather, it''s a matter of just what the relic pistol was made from. Verbatim from the wiki: "These weapons aren''t activated by force or trigger but by the sheer force of righteous will of the user, channeling the light of their soul to push back the darkness."


    Camille''s body is not attuned to mana and so would have a lot of trouble channeling it into the weapon. Even if she could, it''s debatable whether or not the weapon would sync with her. How can she use a weapon powered by the soul if she doesn''t even know it exists?


    On another note, conversations with thinkers are really hard to write. Just keep in mind that Lawless can hear "desires." For example, he can''t gain anything from a thought like "The PRT is run by Cauldron." But, if Andy''s thought changes to "I want to shove a rusty fire iron up Contessa''s ass," he would be able to pick up the hostility towards someone named Contessa, but not who she is or why.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.5 Charmed

    Charmed 3.5


    2000, July 7: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    It had been two days since my kidnapping and I''d yet to hear from La Torcha at all. Lawless lived in the warehouse with me, constantly taunting me with that mocking smirk on his face whenever I considered vaporizing him with the Minion Dematerializer. I wondered at first why he wasn''t freaking out over the tattooed weapon then came to the conclusion that his power wasn''t like Tattletale''s at all.


    The scope was just too different. Tattletale would have flipped her shit and done her best to never stay in range of my right hand. Lawless'' power did not fill in the blanks for him. He could hear my desires, but not what they meant. He knew I wanted to kill him, that was a given, but so long as I didn''t think too deeply into specifics, he wouldn''t know with what.


    Either that, or he had to have heard "Minion Dematerializer" and assumed it was some weapon I''d yet to build. I was clearly unarmed after all.


    I tried to keep tabs on everyone who came and went, but that was futile. Too many people entered and left the warehouse. And truth be told? I wasn''t sure that all of them were gang members judging by how much raw merchandise got moved around. It wasn''t as though every gang member had a Crips tattoo over their heart like Lawless. Camille didn''t have one, neither did the mooks she''d been ordering around. This had to be a civilian front for them somewhere, not that that made anything easier. If anything, it just added one more complication to fighting my way out.


    I considered trying to alert a civilian, but it''d mean putting someone needlessly at risk, and that was assuming I could pick someone that wasn''t just a low-key gang member. Or someone that wouldn''t panic and get us both killed. That seemed likely. My faith in humanity, especially Earth-Bet''s flavor of humanity, wasn''t all that high to start with.


    Surprisingly, Lawless'' order for me wasn''t to make them Elixirs of Iron, or worse. I''d done nothing but meditate and make health potions. I suspected that would change when La Torcha found the time to see me.


    As infuriating as Lawless could be, the worst was Camille. Tequila. She too was staying with me and represented the honeypot side of my recruitment. She was apparently called that because she was the perfect party girl, that enchanting face you glimpsed at a night out with friends, only to feel closer to her than anyone you came with.


    I wanted to hate her. I knew intellectually that every time she looked at me with those hungry eyes, I should feel disgusted. I should feel bone-deep loathing. I knew that had she been anyone else, I would have loathed her with every fiber of my being. I knew that she was a terrible person. She even bragged about her "funniest kills" or "the most pathetic way some guy''s tried to get in my pants."


    But I couldn''t. I couldn''t bring myself to hate her and I hated myself for it.


    Worst of all? I could feel myself growing increasingly attached to her a little bit more each day. I didn''t have much time.


    X


    2000, July 8: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I met La Torcha in person on the morning of the third day.


    We had our meeting in the same office I''d woken up in. I sat on one side while La Torcha sat on the other. Lawless leaned casually against the wall while Tequila cuddled against her boss like a big cat.


    I didn''t appreciate the pang of jealousy that shot through me at the sight.


    La Torcha, Veronica Camacho as I''d been introduced, was a tall, busty woman with calculating eyes that made me think she was measuring every last inch of me. I wouldn''t be surprised if she knew down to the penny what my kidney was worth and where she could sell it for the best price.


    The big boss of the Crips hadn''t bothered with a costume nor a mask, full well knowing I could see through them. I took the fact that she was willing to meet me in civilian guise as a message of commitment. It said, "We won''t let you go. We can''t let you go now."


    Heard. Loud and clear.


    "I hope these two have been treating you well," La Torcha began. And, unexpectedly, they had. It wasn''t just my bias towards Camille talking either. They got me decent food, didn''t disturb my meditations, and generally tried to be accommodating without giving away just where I was. Some mook was on call twenty-four-seven to get me the nutrition shakes and glass cleaner I needed to tinker. Just one more part of their campaign to recruit me.


    "They''ve treated me fine, La Torcha. Although, I''m surprised you''ve got me working on nothing but health potions," I said guardedly, fishing for information.


    "You thought I''d have you making as many of those steelskin elixirs as possible?" She laughed. It was deep and throaty, the laugh of a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve. It didn''t suit the calculating glint in her eyes.


    She flipped her phone to a news article and tossed it to me. It was national news; someone had leaked my disappearance. "Ward Missing! PRT Inept?" screamed the title.


    "I am no fool. Right now, no one knows where you are. All they know is that their liaison''s body was found in a gas station dumpster and that someone took you in the chaos. The moment one of my boys use your steelskin formula, they come down on us like the hammer of God. You won''t be making anything the PRT have used in the field. Even these health potions will only be handed out to my most trusted, and only to be consumed immediately."


    I glared at her. That confirmed it. Agent Morrison was dead. "You killed an innocent man for what? A tinker you can''t even use?"


    "No, don''t be silly, Andy. I didn''t kill one innocent man. I''ve killed dozens. More importantly, you''re not a waste. You''ll be making much more than just potions. This¡­ Petricite for one."


    "Pretty sure he can make a lot more than that," Lawless chimed in. "I remember him wanting everything. Seriously, he makes that fuckwit Sawtooth look like a monkey playing with a couple sticks and rubber bands. Armor? Weapons? Magic drugs? Bottled powers? Kid''s got it all."


    "It''s not that easy. In exchange for versatility, my power requires very specific materials," I explained. The more I cooperated now, the more slack I''d be given and the better my chances of escape. "For example, see that Petricite you were talking about? It can block powers, true, but it needs to be made of petrified wood. You know, fossils. It''s a big part of why I haven''t been transferred out of the city even though there aren''t any major tinkers in Phoenix to mentor me. The more complex the tinkertech, the more specific my ingredient list gets."


    "Ehh, it''s not that big of a deal, boss. Fossilized wood is for sale in damn near every gift shop if you know where to look," Camille said. "I''ve seen them around."


    "That''s true, Cam, but we can''t go buy them in bulk. Stuff like that is probably going to either be seized or is being watched very carefully," La Torcha pointed out. "One person buying enough for a paperweight? Great. Someone ordering enough to load up a pickup truck? No way."


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "What then? We get him to make us a fancy gun?"


    "Sure, I can make you a clockwork gun," I said easily. I thought about Caitlyn''s cool sniper rifle. "But it''ll be just that. A gun. It''ll never jam and it''ll have pretty great range, but it''s a gun at the end of the day. Thing is, there are only so many ways you can make a gun deadly. Sure, exploding bullets sound cool, but they''re not any more dangerous than a normal bullet to the head."


    La Torcha shrugged Camille off her shoulder and leaned forward. "Okay then, smart guy. Let''s hear it from you. What do you think you can build us to remain in our good graces? And remember, we''ll stop being so polite if you can''t give us something good. But if you do, well, like I said, I reward my boys well."


    I mulled it over. It''d be a careful balancing act moving forward. I had to appease them while gathering information and resources to kill them all. Lawless'' smirking mug wasn''t exactly helping matters. "It depends on what your aim is. You want my help? Fine, you have it. But what exactly are you working towards? I want to know what you want the Crips to become."


    "We''re not too different, you and I. You want to kill Scion to prove you''re the best. I want to kill Alexandria because she''s a bitch," she began.


    "That''s¡­ That''s it? That''s your big goal? You want something that can kill Alexandria?" I asked incredulously. It''s not like I didn''t understand. Rebecca Costa-Brown was a stone-cold bitch in canon. "Difficult" was putting it mildly. She was a bit of a bitch like Renekton was a bit bloodthirsty.


    "Why are you so surprised? You had to have heard about what brought us here. That bitch killed my husband, you know."


    "Mortician was your husband?"


    "What? You didn''t read that in the dossier, did you? God forbid the PRT humanize a villain. Believe it or not, Andy, we''re people too. We don''t all stroke white cats and feed our shark tanks twenty-four hours a day. We have lives outside of the vida loca."


    "Well, sorry to break it to you, but I can''t kill Alexandria for you. If I ever get to that point, it won''t be in the next decade," I told her.


    She leaned back and Camille immediately latched onto her side like a limpet again. I couldn''t help but think she was as obsessed over La Torcha as her victims were of her.


    "You think that''s all I want? You''re adorable, Andy. The world isn''t black and white and people aren''t so one-dimensional. Would I love to see that bitch suffer? Sure. But as they say, ''The best revenge is a life well lived.'' No, Andy. I don''t want you to kill Alexandria for me. I want you to help me rebuild the Crips, Torcha''s Crips. After we take over Phoenix, we''re going to go national. With the kind of gear you can make, I don''t doubt that we''ll be able to forge the connections needed to rival the Elite."


    "You''re awfully open about your ambitions. Isn''t the gang leader supposed to be all cagey and stuff?"


    "You''d think so, but no. Not with you. I told you, I want you as one of us. I''m telling you this so you know where I''m coming from. I don''t want to hurt your mom. Honestly? I respect a lady with some hustle, you know? Can''t be easy being a single mother and an immigrant. My mama was like that too. I don''t want to hurt your friends in the Wards either. None of them did anything to me so I don''t need to start anything with them. We don''t need to be enemies, Andy."


    I nodded slowly, deep in thought. The problem was, she was almost sounding reasonable, like she had more depth to her than some moustache-twirling villain. Then again, this was real life, not a comic strip. Her experiences would shaper her in more ways than leaving her with a craving for power and wealth. Oh, she wanted those things, no doubt, but she also wanted prestige, and if she was to be believed, to ruin the strongest brute.


    It wouldn''t work of course. I knew that. Contessa would never allow it and Lawless would be about as useful as a banana slug compared to the lady of snazzy hats.


    But¡­ I could use this. Her ambition wasn''t mine; I had nothing personal against Alexandria and I wouldn''t until I considered her unredeemable, but that didn''t exactly mean I considered her some irreplaceable ally either.


    "To start, you need to get control of this city, right?" I began slowly, trying to flush out my thoughts as I put them to words. "At some point, you''re going to have to kill off SSM and Peckerwood. Or have you absorbed the Peckerwoods yet?"


    "We haven''t. We can get rid of them as we please, but Freeform is too useful as an independent agent right now."


    A plan started to form. It was a nebulous thing, a vapor within a wisp within a cloud. I clamped down on it. I couldn''t let Lawless see. No specifics, not ''til the iron was hot. "Dos Caras. What faces does he have right now? Do you know?"


    "La Llorona and Halloween."


    "Halloween¡­ makes an orange mist that makes him invisible," I recalled from an old PRT dossier. "Anyone he touches skin-to-skin starts to cackle uncontrollably and becomes his puppet, but only for a few minutes. He led the Peckerwoods. I don''t remember La Llorona."


    "Good memory," Camille praised, sending butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. She waved her hand dismissively, "La Llorona isn''t anyone worth mentioning. She cries a lot and makes other people cry."


    I couldn''t help but think that even her disinterest was captivating. I then immediately shook myself to the amusement of the other capes in the room.


    "A bit more complicated than that, Camille," La Torcha said. "She cries and anyone who hears her gets depressed. Suicidally depressed."


    "And what''s your plan for that? Caras can also flay people alive on touch, right? That''s how he gets new faces? So striker, shaker, master, stranger. There''s a reason SSM''s been in this fight despite being so outnumbered."


    "Good, we''ll make an executive out of you yet." Lawless said. "There are two ways to deal with Dos Caras. One, you can be immune to his master effects. Or two, you can shoot him from farther than two city blocks away. Either way, you need to be able to see him through Halloween''s mist. I think he should make us something to see Caras, boss."


    "Yes, that makes sense. Think you can manage that, Andy?"


    I considered the request. It was unexpected. I would have assumed their first real order would be for a weapon. If not that, an armored car or something, not a utility item. I suspected that this was so they could ease me into crime, an insidiously pleasant road, much like Camille''s power. Still, it was easy enough. There were plenty of magics that revealed an invisible foe.


    The simplest would of course be a Control Ward, a totem version of my Oracle''s Elixir. I just needed to build the body. The body would house a portion of my mana along with a unique rune sequence, allowing anyone to activate it. Once placed, it would generate a spherical field in which all invisibility would fail. More specifically, it would send out pulses of mana, visibly highlighting everything in an area in eerie red light.


    "I can," I confirmed.


    "Then that''s what you''ll start with," La Torcha said, ending this discussion.


    I spent the rest of the morning making health potions. By lunch, some mook or other had dropped off a load of marble and steel along with a chisel, everything I''d said I''d need to start.


    Making the actual body of the ward was more complicated than expected. In short, enchanting was hard. Predictably, it required the carving of runes. Runic knowledge wasn''t itself hard to get; it was one of those things naturally provided by the World Rune, much like the memories of potions recipes. The problem was my inability to enter a true tinker fugue.


    A newly triggered tinker could pick up a soldering iron and make anything his specialization allowed regardless of experience by entering his bullshit trance. Lacking a fugue meant I didn''t get that ability. The World Rune gave me knowledge, but it wasn''t puppeting my body so my hands were my own. That was fine for general crafts such as how to work a kiln or grind on a lathe, but for things that required exacting detail with a difficult to master tool like a chisel? It was hours before I had something I could be proud of.


    And I was proud of it, no matter the client. The World Rune would not allow for anything short of my best on a project.


    Each ward was charged with my mana and so could be activated by anyone. When placed, it would reveal all invisible targets within a fifty meter radius, much like my Oracle''s Elixir. However, making it portable did result in a drop in quality, so each ward would function for only five minutes before fizzling out.


    Thus began my life as a Crip.


    Author''s Note


    The reason La Torcha was being so upfront with him, or at least appearing that way, was that she was using Lawless to gauge Andy''s intent. If you were to tell an eight year old that you planned to murder the greatest hero of your era, that child would naturally object. It''d be normal to want to stop you. But¡­ Andy felt none of that. No real desire to defend an idol. La Torcha is taking that as a litmus test of his opinions on the PRT.


    After all, you can learn a lot about a man by gauging his desires. You can learn just as much if not more by figuring out what he doesn''t want.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.5.5 David Morrison

    Interlude 3.5.5: David Morrison


    2000, July 5: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    The world was ending. At any moment, the floor would open up and the yawning maw of Hell would drag me down to where I belonged. The room spun as I desperately tried to focus, to process what Agent Carter was telling me.


    Dad''s body was found in some gas station like a two-bit druggie. The gas station manager noticed nothing, knew nothing. The security camera was broken, only there to scare casual thieves. We had no leads and a PRT liaison was dead. A Ward liaison was dead.


    Dad was dead.


    "-some time to yourself." Agent Carter''s mouth was moving but the world was still spinning.


    ''Dad is dead.''


    "Ranchero? Ranchero? David?"


    ''How the fuck was I going to explain this to Josie? Oh fuck. Josie. She''s six years old.'' I couldn''t. I couldn''t do this. It''d been dad, me, and Josie for as long as she''d been alive. How was I supposed to tell her she''d never see dad again?


    I froze as Agent Carter gave me a tight hug. All I could think about was how she''d never broken decorum like this before and how fucked up I must look if this was her response.


    "-to be okay. It''s going to be okay," she kept murmuring.


    But it wasn''t. Dad was dead.


    The world spun around me. The floor fell from my feet as the stars came alive. Swirling and spinning and making no sense at all. Dad was my rock. He was the ground I built myself on and now he was gone.


    I was in the air.


    The stars reached down to me and all faded to black.


    X


    When I woke up, it was to the sound of a heart monitor beeping away. White ceiling tiles speckled with black greeted me. Fluorescent lights illuminated the overly-sanitized hospital room.


    "You''re up," came Dr. Marshall''s voice. Head physician. Former military man who used his experience dealing with unruly soldiers to deal with unruly troopers and heroes. That meant I was still on base.


    I nursed a killer headache. ''What was I doing in the infirmary?''


    Then it call came back. I returned from my patrol. I stopped a firefight and arrested eight gangbangers, might have even saved a few lives. I felt tired, but good, like I was making a difference. Then Agent Carter called me into her office; it was strange because a face-to-face meeting was rare; she usually just worked with us over console.


    Then¡­ dad.


    My heart clenched.


    "Doc," I rasped. What happened?"


    "You¡­ heard some troubling news, young man. Then you hit your head," Dr. Marshall said in his usual frank tone. "I recommend taking some time to rest."


    "No. I know that. Dad¡­ I don''t just¡­ collapse like that though. I''m not-"


    "You''re not, but you did." He placed a firm hand on my shoulder and pushed me down. "Rest up, son. I promise we''ll talk about this."


    I glanced at the clock. "I-But Josie¡­"


    "We know. We had her picked up from school and brought here. Lovely young lady. She''s having a blast getting autographs from Echo and Redbird."


    Echo. Redbird. Protectorate Team One. Temporarily on loan to Protectorate Team Two. They were good people. I let out a sigh of relief and sank into the pillow. I felt tired, more tired than I''d ever felt in my life. Exhaustion settled in my bones like a physical weight, like sediment building against my joints, making every motion a struggle. The last time I''d felt something like this was¡­ was when mom died¡­


    "Doc?"


    "Yes, son?"


    "Can a person trigger twice?"


    He was silent for a long moment. "Yes, David. Yes, they can. It has been observed that if a parahuman receives the same sorts of physical and emotional stimulus that resulted in their original trigger, their power can mutate, removing some of the restrictions they worked under previously."


    I laid there and piled that information atop the mountain of other things I needed to process. "Shit," I said finally.


    "Quite."


    I let out a watery laugh. "Power testing is going to suck so much."


    I thought I saw his mouth twitch upwards a little. "Yes, yes it will."


    We bantered back and forth, him indulging in more of my bitching than he''d ever had before. It was all a distraction of course, to get my mind focused on anything else but the fact that dad was dead.


    I clung to it like a lifeline, desperate for anything to shield me from my own thoughts.


    X


    2000, July 7: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I finally told Josie.


    I insisted. She deserved to hear it from me. Dad was dead and was never coming home. Could a six year old really understand? She wasn''t some freaky genius like Rubedo, and she was younger than him besides.


    Yes. Yes she could.


    I held her as she bawled and hit me and wailed into my chest. Every cry of abject despair ripped through me, tearing the wound open again.


    "I''m sorry. I''m sorry. I''m sorry," I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks. I was the cape. I was the hero. I was the one with powers. I was supposed to save the day and make everything better.


    But I didn''t.


    I couldn''t.


    Dad was dead.


    X


    Funny thing about the five stages of grief: They''re not so much stages as they are stations, like bus stops or subways. I felt like a pinball, my mind bouncing from despair to denial to anger to acceptance and back around again.


    In my better moments, there was a bit of pride there too. Dad died in the line of duty. He died protecting a child, right? Rubedo was alive somewhere because of dad, right?


    I had to believe that, that he didn''t die for nothing.


    I was pissed. At dad for dying. At myself for not being there and not being able to help even now. At Rubedo for being so fucking brilliant, becoming a goddamn target. At whoever took him. At the PRT. At myself all over again for being pissed.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The shrinks saw me. They encouraged me to talk about my trigger, said talking would help.


    It wasn''t anything new. I''d done it before when I first joined the Wards. It had helped.


    So I talked again, rehashing old ground, tearing open old wounds.


    I triggered a bit after Josie was born, when mom died. I blamed her. The eggheads said my trigger was almost getting run over by Uncle Elliott''s stud bulls when I was twelve, but they''re wrong. It''s never just one thing. It''s never just one thing.


    When mom died, dad moved us back to his family ranch, the ranch Uncle Elliott inherited from grandpa. It was a stud farm and stud bulls are mean. The idyllic image of black and white spotted cows grazing in a tranquil meadow? Yeah, those are dairy cows. Stud cows compete for mates, claim territory, and will gore everything that even looks at them wrong.


    I hated them. I hated farm life. I hated waking up with the sun and taking care of smelly animals.


    I wanted mom back. I wanted home back.


    And one day, I messed up. I didn''t lock up right and the stud bulls got out in the night. I knew they''d wreck the neighbor''s farm so I went out to go get them. I fucked up. I turned a mistake into a fight for my life. I still don''t know how I lost half my ear.


    Maybe a stud bull bit me; God knows those fuckers are mean enough. Maybe I fell and cut something.


    I fucked up and when I woke up again, golden bulls were driving the herd back into our farm.


    It was too late. They wrecked a good $90,000 worth of the neighbor''s farm and Uncle Elliott lashed me hard for it.


    Triggers ain''t ever just one thing, but mom dying was the start, the catalyst. New home. New life. New worries. New stresses. New sister. Everything came back to mom. I missed mom.


    Talking¡­ It didn''t help much. It was too raw. Dad was still in the morgue, couldn''t even bury him yet.


    When I triggered, dad was the one who set me straight. He moved us back to the city and started working at the PRT. Being a sheriff before we left probably helped landing that job.


    He talked to me. He got me help. He made sure I was setting in with the Wards nicely. He was my rock, the reason I moved forward each day.


    And he was dead.


    X


    2000, July 7: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    There was a melancholic cloud hanging over the Wards common room. Truthfully, Rubedo didn''t spend much time in the common room, always cooped up in his lab as he was. His absence wasn''t anything new, but there was now a sense of foreboding that came with his empty seat.


    Whoever took Rubedo had leaked the kidnapping of a Ward and it had played merry hell with the morale of the city. In comparison, the death of a PRT agent was almost a footnote, forgotten amidst the drama. Part of me was grateful for it; dad never liked being the center of attention, but part of me felt like he was being forgotten much too soon.


    The news of a Ward''s kidnapping led to some sweeping changes for us. We couldn''t be sure just whose information had been leaked and so Director Lyons was working under the assumption that absolutely no one''s secret identity was safe. She''d pulled absolutely everyone related to a hero into witness protection, sending them out of the city altogether, likely Tucson.


    The rest of the Wards had been recalled as well. It was likely that the perpetrators wouldn''t target another Ward for a long while, but no one wanted to take any chances.


    This left Raquel on base trying and failing to get her homeschool work done. Jazz had on a chef''s hat and was baker her way through a small supermarket''s worth of flour. I didn''t know she was a stress-baker. I would have found it funny if things weren''t so dire.


    And as for my lovely girlfriend?


    She was taking Rubedo''s absence especially hard. She considered the team her family, treated Rubedo like a baby brother, so felt that it was her fault somehow, never mind the irrationality of it. Penelope hadn''t left her room in days. She combed through every news article, cape dossier, and investigation report in the vain hope of finding a clue that the detectives had missed.


    I sat on the couch, head in my hands as I tried to figure out how I could help. Not that the PRT would let any of us help at all. Penelope and I were eighteen now, Protectorate age, but so long as we were legally Wards, we were off active duty.


    I wanted to find Rubedo. What I''d do when I did, I didn''t know. Did I want to punch him? Hug him?


    I wanted to settle things for Josie as fast as I could. I was eighteen. I could claim guardianship. It''d be hard, but I could do it.


    Truthfully, not an insignificant part of me wanted to leave, to quit being a hero. My faith in the PRT was shattered. Rubedo was kidnapped from his home. How long would it take before Josie became a target?


    But I couldn''t leave. Leaving meant being an eighteen year old with no job. I could make it work if it was just me, but I had to think of my sister now. There was no way in hell the courts would let me keep her around if I didn''t even have a steady income.


    "Ranchero?" Agent Carter called over the intercoms. She''d been taking over for dad''s role as Wards liaison lately. "Director Lyons would like to speak with you. Please make your way to her office."


    I got up to obey and allowed a faint glimmer of hope to ignite. Maybe she found something.


    X


    "Sit down, David," Director Lyons said as I walked in. She looked older than when I last saw her, the stress of her job carving lines into her brow. She took a long dip of her coffee before letting out a depressed sigh. "How are you holding up?"


    White hot flashes of anger sparked within me. "How am I doing? How the hell am I doing? Dad''s dead!" I yelled. "Dad''s dead and we don''t have a fucking clue who did it!"


    "Dav-"


    "Don''t ''David'' me, director. Unless you''re about to tell me who killed dad so I can rip him apart, we don''t have shit to talk about," I snarled.


    It went on like that for too long. The floodgates were opened. Everything I''d held back spilled out like water from a broken dam and I just¡­ I couldn''t stop. Everything that hurt, every grievance I had with the PRT, with the world, just spilled from my mouth in an unceasing wave of word-vomit. Until finally, I ran out of breath. I was breathing hard, tears running down my face.


    I knew she wasn''t at fault, not truly. But at the moment, I didn''t care. I glared at her heatedly. Right now, she represented everything I found wrong with the world, with this fucked up system that left me in charge of a six year old girl.


    We stared at each other for a long minute.


    "I''m sorry," she said finally. She seemed to age a decade before my eyes. "I''m so sorry. I''m sorry the PRT information network wasn''t secure enough. I''m sorry that it was your father who paid the ultimate price. I''m sorry that words won''t ever be enough."


    "Director, I-"


    "No, you''re right. Words like ''He died in the line of duty,'' are just that, pretty words. I can only try to make things easier for you. Not right, that ship''s sailed. But maybe, I can help. I called you here to talk about what the PRT can do for you moving forward. I want to hear from you. You''ve always been a mature young man. What can I do for you, David?"


    ''I want out,'' I wanted to say. I couldn''t though. The past few days had forced me to do a bit of studying and soul-searching.


    A Protectorate hero was on the G-schedule for federal pay. There was some wiggle room for negotiation, but generally, a new hero entered at GS-10. Heroes who''d worked as a Ward were a little different though. Our years as Wards counted as experience, meaning I''d be allowed to enter at GS-12. It was more money than a high school graduate with no college education or work experience could ever hope to make on his own.


    It was the only way I''d have the kind of income needed to support Josie.


    I settled for the next best thing. "I want a transfer," I said, voice hard. "I''m sorry, director. I didn''t mean a lot of what I said, but I just can''t trust the PRT here anymore. I need to leave."


    "Understandable. You have every right. You''ll graduate into a branch of choice. I take it you have no intention of parting form your sister?"


    "No, ma''am. I can''t," my voice broke, "I can''t leave my sister here. Not even with Uncle Elliott and Aunt Mary. She''s¡­ She''s the only one left. I need to take her out of here. Somewhere safer."


    She nodded and produced three manila folders. "I expected as much. I took the initiative to draw up three possible stations for you, but I recommend Albuquerque, New Mexico. Director Watson is a good man and runs a tight ship. It''s also a city with only a third of our population and nowhere near as many capes. It''s safe and I think you''d do well there. He owes me a favor so I don''t think there will be a fuss in organizing a transfer. And if there are any¡­ political¡­ issues, I''m willing to throw my weight around a little. It''s the least I can do."


    "When¡­ When would I leave?"


    "You''ll graduate with the current batch in a month or so. This should give you the chance to say goodbye."


    "Thank you, director," I said honestly.


    "I''m just doing my best to look out for one of my own. There are a few more things however. His funeral. The PRT will of course handle everything while working with you and your uncle. He''ll be buried with full honors and his life insurance paid out to you in accordance with his will."


    "Thank you, director," I said again, though now I was swallowing a lump in my throat.


    There was a sense of permanence to it, talking about dad''s funeral. Still, needs must and I spoke with the director at length about what dad would have wanted. When I left her office, I wasn''t happy, far from it, but it was with a weight off my shoulders.


    Author''s Note


    Ugh¡­ I don''t write grief very well.


    I''m also not sure I''ve portrayed second triggers correctly. For that matter, I''m certain I didn''t. Still, we know so little about them and have so few in-text examples that I''m not too shaken up over it.


    The G-schedule is a real thing. A federal employee, whether he is a janitor or a department head, receives compensation according to the G-schedule, or the general schedule. It goes from GS-1 to GS-15, with 15 being the most senior officials. Each numeric level has ten "steps" based on seniority, experience, expertise, etc.


    Also note that the PRT is operating under the assumption that they''ve been compromised. Whether that''s true or not, that isn''t how Lawless found Andy of course, but they don''t know that.


    I felt that David''s perspective was necessary, even though it added very little in the way of progression. The PRT is doing things, he''s just not aware of it. I also wanted to paint a picture of a man who wanted to go off half-cocked, but couldn''t because he has someone anchoring him, Josie. Josie is just a narrative tool in that sense.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.6 Charmed

    Charmed 3.6


    2000, July 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Judging by the digital clock in one end of the room, it was one in the morning. I spent all of today, yesterday technically, creating Control Wards. They were confiscated from me and placed in a storage room on the first floor of the warehouse. I could still see them with the Oracle''s Elixir, though hiding them from me wasn''t the point. The point was to keep them out of my reach just in case it was possible to tinker them into something more problematic.


    Lawless and Camille had checked in on me regularly. The latter had even asked me what I wanted for dinner and spent time hanging out with me. Honestly, she reminded me of an older girl I used to have a crush on in my past life. It would have been endearing if her plan to consistently expose me to her power wasn''t so transparent.


    And now I was free. Sort of.


    I shared the barracks with Lawless and two other mooks. Camille had another room, with Freeform as a cat curled up at her feet. She''d had sex with him and did a remarkable job of feigning affection, before rushing to the bathroom to vomit into the toilet after the fact. Every. Night. It was¡­ not my favorite thing to watch.


    I now knew just how far she was willing to go for La Torcha''s ambitions.


    Lawless heard every bit of the cocktail of conflicting desires whirling within me and laughed. I swore every night to kill him, just one more desire I couldn''t act on. It only made him laugh harder.


    I didn''t sleep. I couldn''t. Instead, I''d forced my young body awake for the past several nights to memorize their sleep schedules. I wanted to know just how light a sleeper Lawless was. After all, whispers were only damning if he was awake to hear them.


    I''d been meditating for hours while lying on my back, the stillness, even breathing, and emptiness of thought good enough to fool my captors. All my gathered mana went into my Tear, removing any distinctive light shows.


    Hearing their soft snores, I finally allowed myself to emerge from within my soul and plan my escape.


    To start, no matter my violent intentions, I had to admit that the likelihood of fighting my way out of here on my own was slim at best. Three insta-kill bullets. I could probably steal my gun back, but¡­ then what? I was good enough to not shoot myself, but I was no marksman. The relic pistol wasn''t something that''d let me win against multiple gunmen. The only chance of escape I had would be to use the resources they''d need to provide me to make my own solution. That''d be hard enough to do from under Lawless'' nose without having to also hide the specifics of how I''d love to murder him with whatever my current project happened to be.


    No. No matter what, busting my way out like an action movie star was out of the question.


    ''Let''s see¡­ What do I have available to me? I had a quart of holy water, which they didn''t know was special in any way. I knew where my relic pistol was being kept, on Camille''s nightstand as a memento. I could reasonably make requests for more potions ingredients.'' Seeing how pitched combat was out of the question, my thoughts immediately strayed to the most basic of all underhanded weapons: poison.


    ''Can I make a poison?'' I wondered as I allowed the tidal wave that was the World Rune''s memories wash over me. ''I can''t hope to shoot everyone with a dart or stab them with a dagger, so it''d also have to be aerosolized. I''d need to be immune to it obviously. It''d have to be fast-acting to give them no time to raise the alarm. Odorless. Colorless too¡­ Do I have anything like that?''


    I dismissed Cassiopeia''s noxious fumes. Though highly lethal, they were also an eye-catching purple.


    There were subtler poisons used by both the Du Couteau family and the mythical Black Rose, but none would suffice. ''The poison won''t spread fast enough,'' I realized. ''The warehouse is too big.''


    Nor, for that matter, could I think of a ready justification for why I needed twelve quarts of rattlesnake venom, the minimum I estimated I''d need if I wanted to cover the warehouse and the surrounding lot.


    Poisons used by Singed, Twitch, and Teemo faced similar problems.


    On top of that, I was almost certain that La Torcha was immune to poisons. Her breaker state effectively made her Portgas D. Ace, all but invulnerable to physical dangers. I could conceivably catch her by surprise, but that surprise wouldn''t be long enough to kill her with poison and it''d certainly end with my own death. There was also a good chance that she would burn away the poison, if it could reach her at all. And Freeform¡­ He''d simply change himself into a new body, washing away all poisons before they could incapacitate him.


    Worst of all? I had no time to devise a safe delivery mechanism and I wasn''t immune.


    No, poisons weren''t the way to go here¡­


    My thoughts then turned to the simplest method of escape: teleportation.


    It was only simple on paper though. While the World Rune gave me recipes and ideas, it would require a fully functional Hex Core and an intricate enchantment, at minimum. And to build that, I''d need a Namestone of the Brackern, something that obviously didn''t exist on Earth-Bet. It was theoretically possible to fashion one, albeit greatly diminished, but not in any reasonable length of time. This was one of those "build tools to build better tools" scenarios tinkers often found themselves in and I couldn''t afford to sink into this spiral.


    ''it''d be nice if they could just sleep forever¡­'' My thoughts trailed off as a lightningbolt shot through my mind. It''d been a while since I had such a blatant eureka moment. I could put them to sleep for an extended period of time. It wasn''t reliant on the airflow and wouldn''t weaken over a large area. It couldn''t be avoided nor resisted, not by a human who was completely unaware of the spiritual anyway. They could be in the middle of a fight to the death and it''d still take effect. Best of all, I had holy water already.


    I was talking about the God-Willow.


    Well¡­ kind of.


    More specifically, I was interested in the dream blossoms nurtured by Lillia in the Garden of Forgetting.


    I was extremely fortunate in that the dream blossom was in the same boat as the relic stones that made up the weapons of the Sentinels. Once, the God-Willow represented the very heart of the world, the focal point of all life magic in the First Lands. It arguably predated even the likes of Ornn.


    Once.


    I burned at the hands of Ivern the Cruel, the very same who would one day come to be known as Ivern the Green Father. And when it fell, the very land wept.


    Just as the Water of Life I used was a pale imitation of the Well of Life originally discovered by Maokai, the dream blossoms were several times removed from the God-Willow, and very much its lesser for it. The God-Willow made a seedling. That seedling made the Dreaming Tree. The Dreaming Tree lost a branch and that branch flowered into the Bashful Bloom.


    In a way, Lillia was Ivern''s granddaughter.


    I couldn''t make the God-Willow, but I could make dream blossoms.


    ''Yes¡­ A cup of holy water¡­ Some flowers conceptually tied to dreams¡­'' A broad grin split my face. Yes, this was possible.


    I allowed myself to drift off to sleep, the skeleton of my plan starting to take shape.


    X


    "Oi, wake up, kid." I was shaken awake by Lawless. "Take a shower and come out in six minutes," he ordered, shoving a cup of elixir into my hand.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    I dragged my groggy ass into the water and emerged mostly awake.


    "You know what would help? Setting an alarm," I grumbled as I walked into the office that doubled as our living room. A squishy lump impacted my face, my body too lethargic to catch it.


    "Ha, not a morning person, cutie?" came Camille''s cheery greeting.


    "Huh?"


    "Pick it up ''cause that''s your breakfast."


    "Right¡­" I picked it up. It was a breakfast sandwich from McDonald''s. For all that Lawless and Camille loved to hear themselves talk, they were careful, leaving me as few clues as possible to discern my location. For instance, by buying food from places so ubiquitous I could be anywhere, or by intentionally removing packaging labels from local stores before feeding me.


    I scarfed down the Egg McMuffin and brushed my teeth before returning to stretch in the office. Yes, I was kidnapped. Yes, I wanted to escape. No, that wasn''t a good reason to stop my morning practice. If anything, the more I worked out, the less time I''d spend helping my captors.


    "Heh, doing some karate kid shit again?" Lawless laughed. "You imagining beating my ass like a drum, little tinker?"


    I flowed from the kneeling dragon to the swirling cloud, a series of movements meant to harmonize the spirit with the body and center the practitioner. It was a part of the foundational motions taught to every Shojin acolyte. I stepped lightly and brought my hands forward into a grasping claw before my claws turned into two middle fingers.


    "Heehee, leave him alone, Kev. Let the little guy do his thing. Besides, I''m pretty sure that''s not karate."


    "What the hell do you know? You ain''t Asian."


    "Filipinas are Asians too, you piece of shit."


    "Sure as hell don''t act Asian."


    "And what does an Asian act like?"


    Lawless shrugged and gestured towards me. "That."


    "Fuck you, Kevin."


    "That in invitation, sweetheart?"


    Camille made a disgusted face. "Ugh, I''d rather replace my tampon with a lit cigar."


    "Bitch PMSing all the time, I thought you already did," he snarked back.


    I did my best to tune them out. I couldn''t spot Freeform, which admittedly didn''t mean much. He could have been sent away on some mission to win Camille''s favor or he could be that spider in the corner of the room, waiting for me to make my escape attempt. When I made my break for it, I''d have to make sure to kill him first.


    The bickering between Lawless and Camille was practically a ritual. As much as La Torcha tried to portray the Crips as one big dysfunctional family, they weren''t. They worked together well enough, or they''d never be trusted to watch me, but they definitely didn''t like each other. The impression I got was that Lawless thought of Camille as little better than a cheap whore while Camille considered herself La Torcha''s real right hand gal.


    Eventually, I could put off my tinkering no longer.


    X


    On the bright side, my skill at engraving runes was progressing rapidly. Having the memories of rune masters certainly helped, and like my martial arts, I was slowly turning distant, hypothetical memory into something more actionable.


    By the time lunch rolled around, I''d made four more Control Wards, all stored in the same room on the first floor.


    The three of us sat together, eating some bulgogi that Camille had Freeform pick up for her. It was manipulative, a blatant attempt to get an eight year old boy to associate her with something familiar, something reminiscent of home. It stung that it was working. The bulgogi was subpar, made for the overly sweet American palette. A part of me still loved that she''d thought of me as she ordered lunch.


    "You''re not making any more of those wards," Lawless spoke as he polished off the last of his meat.


    "They work."


    "They do. And we got enough. Ain''t so many invisible capes that we need a giant stockpile. Next time Dos Caras squares up with us, someone''s gonna set a ward and we''ll have a sniper on watch. Fucker''s gonna pop like a balloon."


    "They only last five minutes apiece."


    "See? That''s how I know you never traded hands with anyone before. Five minutes is fucking forever in a fight, midget."


    "Fine. What else am I making?"


    "Powers in a bottle." He must have seen something in the way my face paled. "Fuck''s wrong with that? You got more than that steelskin shit."


    "I do," I admitted hesitantly. He''d obviously heard my internal bitching at some point. "There''s a reason I don''t make it, a reason I didn''t make it for the PRT. And it''s not because Director Lyons didn''t know about it. Did you know I admitted I could give people permanent enhancements?"


    "For real?"


    "Yeah. We decided we shouldn''t touch it. If she sees a bunch of guys running around with identical brute and mover packages and shiny purple veins, she''ll know who took me. I told her about Shimmer, that''s the formula by the way, but we agreed to scrap the idea because it drives people insane. And I don''t mean a little eccentric; I mean full-on catch and eat roaches, peel off your own face with your fingernails kind of insane.


    "Look, Lawless. I know you probably heard me thinking something like, ''I wish I could give myself powers.'' And you heard right. I wish I could. And I can. It wasn''t because the PRT didn''t like the idea. It was because I didn''t, and still don''t, know how to make the Shimmer formula safe. Trust me. Don''t touch Shimmer. It''s really not worth it."


    I could have simply not said anything and gone ahead with making Shimmer. It would have given the PRT a heads up as to who had taken me, if Watchdog hadn''t figured it out already. But it would also cause wonton destruction across the city while costing La Torcha many of her soldiers. I couldn''t afford to alienate the Crips yet.


    "Well fuck."


    "Make me a knife, Andy," Camille interjected. "You know, one of them super tinker weapons."


    I wanted to immediately agree but caught myself. "A knife is a knife is a knife. It won''t be much more deadly than any other blade just because a tinker made it."


    "I know."


    She then did something unexpected and placed a pound of fossilized wood on the table. "Had a mook order another mook who got some homeless guy to buy it for me yesterday," she said in explanation. "I want one of them fancy Petricite knives. It''ll block powers, right?"


    I looked at the multicolored block of calcium, its red and blue crystalline hues carved into something resembling a howling wolf. My pistol was made with only three pounds of Petricite alloy. With a pound of pure Petricite¡­ Yes¡­ I nodded slowly. "This is enough for a blade."


    She pumped her fist and pulled me into a hug, one I''d no doubt have enjoyed more had I been older. Flushing red, I reluctantly pulled away and did my best to banish the warm and fuzzies.


    "I-I want a reward," I said, stuttering.


    "Hahahahaha, hear that, Teq? Kid wants a reward," Lawless cackled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the two of us.


    Camille''s face went through a myriad of emotions in rapid succession. Surprise. Bemusement. Revulsion. Hate. Her expressions shot conflicting feelings through me.


    "N-Not like that! I want a tea set!"


    "Oh, thank fucking God," she sighed with relief. "A tea set..."


    "Kind of. More than that. The whole thing, really. One of those traditional Korean tea sets. Teapot. Cups. Jasmine and chamomile. Incense burner, press, and mold. White ash bedding. Powdered sandalwood incense. The whole shebang."


    "What the hell? Most kids ask for a video game."


    "Trust me, the tea set is more expensive," I said simply. "Besides, we all have our hobbies. Mine is martial arts, listening to jazz music, and tea. If you''re so hell-bent on making me a gangster, I''m going to be one with style."


    "I''m not buying you a full tea set, Andy. Where would I even find one of those?"


    "Probably in Chinatown. It doesn''t need to be authentically Korean, just made in that style. I wouldn''t know the difference, but I do know my teas though. I want jasmine, chamomile, and sandalwood incense."


    She looked at Lawless with an arched brow. The thinker shrugged with an amused smirk on his face. "Ehh, he really does want them. Tea bags ain''t good enough apparently. Wants the pressed flower kind. Gook''s got class."


    I flipped him off. "Fuck you too. Oh, and a pound of good knife steel. The better the steel you get me, the better your knife will be. In fact, if you get me the wood as well, I can make a proper handle too. If you have a picture of your ideal style and length, it''d help to have that too."


    "Fuck. You know what? Fine. You have a deal, Andy. I''ll get you your tea set. Just write it all down."


    "Good, now what else can you build?" Lawless said, leaning forward. "Shit don''t need to be a weapon, just has to be useful."


    I shrugged, not wanting to volunteer anything too powerful. "More health potions?"


    "Nah, the two dozen you made are enough for now. Try again."


    I looked to through the wall and over my temporary lab. I couldn''t deny that a part of me was drawn to all the tools and materials I hadn''t used yet. The problem was, anything I built would be taken from me immediately to ensure that I couldn''t use it against them. I didn''t want to empower the Crips. The least I could do was make something that wouldn''t hurt anyone directly.


    "An EMP, an electromagnetic pulse that shorts out electronics in an area," I said. I wanted to use it to make my great escape.


    Lawless smirked. "He''s fucking adorable. He wants to use the EMP on us. Knock out the electronics and sneak away in the chaos."


    "Andy, can''t you see we want to be your friends?" she cooed. "You may as well stop trying to find a way out. Everyone becomes my friend eventually."


    "Pretty sure Lawless isn''t," I snarked back.


    "Yes, because I don''t want him to be," she scrunched her nose cutely. "He''s an asshole."


    "Ehh, she starts with her power on me, I put two between her eyes. She''s smarter than that," the thinker said. After a moment, he added. "You know what? Sure, kid. Build your EMP machine, but know I''ll be listening even more closely. I can just take it away the moment it''s done. And if you do activate it, well¡­ Let''s hope you''re faster than you look."


    Author''s Note


    Camille isn''t gay, at least conventionally. Her entire sense of identity is focused on Veronica. The inspiration for their dynamic was a more fucked up version of the relationship between Emerald Sustrai and Cinder Fall in RWBY.


    Camille doesn''t want a knife, not really. It''d be great to have, but it''s hardly going to change her life with the way she operates. What she wants is to slowly get him used to the idea of following her orders. She wants to eventually control his pipeline, what he can and can''t build, while simultaneously getting him used to the idea of making lethal weapons, starting with the simplest weapon she could think of.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.7 Charmed

    <div>


    Charmed 3.7


    2000, July 12: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Honestly, I thought she''d ask for something smaller and leaner, a stiletto maybe. She wasn''t the sort to actually get into a frontal fight with anyone so I expected her to want something she could hide in a discrete pocket, maybe even a ring with a collapsible blade she could drag over someone''s throat when they weren''t paying attention.


    Instead, she asked for something with far more substance. I suspected that this overlarge kitchen knife would either be a gift for her dear Veronica or a way to arm Freeform further. Or perhaps a bribe for someone else? Who knew with her?


    Regardless, I finished the knife in two days, though it looked more like a shortsword than a knife in my diminutive hands. It was as long as my thigh, a tad less than twelve inches, five inches of hilt and seven of blade. It was a sleek, double-edged thing made for thrusting, with a nice, sturdy spine that did not fold. The hilt was wrapped walnut and colored with a smoky, dark lacquer that contrasted nicely with the almost pearlescent-white Petricite alloy. All told, it was a beautiful piece, both functional and elegant.


    ''Leave it to Inspiration to make sure I give it my all.''


    And true to her word, Camille had delivered on her side of the deal. The very evening I gave her the knife, she gave me an extremely pricey tea set, the sort used in Shinto and Buddhist tea ceremonies. It was the single most expensive thing I''d ever owned in either of my lives, not counting my car or similar major purchase. Just the tea set, cups and pot, cost over seven hundred dollars, with the incense burner and complementary supplies adding up to an additional four hundred. For a boy who''d been born to immigrant parents in both lives, a thousand one hundred dollars was an absolutely staggering price tag for some leisure items.


    "This is the kind of money a Crip exec can throw around," she said with her characteristic seductive smile. "You could have this kind of luxury too," she implied.


    It was early in the morning, hours before daybreak. I took a sip of the Oracle''s Elixir on my nightstand and made sure Lawless was still asleep before I shuffled out of bed and got to work. It wasn''t the expensive tea cups I was interested in. Rather, it was the chamomile.


    It was no coincidence that I''d asked for it, buried as one of many requests addressing my personal cravings. Fun fact: Chamomile was a type of daisy, but that wasn''t important by its lonesome. Good chamomile was characterized by its mild flavor and fragrance and only the flower heads were used to brew the tea. The tea was most commonly known for being a home remedy for insomnia.


    A flower associated with a good night''s sleep.


    A flower associated with good dreams.


    Perfect.


    In the main office, I gently cupped a handful of dried flowers and poured mana into them, focusing earnestly on my need. A hauntingly beautiful blue light shone from the flowers as they were remade into something different, something that didn''t exist on this world. A set of six half-bloomed buds sat where the chamomile daisies were moments ago.


    The dream blossoms were flowers with five large petals, blue on the inside and royal-purple on the exterior. They were creations of magic and spirit as much as standard matter and seemed to glow with an inner light, thankfully not too bright in the darkness.


    I took a whiff of the flowers. Their smell was impossible to describe, a fragrance that reminded me of tranquil nights and childhood bedtime stories. It reminded me of my father in my past life, who decorated the ceiling of my childhood room with glow in the dark stars because I was afraid of the dark.


    But there was danger there too, a hint of bitterness and something briny. It smelled of the ocean and I was briefly taken back to Busan. Salt on my tongue. Shouting. Feeling so small as I sank, paralyzed by the cold. White hot pain in my eyes.


    I reeled back as though struck. Too much was definitely a bad thing. It was a warning, like ominous stormclouds in the distance.


    Nightmares were dreams too.


    I stood and immediately staggered a bit, feeling drowsy. I frowned. It was as I thought: Just as I wasn''t automatically immune to any poisons I could make, I wasn''t immune to the dream blossom''s effects either. Still, this was a solid proof of concept. I could control this, my first foray into the higher magics of the First Lands.


    I spent as much time as I dared pouring mana into the dream blossoms then pressed the flowers inside my pillowcase until they lied flat and hidden. Lillia cultivated them, but they also naturally nourished themselves off of the dreams of mortals; it was what had gotten Lillia so fascinated with humanity in the first place. By leaving them inside my pillow, I was both hiding them and giving them the chance to absorb my own dreams.


    Soon, the blossoms would bloom in full and I''d be able to make my escape.


    X


    I went to sleep and found myself within the temple of my soul once more. The Rune of Inspiration swirled before me, three Keystones surrounded by nine lesser runes in an ever expanding orbit. It took my breath away, every time like the first time.


    I was familiar by now. I knew what had happened; the dream blossoms had been enough to propel my progress. It wasn''t too much of a surprise. One of the lesser runes ignited after I built my relic pistol, but I hadn''t received anything from making the Petricite Elixir, the Tear of the Goddess, or the Control Wards. I was very close anyway.


    With eager hands trembling, I stepped towards the altar and beckoned a star down.


    I''d never been happier to receive one of these before. Every one of them was unique in their own way, each a fragment of eternity, but there was an undeniable urgency that accompanied this one.


    Help, it promised. More and more, I was realizing that the World Rune had a mind of its own.


    "Hextech Flashtraption." I recognized the rune with ease.


    I looked down as power filled me. Heat coursed through my body and condensed itself onto my hand, forming yet another tattoo just behind the three bullets of the Minion Dematerializer. It looked like a swirl of energy overlaid atop some complex gear.


    ''No, not energy,'' I realized, ''a portal.''


    As the power settled, its properties engraved themselves in my soul and I knew that nothing in existence could separate it from me.


    Once per day, I could overcharge this fragment of the World Rune, allowing me to channel for three seconds then teleport to anywhere within my field of perception. I got the sense that this could improve, if only I could grasp a complete understanding of the magics that governed space and time. The obvious solution would be to simply increase my range of perception.


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    "Can I make binoculars for the Oracle''s?" I wondered to myself.


    I shook my head. That was stupid¡­


    "But¡­ maybe not?"


    What were Master Yi''s goggles if not overlarge binoculars? The Seven Lenses of Insight, they were called. They were unique, crafted by none less than the Revered Inventor who was so impressed by the blademaster''s martial prowess that he gave them to him as a gift. They were synchronized to Yi''s own magical resonance and could change their settings through thoughts alone.


    That certainly gave me some ideas¡­


    I laughed. I laughed and laughed and had I been anywhere else but the confines of my own soul, would no doubt have been committed to an asylum. Here I was wracking my brain for a way out and one possible avenue dropped into my lap. I hadn''t truly counted on it either; the growth of my personal power thanks to the World Rune seemed so very unreliable.


    "But maybe," I said aloud, "unreliable is the way to go. Lawless can''t hear anything if I don''t know what I want either."


    I could leave right now. Rouse myself, pack up what I could, then teleport away. Fifty meters, or a hundred-sixty-four feet wasn''t a great distance, but it could be a good head start, right? They were all asleep anyway¡­


    Then, like an icy deluge, reality reasserted itself into my life.


    "No," I denied myself. Flash was not a quiet spell, nor a lightless one. Half the warehouse would be looking for me the moment I left.


    At the end of the day, I still had no idea where I was. Even if I left, if Red Sands was located on the outskirts of town, I''d have to travel far on my stubby little legs to reach home, assuming I could figure out where that was. I could try to arm myself, I knew Camille kept the Petricite dagger and relic pistol in her nightstand, but trying to sneak into her room like that without the aid of the blossoms might get me caught.


    And if I went to a cop¡­ I knew for a fact that Lawless had cops on retainer; he certainly bragged about it enough. Phoenix wasn''t Brockton Bay, but it wasn''t exactly the safest city in the world either. I had no idea who could be trusted. There was a good chance that the first cop I met wouldn''t be corrupt, but by putting myself into the system, I''d alert my pursuers of my location sooner than not. There were even odds of me having an "accident" as the PRT picking me up.


    Worse, that would be plenty of time for them to take my mother hostage.


    The same went for the PRT, but for different reasons. There could be moles, but¡­ maybe not? My best bet would be to steal a phone and try to contact them, hoping that they could reach me before I was discovered, if they were in any position to come at all. Did the bombings happen or was it one more lie? They would have reorganized with reinforcements from other departments by now, right? Did mom get scooped up into protective custody? Or did she fall between the cracks amidst the chaos?


    The appalling truth was that right now, I had no idea how solvent the local PRT was and the uncertainty weighed on me like heavy chains.


    "They need to die," I realized.


    I had similar thoughts during the day of course. When Lawless not so subtly threatened my mother. When he dropped racial slurs at me or told me about all the "fun" he''d had with this or that woman. When Camille hurled into the toilet after a night "convincing" Freeform.


    But this, this was an epiphany. It wasn''t a moment of passion or some dark thoughts sprouted in irritation. No. They needed to die because my circumstances would not change without their deaths. My physical escape would get me away from Camille, but it would put them on high alert and force them to retaliate in a way I found unacceptable. I knew their faces and names. If I wasn''t theirs, I couldn''t be allowed to live; La Torcha made that abundantly clear.


    A wave of nausea filled me at the thought of harming Camille. It told me how deeply she''d already wormed herself into my head. I hardened my heart and decided on the only course I had left, the only course there could be since my kidnapping:


    "So be it," I resolved myself. "There needs to be a precedent for the unwritten rules, right? Fine. Let''s set a goddamn precedent."


    X


    The past few days had seen me make some progress on the EMP generator. It was Blitzcrank''s, scaled down to be roughly the size of a basketball and only slightly south of twenty pounds, light compared to the behemoth that was the Great Steam Golem.


    Blitzcrank didn''t pop up in Zaun out of nothing; he was made by Viktor when the mad scientist was mostly sane. Viktor had wanted to eliminate human error from dangerous jobs like sump-diving, construction, and mining. When there was a massive chemical spill in Zaun, he created Blitzcrank to rescue and protect Zaun''s denizens. If he hadn''t, if his intentions had been to conquer or destroy rather than to save and defend, I suspected I would have had a much harder time isolating and adapting Blitzcrank''s generator design into something completely nonlethal and human-friendly.


    Still, this was my first foray into hextech, that mysterious and at times utterly paradoxical branch of science which sought to quantify and industrialize magic.


    It wasn''t easy.


    Like any creation of Viktor, I needed a Hex Core. Or, an early-gen prototype of one that didn''t require a Brackern''s Namestone.


    The real Hex Core that was embedded in Viktor''s staff was a fully functioning artificial intelligence in its own right, capable of adapting and streamlining its systems on its own prerogative to better assist its master. That was how Viktor could use a single power source to power everything from an electromagnetic force field to a gravity field, thermal laser, and even a fully unrestrained mana storm¡­ that could be remote-controlled somehow because genius and sociopath were often synonyms.


    Blitzcrank''s version was nowhere near that adaptable, but that was fine. I didn''t need it to be. I just needed it to power a static discharge.


    It took some carefully worded maneuvering, but I got everything I needed to build one from two car batteries and ten Mana Crystals. Or technically, six car batteries, seven portable generators used by campers, and a box of transformers. I had my fair share of failures.


    No lie, I felt a bit like Tony Stark as I put the finishing touches on my prototype. Hell, it even looked a bit like an arc reactor, cylindrical and glowing with the blue light of mana. I wanted to turn it into a bomb. It wouldn''t be too difficult to destabi-


    The moment I thought that, the core was taken from my hands.


    "No. No bombs, kid," Lawless said.


    "I wasn''t going to."


    "I know. You got it good here. You ain''t about to make shit worse for yourself. This an EMP?"


    "Ha! No. That''s the battery."


    "You spent three days¡­ making a battery?" he said, face carefully neutral.


    "It''s a bit more complicated than that, but sure. You know how a battery loses its capacity over time?" He stared at me blankly. "Well it does. That one doesn''t. It''s clean, light, and will last damn near forever. It also has a high enough capacity to shut down an entire city block."


    "It need to be in an EMP?"


    "That one? Yes."


    And it was even true. I would love to explore the possibilities that a Hex Core represented, but right now? In their captivity? Not a chance in hell. "That thing can do a lot, but it also needs a lot of juice to get started. Kind of like how a boulder rolling down the hill has loads of energy, but you need something strong enough to shove the boulder off that ledge in the first place." I preempted his next question with a carefree shrug. "And no, you can''t just hook it up to a car battery. It specifically needs to be steam. Don''t ask me why, but my tech wants to be a hodgepodge of magic bullshit and steampunk."


    "You made an infinite battery that only responds to¡­ steam?"


    "Not infinite. Nothing''s infinite. Sure, it''ll last for decades, maybe even centuries, but it''ll still deteriorate eventually. But yes. Steam."


    He looked at the first-gen Hex Core for a moment and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He grabbed me by the arm and started dragging me out of the lab. "You know what? I don''t give a damn. You can tell me what you need for the rest of this over lunch."


    "Peruvian chicken?"


    "Sure, kid. Where does a chink even get a taste for Peruvian chicken?"


    I let the casual racism slide off me like water off a duck''s back. It was practically second nature now. "What can I say? I''m a cosmopolitan."


    Author''s Note


    Ugh¡­ Not happy with this, but ehh. I think it''s a decent attempt at getting Andy to build something more than potions and vague enchanted things.


    Yup. Hextech Flashtraption. Useful, but very situational, just like the in-game ability.


    A reminder that Andy was captured on the fifth of July, making this one week in captivity. Camille started working on Freeform since Oathkeeper''s interlude, June fourteenth. She''s had a full four weeks to work on Freeform, as opposed to just a week with Andy and she''d been far more¡­ physical¡­ with the older cape for obvious reasons. Andy isn''t magically resistant to her power; she''s just taking her sweet time for a number of reasons.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.8 Charmed

    Charmed 3.8


    2000, July 13: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    With the most complicated part of the EMP generator finished, I was able to complete the project a day later. The materials weren''t expensive or hard to find either. I essentially just needed various bits of piping from an old school steam boiler in good condition.


    I stripped down most of it and even fashioned brand new pieces scaled down to fit, but when it was over, I was left with something the size of a basketball.


    I was proud of it. When you pressed a button, it would use an internal battery supply to flash-boil a container of water. The energy and pressure would then catalyze the activation of the prototype Hex Core, releasing a large amount of mana. An intricate web of wires and transformers would then channel the flood of mana and convert it into electricity, scattering the electricity outward in a dome of static that was completely harmless to organics but would play merry hell on any form of technology.


    The truth was that electricity did not play nice with open air. Pokemon lied: Flying types would shit on electric types because air was one of the best insulators out there.


    The Hex Core and internal transformers did not convert mana into electricity perfectly. This wasn''t a design flaw, but a matter of necessity. It needed at least some mana to function. In order to keep the static discharge both nonlethal and somehow coherent through air, the device wove mana amidst the electric currents in a way that was frankly impossible to put to words.


    Hextech was bullshit.


    As homage to the great golem, I made my new contraption look like Blitzcrank''s faceplate, two golden plates that joined together at the center to form the outline of a skull. Two shining "eyes" finished the look. Taken on its own and without the context of Blitzcrank''s body, it actually looked a little like the closed carapace of a beetle.


    I heard footsteps behind me. La Torcha. I''d felt her coming when she entered the building, her confident gait and pantsuit attire at odds with the disguised gang members who dressed like they did hard labor working for a shipping company.


    "Is that the EMP generator you promised Lawless?" she asked.


    "Yes," I nodded. "I''m thinking about naming it the Blitzpack. What do you think?"


    She took it from me, the bitch. "I think it''s mine and I don''t care what it''s called so long as it works. What''s its range?"


    "About two hundred feet, so approximately the length of a city block. Radius, not diameter."


    "I think I''m going to have this tested outside the city first. We have so many beautiful national parks after all."


    I snorted. "Aren''t they on fire at the moment?"


    "Not all of them. A fair chunk is desert."


    "Fine, whatever." I pointed to a knob where Blitzcrank''s spine would be. Below that was a switch that could have belonged to a lamp. Because it had. "That holds water, a bottle''s worth. You''re going to need to refill it whenever you use it. That switch turns it on. The static will fry absolutely everything in the area that relies on electricity, from cars to phones."


    "Use once. Reload. Simple enough. Anything you want from me?" She laughed at the look on my face. "You don''t have to look so surprised. I told you, I want you on my team and my executives get rewarded."


    I could see Lawless listening in from the other room, no doubt using the chance to figure out what exactly I can make. Out of sight, out of mind, except he wasn''t ever out of my sight. I needed something that wouldn''t be considered too risky, but something that could also give me an edge.


    "Tools," I decided. "All the tools. Power drills. Electric saws. Voltage testers. The strongest welding torch on the market. Everything an electrician, plumber, carpenter, or construction foreman might have in his truck? I want the best there is."


    La Torcha made a show of looking around the room at the lab she''d had set up before my arrival. "What''s wrong with this?"


    I shrugged. "Nothing, but I''m going through the ''tools to build better tools'' phase. I could probably make a better welding torch for myself out of a car battery and a lighter if I needed to, but why bother when I can source better materials to start with?"


    "I give you free reign to ask me for something and you want tools? No games? Food?"


    "I told you. My goal is to murder Scion and prove I''m the greatest tinker ever. This is my hobby. Besides, Cam gives me good food anyway."


    A slow smile spread across her face. "Fine, I can do that." She gave me the side-eye. "Don''t think you can use any of this to escape. I''ll be working out of here for a few days while you make this thing."


    "Then you''ll test all its functions and make sure I can''t use it to kill any of your minions," I finished for her. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."


    The swat I got for my cheek was worth it.


    X


    I had a pile of handheld power tools on my workbench within the hour.


    I wasn''t just testing La Torcha''s willingness to give me potentially dangerous tools; she obviously didn''t think I could make anything to escape with while she was on-site. And truthfully? She was right. Her power let her turn into fire, phasing through all physical attacks. As far as anyone knew, she was invulnerable.


    I had my own guesses. I hypothesized that La Torcha''s Shard was taking her physical body and translocating it into a different dimension and that the energy required to do this produced an exothermic reaction which ignited the air around her, causing everyone to mistake her breaker state as "turning into fire."


    Which meant simply dousing her in water or otherwise depriving her of oxygen wasn''t going to work since she wasn''t in the world to begin with. Hell, even the blossoms likely wouldn''t work in her breaker state. It was why I also guessed that she''d be immune to poison. She''d shown some instinctive phasing ability in the past when she avoided gunfire she couldn''t have seen coming. There was a reason she managed to escape LA without Alexandria ramming a fist up her ass.


    No, my goal was for once completely transparent: I wanted a multi-tool, one that would be with me throughout the years. And since I didn''t need to pretend my tinker specialization was strictly alchemy anymore, I saw no reason to limit myself.


    I''d drawn from Viktor, so it was only fair that I drew on his counterpart this time: Jayce, the Defender of Tomorrow. Pretentious and hopelessly optimistic name aside, he was a genius whose work rivaled Viktor''s.


    Everyone saw his Mercury Hammer as the single greatest thing he''d ever made. That''s because people were easily distracted magpies. They saw the flashy, shiny weapon and oohed and aahed, but never considered what it took to make such a hilariously impractical thing function in the first place. Not just function, but have all of its parts synergize to create a greater whole than the sum of its parts.


    Jayce''s goal in life was to raise the standard of living among Piltovans and Zaunites by creating mechanical marvels that could perform anything and everything a job required. Essentially, he made mecha-shift weapons from RWBY, but for civilian use.


    He made a shovel that could shift into a pickaxe for miners. He made a hammer that could double as a laser drill for demolitionists. But that alone wouldn''t have made him a legend. Even in Earth-Bet''s fledgling internet, there were dozens of pictures of "redneck engineers" stapling together random tools in the name of innovation. Hell, there were professional manufacturing companies coming up with "tactical shovels" that had their heads sharpened into hatchets with telescopic shafts that could house a hidden flashlight and so on.


    They were all, without exception, utter dogshit.


    A multi-tool alone wouldn''t have made Jayce a legend. Rather, it was what he did to get mecha-shifting multi-tools to work perfectly that made him a household name. He, alongside Viktor, made hextech capacitors that could seamlessly transition from one function to the next while adapting to different energy sources, switching from mana to electricity to steam and more. Versatility was the name of Jayce''s game and he was a master. Hell, it would be the inspiration for Viktor''s own Hex Core.


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    Take the Mercury Hammer for example. Though it was originally made for civilian use, Jayce tweaked it into his iconic hammer to fight Viktor and reclaim the Namestone.


    The Namestones were crystalline containers which housed the life force and memories of the Brackern, a race of scorpion-like sentients native to Shurima. Skarner, the Crystal Vanguard, was the greatest of their number.


    The Namestone was also required for the construction of a truly sentient Hex Core, which was why I''d called the one in the Blitzpack a prototype.


    ''It''s funny,'' I mused, ''how so many things Piltover and Zaun made come back to the crystals of Skarner''s people. In a way, they were never inventing anything new using magic, merely reapplying an existing magical resource in a new way. Then again, I suppose that is the soul of innovation in the end¡­''


    The Mercury Hammer was no different in that regard. It used a fragment of a Namestone to meet its tremendous energy requirement. Jayce had to make his own hextech capacitors because the ones widely available weren''t good enough. But the end product spoke for itself. It was a hammer that could lob electricity on rapid-fire, shift into a fully functioning cannon, generate a static field that somehow had kinetic force enough to knock back and electrocute enemies, and enhance the hammer''s impact using electromagnetic fields. Defense. Offense. Utility. Range. It had it all.


    My head slammed into my workbench. I opened one eye and glared at my latest creations. Two rectangular capacitors stared back at me. They were small, the size of a Lego block each.


    They were also the only things I''d managed to make despite working at this for over four hours.


    "Andy, come have dinner," Camille called in that entrancing way of hers. It was almost familial the way I could see her in the other room pulling out paper plates for pizza.


    I glared at the evidence of my snail''s pace but got up. Paradoxically, I''d found that the easiest way to minimize my contact with Camille and her power was to force myself into interacting with her. She''d seek me out less this way. Even that was getting more difficult by the day.


    X


    2000, July 14: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I snuck into my lab at two-thirty in the morning. Time was working against me. Not only was Camille''s power slowly Pavlov-ing me into being her lapdog, the only way I could tinker without Lawless'' oversight was to do so in the dead of night. But working like this was wreaking havoc on my eight year old body. And equally as bad, I needed to sleep more if I wanted to make my blossoms bloom.


    More meditation. More sleep. More tinkering. More¡­ everything.


    It was wearing me thin.


    Still, I powered through. Once the blossoms fully bloomed, I would be able to make my escape. Until then, I needed to make use of every second I had.


    I pulled my pillowcase inside out, removing the six dream blossoms. Every night, as I waited for Lawless to fall asleep, I''d made small handfuls of Mana Crystals, storing them alongside the blossoms. And every night, as I got up to tinker, I''d move what few I''d managed to make without my trademark blue light show into a box in my lab. So long as I didn''t think about wanting to use them and kept myself distracted during the day, I could keep them hidden.


    Tonight was no different. I snuck into my lab and added the crystals to my hidden stash. Thirty-three in all greeted me. That seemed like a lot, but I reminded myself that my relic pistol had taken forty. Even counting my newly increased pace, I''d need more.


    Thankfully, tonight''s tinkering session could barely be called that. I converted the holy water into the Water of Life before placing a pair of scissors and ten Mana Crystals inside. After that, I used the Mana Crystals to slowly merge the water and the scissors.


    As dawn approached, I stuck the bowl of holy water inside an out of the way cabinet and thanked God I didn''t necessarily need loud power tools to tinker.


    Tomorrow, I''d be ready.


    X


    I finished my multi-tool.


    It wouldn''t exactly be seeing much combat, so I didn''t need the overwhelming energy capacity of a Brackern Namestone. Instead, the two capacitors acted sort of like batteries. The primary difference between a capacitor and a battery was that a capacitor kept electrical energy as a charged field while a battery generated electrical energy through chemical reaction. A capacitor could also discharge its electrical field instantly, where as a battery could take a bit of time. In exchange, a capacitor couldn''t usually hold its charge for longer than a day.


    I wanted to make sure that no one else could use my tech, so I hooked up a transformer to the capacitors. The transformer was tinkered to convert mana to electricity, something I''d figured out how to do while making the Blitzpack. This way, no one could charge the capacitors except me and the multi-tool would quickly run out of power when in someone else''s hands.


    Eventually, I wanted to replace this setup with a full Hex Core, turning it into a smart-tool that could assist me independently, perhaps even making it into a Wrenchbot like Dr. Heimerdinger did, but for the moment, this would suffice.


    The tool itself looked for all the world like a standard wrench, if thicker and heavier than normal with a blockier profile. The teeth could be adjusted, naturally, but would also emit plasma between them to weld anything with ease. It was thicker than the average wrench because I''d made sure it could double as a hammer. Hell, there was even a mana-based scanning array modeled off of the Oracle''s Elixir and a voltage tester that could tell me the exact metrics of anything the light touched, along with the voltage, amperage, density, and atomic composition.


    A portion of the shaft had even been replaced by a thick, transparent plastic filled with fluid so it could act as a leveler. Its reverse end contained a power drill, electric saw, miniature compartment to store screws, a foldout ratcheting box end, and a flashlight, just in case.


    It wasn''t the bullshit plot device that was a Mass Effect omnitool, but I was reasonably confident that it could do everything I''d need it to even should I be forced from my lab.


    It was evening when I finished. I very reluctantly demonstrated every function to La Torcha, then only thought about how much I wanted it back as she took it away.


    I unfolded a taco dorado and slathered on a layer of sour cream and guacamole before sprinkling a layer of ketchup and hot sauce. Rolling the goopy mess, I took a giant bite.


    "Okay, that ain''t right," Lawless whined. "Which fucking idiot told you you''re supposed to put ketchup on tacos?"


    "Bandit," I said plainly, shoving him the bird. I missed the peppy shortstack. "She''s ''bout as Mexican as it gets so fuck off."


    "Ain''t no accounting for good taste."


    "Leave him alone, Kevin," Camille said, sending my heart aflutter. "You''re not the one who has to eat that."


    "But I do have to watch. What happened to expensive tea and shit? Thought you had class, kid."


    "I do. For tea. And music. And literally nothing else. Now fuck off and let me enjoy my tacos."


    "Shit, been here a week and he''s already giving me lip. I ought to smack you for that."


    "You will not," La Torcha said calmly, but there was an audible hint of warning in her tone, like embers smoldering beneath the coals. "Leave him to enjoy his dinner as he pleases."


    Lawless raised his hands in the air in mock surrender. "Alright, fine. Let the kid have his insult to food. Anyway, he''s done with that sonic screwdriver shit, so what else is he gonna make?"


    "Something for me," she said as she looked at me with eyes like smoldering embers. No, there were literal embers dancing within them. "Eventually, I want you to kit out your fellow executives in tinkertech tailored for their specific powers. You''ll start with me of course."


    I stared at her flatly; it was about as much rebellion as I dared. "And what would complement your powers? You''re immune to physical harm because you phase through everything so armor is useless. I''m pretty sure your breaker state makes you super fast and you can set things you touch on fire. What? You want a gun so you don''t have to run people down? Some goggles so you can see infrared? Maybe some kind of knife for heatproof enemies? For that matter, can you even use tech? Your power generates heat. A lot of it. Wouldn''t it just melt anything that isn''t custom-made for you?"


    "No to the last one. Otherwise, I''d burn off my own costume. As much as men might prefer that, that''s not how my power works. I think it was called a Manton limit? Nothing I have on me seems to burn or heat up."


    I nodded. This was one more support for my theory that her Shard was shunting her body, and anything she was carrying, into a separate dimension away from her power''s exothermic output.


    "Okay, fair enough. Have you tried firing a gun while in your breaker state? If you can''t fire a normal weapon, I don''t recommend trying it with tinkertech."


    "I can," she confirmed with an uncaring shrug. "Who knows how physics works where powers are concerned?"


    "Fine. So gun, knife, or goggles?"


    "Hmm¡­ You know, ever since I was a little girl, I''ve always wanted to fly. Not that I''m complaining of course, but it''d be nice."


    I thought about it. Had she chosen a knife, I would have just made another Petricite dagger. Had she demanded a gun, I would have made her the most inconvenient weapon I could with an incredibly high skill cap, namely Cait''s sniper rifle.


    In contrast, I actually wanted to make the goggles. By drawing on Master Yi''s Seven Lenses of Insight, I wanted to make some progress into figuring out permanent sight for myself, even if it meant giving La Torcha telescopic, infrared, ultraviolet, and x-ray vision. It''d give her some utility, but she wouldn''t become any deadlier.


    "Wings¡­"


    "You can''t do it?"


    "I can¡­" I trailed off. "Let me think¡­"


    Hextech Anivia had wings of course, but I felt like I''d be insulting the goddess if I gave someone like La Torcha her wings, even a shitty, third-rate effigy. No, a regular hoverpack was fine. It wasn''t about the specs; it was a pride thing.


    "I''m going to need more generators, maybe a solar battery or dozen, exhaust pipes, and a few laptops. Oh, and a motorcycle helmet with tinted out lenses."


    "I don''t exactly need a helmet."


    "No, but you do need the UI. User interface," I explained at their blank looks. "You do want to be able to steer this thing, right?"


    "Fair enough, get me a list."


    Author''s Note


    Did you know that a plasma cutter can output plasma at 45,032 F? Or that the surface of the sun is about 9,940 F? A plasma cutter is about five times hotter than the sun. I read that while doing some research for this fic and it blew my mind.


    Tacos dorados are sometimes called flautas or taquitos. They''re a Mexican dish inspired by American hard-shell tacos. Because no, Mexican tacos are almost always soft-shell. A tortilla is layered thinly with meat on one half before being dropped into oil and deep fried. The tortilla is folded immediately in the oil, making it a bit crispy but still decently chewy. It''s served as is, with cheese, lettuce, and other condiments on the side so each diner can add their own. They''re popular in southwestern United States and northern Mexico.


    I live in the DC area and I''d murder your dog for a good taco¡­ Send help.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.9 Charmed

    Charmed 3.9


    2000, July 15: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Veronica, La Torcha, wouldn''t be seeing her hoverpack. Or anything else for that matter.


    It was time.


    All throughout, my captivity had been one giant exercise in self-control. During the day, I had to be very careful about what I wanted, what I was willing to act on, and what I was willing to sacrifice in the name of buying myself time and materials.


    I was no Lee Sin, with an unshakable discipline that could channel the Dragon of Ionia. I was no Kai''Sa, with an iron will that could hold back the Void for a decade. I was no Atreus, with an unrelenting resolve to face down gods.


    Aside from the Mana Crystals, I gained no supernatural effects from meditation, but the ability to compartmentalize my burgeoning love for Camille and balance it with rational thoughts and the need for subtlety even in my own mind was a testament to my increasing self-discipline. I would have never been able to do this in my past life and I felt a burst of pride at my progress.


    This last stretch was the single hardest meditation session I''d ever put myself through.


    I''d waited for so long, prepared and bided my time. I could surely wait five more hours, I told myself


    That didn''t change the restlessness I felt. My skin tingled in anticipation even as I drowned out the nervous energy in a sea of mana and introspection.


    And still I waited. I didn''t know when La Torcha liked to sleep so I had no choice but to stay in meditation longer. I formed crystals in my hands beneath the covers and sank the rest into the Tear.


    Finally, at long last, Lawless went to sleep. I reached out and took a sip of the Oracle''s Elixir beside my bed as my world expanded around me. Off near the edge of my range, I saw La Torcha getting into bed. Dozing, but not fully asleep yet. I glanced at the clock; three-twenty, two hours later than usual. There were eight normal humans I could see around the warehouse in varying states of wakefulness. I could see a few stirring restlessly, but with the time being what it was, this was as good as I''d get.


    As quietly as I could, I shuffle-tugged my pillow from the pillowcase and carried the entire thing like a makeshift sack filled with Mana Crystals and dream blossoms.


    First things first, I had to ensure that the gang members would remain asleep while I worked. To that end, I snuck into the kitchenette and picked out my incense burner before taking it to my lab. Fortunately for me, Lawless and Camille had largely forgotten about my incense burner. After all, what the hell could I make with a fancy clay pot, right?


    Arrogance was a sin punishable by death.


    Then, I snuck into the office Lawless worked out of. He always kept the shutters raised so he could shout profanities down at the workers so I lowered them as quietly as I could, plunging the office into darkness.


    There was a safe beneath the desk, three inches of hardened steel. It was where the previous warehouse manager kept his cash and valuables, also where La Torcha locked up my multi-tool. Only she and Lawless knew the password and they figured that with the most versatile tool I had in their control, I wouldn''t be able to sneak off to tinker without their oversight, or lash out and hurt someone.


    The safe itself was a sturdy affair. Even if I had the Elixir of Wrath, I didn''t think I''d be able to break it open, and definitely not without waking the entire warehouse. The lock wasn''t really something I knew how to pick either. While there were hundreds of thousands of expert thieves in Runeterra, Inspiration didn''t automatically mean I''d be able to draw on their memories, not unless I was in the midst of creating something new.


    I formed my hand into a finger pistol and channeled. The spark of infinity within my soul answered. My right hand glowed as the first of three bullets ignited. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so. I felt the World Rune consolidate into my tattoo before lancing out in a beam of azure light. There was an almost cartoonish "pshwoo" sound as the hyper-concentrated mana displaced the air and made contact with the safe. Thankfully, the noise wasn''t too loud and confined by the office walls.


    The transmutation spell contained within activated immediately. A single flash of light and I was looking at a neat hole carved into the safe. It was almost artistic how most of the safe, about my weight in steel, had vanished into thin air, converted into mana and dispersed in moments. The "cut" was so perfect that the edge looked professionally done, as if made intentionally to be some kind of postmodern art sculpture.


    Inside, my multi-tool and Blitzpack sat waiting for me.


    "I fucking love this thing," I chuckled as I glanced at my hand. One of the three bullets was dull now.


    I snuck back into my lab and set my incense burner on the workbench. Normally, working with glazes was a pain. Trying to make any change, however minor, to an already finished ceramic piece was damn near impossible thanks to how rigid it was. After all, glazes were essentially chemically altered glass and ceramics weren''t exactly known for malleability.


    That was where my new multi-tool came in. With a narrow enough nozzle, I could condense the welding torch. Even a normal welding torch was much hotter than high-fire glazed ceramic, but I didn''t want to melt the glass. I needed the plasma to be so hot and so concentrated that it would immediately cut through the material like butter. It was possible if I overcharged the capacitors. They''d burn out in short order and I''d need to replace them, but I planned on that anyway.


    So, hextech multi-tool in hand, I began to engrave runes into the incense burner. Every finished rune was charged with a Mana Crystal until I was left with a fully functional censer, one specifically designed for dream blossoms.


    Originally, Lillia''s censer was made from the branch of the Dreaming Tree, but I had none so this bastardized version would have to do. Along with propagating the incense through both physical and spiritual means, the censer was engraved with runes of protection for the wielder, me. It wouldn''t do to knock my own ass out after all, a bit of Lillia''s magic bullshitted into my version of the censer.


    Six dream blossoms, fully bloomed over the course of the week, were joined with the censer in an alchemical ritual that reshaped the vessel. Milky-white porcelain was replaced with a deep, rich blue. Jade-green carps were replaced with royal-purple flowers. A hoop extended from the top so it could be held in hand or hung from a staff. I knew that despite its fragile, elegant appearance, it could easily be used to club a man''s skull open and not receive the slightest fracture.


    I grinned. It was four-fifteen, but that would be enough time for what I had planned.


    I channeled mana from within, holding nothing back. Every rune glowed with an azure light, almost indistinguishable from the inlaid flowers. A blue smoke that smelled of midsummer nights and forest floors wafted from the censer. I knew that so long as I supplied it with mana, it could produce this smoke at will.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The dream blossoms were special. The reason I went for these instead of any type of mundane or even magical poison was that these flowers were intrinsically tied to the spirit world. They were dual existences, with a half-step in both the mortal and spiritual worlds. Because of this, walls did not confine their influence. Nor were they impacted by wind, temperature, rain, or anything else that would typically hinder a gaseous attack. As an added plus, they couldn''t be resisted by any kind of enhanced biology either. The only way for a human to resist was to reside in an entirely separate space, to not be in the area at all.


    I watched the smoke-that-wasn''t-smoke disperse throughout the warehouse and even further out. Everyone I could see fell deep into slumber, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. Outside, the guards who had been masquerading as night watchmen slumped in their booths. I had until the break of dawn and the new shift to make my escape. I didn''t know exactly when the changing of the guard was, but I decided to assume it was at five-thirty and gave myself a little over an hour.


    The first thing I did was find a duffel bag and fill it with my creations. Moving to an unused cabinet in my lab, I pulled out the tray full of holy water. Inside was a pair of scissors I''d intended to engrave with runes had I any reason to extend my stay. I tossed the tray but packed the scissors; I could complete this one later.


    This was one of the main advantages alchemy had over traditional mechanics: Tools and an established lab were more like suggestions than requirements.


    I loaded the Blitzpack and released, causing a complete electronic blackout in a two-hundred foot radius. It also shorted out my multi-tool, but that was fine; I''d gotten my use out of it.


    I then slung the EMP generator and wore it like a backpack. In hindsight, the spherical design made carrying it a bit awkward. That was what I got for my tunnel-vision insistence on making it look like Blitzcrank, one more thing I''d have to reshape when I had the time.


    With the multi-tool, Blitzpack, and Dream Blossom Censer in hand, I only had to collect three more of my creations: the Petricite dagger, my relic pistol that I still needed a name for, and the Control Wards.


    I decided to knock out the hardest part of this right away and moved to Camille''s room.


    X


    The room reeked of half-dried semen and sweat. I almost wished I was an actual eight year old; at least that way I wouldn''t recognize the smell for what it was. Freeform and Camille were sprawled on the bed butt-naked, blankets kicked to the floor in the heat of their nighttime activities.


    I made a beeline for the nightstand drawer where I knew Camille kept my relic pistol and the knife I''d made her. I was taking no chances with the changer-yes. I tucked the pistol and holster in my belt and faced the two "lovers."


    I crawled onto the bed and placed my left hand over Freeform''s mouth before unsheathing my dagger and plunging it into his heart.


    His eyes shot open as he let out an agonized scream. He began to thrash about but could not escape nor change. I could have drawn the blade over his throat, but then the Petricite might slip away from contact with his body. This way, his own ribs would help my child body hold the dagger there. I wanted to give him no opportunity to shift away.


    I didn''t know if he could make out my face in the darkness, but I didn''t give him long before I let go of the dagger and jammed my finger into his would, expending my second Minion Dematerializer directly into his chest cavity. His eyes widened further but he couldn''t say a word before sixty-eight pounds worth of flesh and blood vanished into mana. I''d made sure to aim upward, taking his brain and corona with the attack. No corona, no power. His leftover lower torso and legs began to soak blood into the sheets.


    "Huh?" I heard Camille slur in her sleep. "Babe?"


    "Shit, you weren''t supposed to be awake," I muttered before I could stop myself. I picked up my dagger and loomed above her.


    That forced her wide awake. "Andy?"


    A single word and I was hers. My name on her lips was the sweetest song I''d ever heard.


    Her power demanded my attention. It demanded that I focus on her honey-sweet voice and her naked body, never mind that the Oracle''s Elixir meant I already knew what she looked like at all times. I saw the pool of half-dried fluids around her core and smelt the faint stench of vomit and liquor on her lips. Disgusting, but forgivable, the sinister part of me whispered. I saw her expression as she felt the warm, sticky blood from her lover''s stray legs and put two and two together.


    "Camille," I breathed out. I didn''t know what to say. I wanted to say so much. I wanted to just kill her. I knew it had to be done, but my blade wouldn''t move. I backed away, first one step then another.


    "You-You''re awake," she tried as she rose to a seated position. "You killed Freeform¡­ You''re not going to hurt me, are you?"


    "I¡­"


    "I love you," she said, three words I''d happily kill to hear, three words I knew people had killed for.


    ''No doubt Freeform felt the same,'' I thought.


    I knew. I knew in my mind what she was doing. It didn''t help much. I felt like a sheep being sedated before being lured into the slaughterhouse.


    "You killed him," she continued, eyes wide and facing where she assumed I was standing. "You saved me. H-He hurt me, Andy, and you saved me. You''re my little hero, you know that?"


    Another step back. "I''m not-"


    "You are. Come here. Can¡­ Can you hold me?"


    I knew it was pure manipulation. I knew that my feelings weren''t real. It did very little to help when faced with the siren before me. I took a half-step forward.


    ''I can''t hurt her,'' I thought despairingly, conflicting feelings of love and hate waging war in my heart. "I can''t¡­"


    "You can. Come here."


    I turned the dagger away from her. For one moment, the briefest instant, I saw a triumphant smirk flit across her face.


    Hesitance transformed into resolve, resolve into rage, rage into hate.


    Hate into action.


    The dagger dropped.


    Pain lanced through my leg.


    I didn''t know whether it was the Petricite or the pain, but I felt like True Ice had been injected into my veins.


    Clarity restored, the relic pistol rose and I snapped off three shots faster than I''d ever fired before, not that that was saying much. One went wide, but another struck her chest. I lucked out with the third, striking her in the base of the neck, cutting off her startled shriek.


    I felt numb as I watched her lifeless corpse collapse.


    ''Firearms practice. One more thing to add to my to-do list,'' I thought. Thinking of anything else but her cooling corpse helped me shove my mounting despair into a deep hole. ''Later.''


    I walked over and knelt by her side as her mouth opened to give voice to soundless cries. Did she want to curse me? Tell me how La Torcha would burn me alive? Break me with words as she confessed her eternal love for me? Or perhaps plead for her life one last time?


    I didn''t know and not knowing hurt.


    I watched the light fade from her eyes as I whispered, "I love you."


    X


    I sat like that for far too long, too emotionally troubled to find it in myself to move.


    I buried my emotions deep and got up on shaky knees.


    In comparison to the clusterfuck that was Camille, the rest of my raid through the warehouse was hilariously simple.


    A quick slash across the throat here. A charged beam of light through the head there.


    La Torcha got the Freeform treatment, a stab through the heart with Petricite to disable her power while my final Minion Dematerializer removed her corona along with any chance for her Shard to retaliate.


    I looted the warehouse of any cash, almost $30,000 in loose bills. Then, I found myself some nondescript clothes, a pair of gray sweatpants and jacket, and used the blood-soaked ones for target practice.


    Just as the earliest rays of dawn broke over the horizon, I walked out of that warehouse with newfound resolve and a broken heart, a killer of a dozen men before the age of ten.


    They were waiting for me.


    Author''s Note


    Not 100% happy with this. Honestly, it''s my first time writing an escape scene, though it was very low risk thanks to the Dream Blossom Censer. That''s the trouble with League items sometimes. They''re honestly game-breaking even when I stay away from the OP shit (for the moment). Hopefully I did the Camille scene some justice. The biggest challenge for an author is providing a sense of catharsis and I don''t know that I did that well here.


    Also, a brief show of how the Minion Dematerializer works. "Anything in its path" gets converted to raw mana and dispersed into the air. The safe is that "thing," meaning it won''t just automatically take a spherical bite out of everything. If it hits a shield for example, the shield will vanish, but the person holding it will still have his hand. I''m going to take some liberties with this and say it ignores most clothing so he''s not just stripping people. It''s a shameless narrative "fuck you" beam.


    I know that this fic took a turn for some heavy shit towards the end of this arc. Honestly? I''m pretty surprised by this too. I didn''t set out to write something this heavy; I just wanted something fun to distract myself with. Originally, the Inspired Inventor mini-series was how I envisioned this fic: comedic, with a touch of seriousness. Still, I''m more or less happy with how things turned out so I won''t apologize.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 3.9.5 Rebecca Costa-Brown

    Interlude 3.9.5: Rebecca Costa-Brown


    2000, July 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I sat ramrod straight before the cameras, the picture of professionalism. I schooled my microexpressions into a countenance of practiced concern and focused resolve. My dress shirt was perfectly pressed save for a few minor but noticeable creases, an intentional departure from my typically immaculate appearance. A few crow''s feet had been added to my makeup as well, giving the appearance of a stern woman weathered by age and worry over the current crisis.


    All according to the Path.


    The cameras started blinking, telling me that they were rolling.


    "Evening to all," I began. Even those three simple words were calculated not to be friendly, but to be clinical, a woman who wasted as few words on aimless pleasantries as possible. "There have been many rumors and false allegations coming out of the Phoenix area. I am here to set the record straight."


    I shuffled the manila folder in front of me. Pointless props of course. I knew what color the janitor''s shoe laces were, never mind such an important briefing. Still, Alexandria knew those things. Rebecca Costa-Brown was bound by mortal limits. One more thing to humanize me.


    I cleared my throat and began again, head bowed in the picture of remorse.


    "It has remained a longstanding mission of the Parahuman Response Team to integrate parahumans into society. We have gone through great lengths to provide parahumans with productive outlets for their powers and have attracted and nurtured a great many promising youths through the Wards program. In the course of this mission, we have likewise faced a great many number of trials and tribulations. Some were growing pains of a young organization with a noble mission but a lack of experience. Others¡­ Others were less forgivable.


    "And on July fifth, the Wards program failed utterly and unreservedly. I will not make excuses, nor will I try to hide what has occurred. A Ward was kidnapped from his own home. A senior Wards liaison was murdered. I will not speak further on ongoing investigations, but this much, I believe I must say: We failed. We, the PRT. We, the Protectorate. We, the nation, failed to safeguard one of our own, one who swore to be a hero and entrusted us with his safety. We cannot make things right; but we must try.


    "To that end, I have authorized Watchdog to use every resource available. We are at this time certain that Rubedo is alive and well. Further, Alexandria has been dispatched to lead the investigative efforts from the ground. Rest assured, we will save Rubedo. We will bring his kidnappers to justice."


    I stood. A brief address, but that was for the best. The cameras stopped rolling and I allowed myself a brief nod at a job well done. I began to walk out, my footsteps echoed by my secretary.


    "You have an appointment to appear before the Senate Judiciary Committee in fifteen, ma''am," she said. Lena, I remembered. A pretty young thing who studied at Georgetown before deciding she wanted to do something domestic instead of pursue international relations.


    She went on for precisely another forty-three seconds and I allowed her to "remind" me of my commitments. Letting her feel useful cost me nothing after all.


    "Thank you for your help, Lena," I said, awarding her a practiced smile. It looked "warmer," a smile I''d practiced for those who were presumably in my confidence and a departure from the stern visage I kept up on camera.


    She''d be useful one day. She too was a part of the Path.


    X


    2000, July 12: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    "Take her," I said to Oathkeeper. "There is something I want to verify."


    "Yes, ma''am," came her comms.


    She, Bunyan, and I were striking out against the Southside Mesa and the arsonist called Calavera.


    Over the past few days, I''d taken the screws to several captured gang members. My ability to act as a living polygraph coupled with the not insignificant detail of being interrogated by the strongest brute in the world let me acquire more information than any mundane detective. I found six hideouts, supply depots, and drug labs in short order and organized a series of raids the very next day.


    The trouble with SSM and many gangs like them was that they were intentionally anarchic and scattered, lacking a single place they can call their stronghold. Dos Caras was in charge, but with only Calavera to assist him in terms of cape muscle, he had no choice but to spread his forces thinner than usual. It made rooting them out difficult, much like a guerrilla insurgency, but it also meant Dos Caras and Calavera were often separated.


    I took advantage of that and isolated Calavera, pinning her with Oathkeeper''s squad, all in the name of getting her another accolade under her belt. We''d decided long ago that she was worth nurturing and she''d soon be supervising her own city.


    Of course, it wasn''t just for Oathkeeper''s sake that I veered off. Faith in the Phoenix PRT was at an all-time low. First came a nationally publicized lawsuit against one of their Wards. Then said Ward got kidnapped from his own home even as the largest gang war in the city''s history erupts. We may have arranged for this, but even Contessa agreed that complete collapse of the local PRT would be detrimental to our ultimate mission.


    So, here I was, bolstering the PRT.


    Oathkeeper and Bunyan were more than capable of bagging Dos Caras'' remaining lieutenant. This minor triumph would be played up in the news as a grand struggle, injecting some badly needed morale back into the local forces.


    As for me, I did as the Path demanded and flew down to a side street, barely more than an alley. There, I found an SSM member doing his best to cover up his tattoos and blend into the scenery. I recognized him, Lucas Parker, one of over a hundred death row inmates in the state of Arizona and one of the prisoners freed during the explosions last Sunday.


    He turned and saw me looming above, cape fluttering behind me. "Shi-"


    I didn''t even let him finish before my hand clamped down over his face like a vice and dragged him from the side street. "Hello, Lucas," I said, tone silky smooth and cordial. He ceased his ineffectual struggles, eyes widening in paralyzing horror.


    Yes, Alexandria knows your name.


    I allowed myself a hint of smug satisfaction at his reaction. Seeing how I went over every major criminal dossier in whichever city I happened to be in, it shouldn''t be surprising. My powers were no secret after all. I''d repeatedly gone on record claiming that my favorite part of my powers was my enhanced cognition. And yet, there was always this visceral terror in the eyes of normal criminals when they realized just whose radar they''d managed to find themselves on.


    It was positively delicious.


    "Ma''am?" came Oathkeeper''s unasked question as I dragged Lucas Parker into the PRT van.


    "This one, I have questions for. Do make sure he gets to headquarters, won''t you?" I addressed the squad captain.


    "Yes, ma-"


    Before he could finish, I was off. There were more steps to the Path.


    X


    Getting Mr. Parker to squeal was a simple matter. From him, I was able to verify my "hunches," giving a visible source for the Path and its stepping stones.


    Death row inmates were kept in a separate wing. Said wing was therefore shielded from the explosions on Sunday. Said inmates could therefore not have escaped without inside help. Far fewer guards and staff had access to this wing, particularly solitary, which Mr. Parker was in until his sudden release. Therefore, we could isolate likely moles in the guards and, tracing their activities, isolate moles in the local forces.


    All of this took me a mere half an hour, a feat I''d handwaved as having been made possible with the assistance of Watchdog.


    I walked into Calavera''s interrogation room and saw her stiffen as she realized just who her interrogator would be.


    The muscular woman was permitted to keep her purple skull-shaped mask, but her hands were chained to the cold, metal table using one of Rubedo''s power-nullifying shackles. Wonderful bit of tech, that. It''d be a marvelous addition to Cauldron''s arsenal and I''d already begun the process of acquiring a steady supply of fossilized wood, even from alternate planets if need be.


    She stared at me mulishly.


    I scoffed. Her willingness to cooperate was irrelevant.


    "James Lewis. Carter Rice. Theresa Mueller. Stephen Guerra. Luis Strong. Sophia Copeland. Juan Navarro. Juan de la Rosa. Vincent Nguyen. Tyler Isley. Isaac O''Reilly. Owen Rowley. Jamal Johnson. Eunice Steinbrook. Booker Walston." I got up and spoke into the mic. "Detain Rice, Johnson, Steinbrook, and Navarro."


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    "What the fu-"


    "Thank you for your cooperation, Calavera," I said mockingly as I exited the interrogation room.


    X


    2000, July 13: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    It was a simple matter to come to the right conclusion with the information I received from the four arrested officials.


    Some were bribed. A particularly important one was blackmailed. SSM did not have the resources to pull off an attack like this, either the breakouts or the kidnapping. Peckerwoods might, but only if they received outside assistance. Gesellschaft''s influence did not reach this far, nor did they associate themselves with what they saw as "white trash." The Herren clan were struggling financially and wouldn''t bother moving out so far west. This left the Crips or an outside party using them as patsies.


    I also made a note that the Peckerwoods were acting strange, as though they were missing their leader despite Freeform still remaining at large.


    The Crips kidnapped Rubedo. This conclusion was further supported by in-depth psychoanalytical profiles of all three leaders. Dos Caras was a mad dog. Freeform could be cunning, but only as far as it applied to his own power. He wasn''t much of a leader of men. La Torcha though, she was Mortician''s strategist and willing to make long-term plans while taking on significant risk in the name of greater ultimate gain.


    Watchdog was the final avenue of investigation. Not only did they confirm my conclusions, they raised concerns of a master effect at play as extrapolated from Freeform''s strange behavior and the presence of Parade. There was also a not insignificant chance, they said, that Tequila had a master power given her name and the connotations it implied.


    All this was reported to Director Lyons, Deputy Directors Silva and Irish, Oathkeeper, and Royalle, along with my intention to stay off the field while I focused on tracking down Rubedo.


    "We have to move cautiously from now on," I said, staring each of them down. "Calavera''s capture was a great thing, but it in itself doesn''t get us any closer to finding Rubedo. I''ll be stepping away from the gang war so I can focus on tracking down La Torcha. We know precious few of her hideaways and even back in Los Angeles, she was among the more cunning criminals."


    "We understand, Alexandria," Director Lyons said. "Happy hunting."


    "Should we prepare anything for when you do find her or will you just swoop in and rescue Rubedo on your own?" Deputy Director Silva asked. He was a hard man with a constant frown. It rankled him that the Phoenix branch needed outside help, even if that help came from a Founder.


    "Prepare a squad or two of your finest, but don''t take so many from the field that it''s noticeable," I responded. "Ultimately, finding him isn''t the biggest issue. It''s this." I tapped the Watchdog report in front of me. "A master warning means we need to account for the possibility that Rubedo is now hostile, unwilling, but hostile nonetheless. Trying to extract him could end poorly, even for me."


    "Surely you''re immune to whatever he can do?"


    "We''re still not sure how much Petricite it would take to negate Alexandria''s powers, if any," Lyons said. "And¡­ Rubedo¡­ He''s more than he seems."


    It was Deputy Director Irish who spoke this time. As a former forest ranger, he was typically stationed overseeing the national parks near the greater Phoenix area. He''d been called down due to the emergency. "How so? He seemed like a good lad from what little I''d seen of him. Remarkably mature and potentially a genius intelligence to go with that maturity. Seemed to have his head on straight."


    "There is no such thing as a stable cape," Silva said, then caught the eyes of the three high-level capes in the room. "No offense."


    "None taken, director," Royalle nodded. "I know I mess around a lot, but capes¡­ Yeah, being a cape can mess you up."


    "Nothing like that," Lyons continued. "Rubedo is fine, at least, fine as far as any therapist can tell. He behaves like he''s in his twenties, but he''s hardly mentally unsound. I don''t have any worries about his personality. It''s his tech that concerns me.


    "Back when he first debuted, we had a conversation about what else he might be able to make. I admit part of it was my own curiosity, former egghead and all, but most of it was so I could help organize his lab to his specifications. He told me that he could make anything from incredibly potent poisons and antidotes to something called the Shimmer, a super-soldier serum that drives the drinker mad, but is permanent."


    I allowed the four others to mull this new information over for a bit.


    "Fuck," Royalle summed up the general sentiment. "Why weren''t any of us told about it? Are you saying we could have a horde of insane gangbangers with powers soon?"


    "Because I vetoed its creation. It was sent along to the chief director, but otherwise left as a simple footnote. He never made it and openly admitted to having such capability rather than try to sneak one by us."


    "Be that as it may," I broke in before the others started arguing about being left out of the loop. "I must now work under the assumption that a hostile Rubedo is capable of potentially bypassing even my defenses to poison me. If he''s too far gone¡­ Master victims have been known to commit suicide rather than let themselves be captured. We''re going to need a more concrete plan. I might have to call in a few favors, maybe with a teleporter."


    "A teleporter? We do have Masked Bandit for rescue," Irish pointed out. "Think she''d be up for it?"


    "No," Lyons said. "She''s just thirteen. She shouldn''t have to deal with the Crips of all people. Worse, she''s close to Rubedo. I don''t want her to be at ground zero if things go wrong."


    "Quite," I agreed. "It''ll take a few days to get the one I have in mind so we''ll carry on as usual until then."


    "So more of that ''hurry up and wait'' deal, eh? Can''t say I missed this from back in my army days," Silva grunted.


    "It is what it is," Oathkeeper said, standing. "If you''ll excuse me, directors, Royalle, Alexandria, I''ve got to arrange a few more patrols."


    At that, the meeting broke.


    X


    2000, July 15: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    Gemini, a teleporter and duplicator based out of Salt Lake City, arrived last night. He could make a second copy of himself, his "mirror." He and his mirror could teleport whatever they touched between themselves, including people. Because of this, he was almost always tapped for rescue operations like this.


    Gemini''s arrival marked the final preparations for what was being called Operation Hot Potato. I allowed myself a quiet chuckle at Deputy Director Silva''s ridiculous naming sense; it wouldn''t do to let them see Alexandria laugh in public.


    Watchdog had identified the Red Sands Moving Company as Rubedo''s most likely location. Gemini had been dragged into a brief as soon as he arrived and the raid had been scheduled at dawn.


    All according to the Path.


    The plan itself was simple. Two squads of the best the PRT had to offer would discreetly encircle the parking lot at six in the morning. The isolation that had helped the Crips get established so quickly would only work against them here, allowing the troopers to approach without drawing too much attention from the public.


    Protectorate Team Two, led by Oathkeeper, would be riding along as backup in order to capture any stragglers. Redbird and Echo, formerly on loan to Team Two, would be returned to Team One as they would be needed to raid the Peckerwoods simultaneously. One more feather in the cap of the local Protectorate.


    Once we were in position, Gyroscope would scan for and hopefully find Rubedo using his drones. From there, I would drop in through the ceiling. A drone carrying Gemini''s mirror would follow shortly behind.


    Once Gemini''s mirror was through, I would run interference against any local capes and workshop defenses while Gemini made a beeline for Rubedo. As soon as Rubedo was teleported away, I would make my own exit. It was determined that this was the best option to minimize any chance for retaliation.


    As soon as Gemini''s original got his hands on Rubedo, a trooper would feed him his own Petricite Elixir, just in case. And with Gemini''s greenlight, the rest of the backup squads would move in, capturing anyone left inside.


    Meaningless, utterly meaningless.


    The entirety of Operation Hot Potato was a fa?ade. Rubedo wasn''t in any real danger. La Torcha wasn''t hurting him. In a vacuum, her goals were actually far more sinister, an attempt to co-opt a tinker, to grow her organization into a national superpower, and ultimately to orchestrate my death. It wasn''t greed that made La Torcha so formidable; it was her ambition.


    Fortunately, it was also that ambition and a willingness to take things slow, one step at a time, that allowed her to be so easily manipulated by the Path. She was the ideal whetstone with which to sharpen the PRT, Protectorate, and Rubedo himself.


    An electromagnetic pulse spread out from the Red Sands warehouse mere five minutes before our arrival, just long enough to disable all other recording devices. The PRT squads slid into the parking lot just late enough to avoid the EMP. We''d be spinning this story on our terms, thank you very much.


    All according to the Path.


    The squads were gathered around the parking lot. A quick comms check reaffirmed everyone''s position and their roles in the plan. And just as I began to tire of this charade, Gyroscope''s drones spotted a figure exiting the warehouse.


    Some idiot squad captain readied his weapons.


    Perfect.


    "Belay that," I spoke over comms as I hovered a thousand feet above the ground. "That''s Rubedo. He''s exited on his own."


    "Was the plan leaked, ma''am?"


    "No, no one would send the hostage out on his lonesome. I''ll approach. Make no hostile movements."


    "Be careful, ma''am."


    I didn''t bother to reply. Instead, I descended slowly, landing lightly ten feet away from the boy. I noticed him tense as I entered within the range of his pericognition, hand going to a bulge in his pants I immediately identified as a gun of some sort. It told me much about his mentality. Hero would have quite the job ahead of him.


    We stood there, gauging one another. I''d memorized his picture of course, but there was a certain presence to him now that I was seeing him in person. He had no eyes of course, but if he did, I had no doubt that they would contain them hardened steel of a veteran rather than the fear of a child.


    "Alexandria," he spoke, voice tinged with exhaustion that wasn''t entirely from a long night.


    I made a show of giving him a once-over. He''d changed sometime before emerging, but there weren''t any extra shoes. Then, I did something that caught everyone off guard. I walked over, knelt, and hugged him in full view of countless personal cameras.


    Alexandria did not hug.


    I could practically hear their worldviews shattering as they tried to process this.


    I gently but firmly kept his hands to his sides, keeping him from going for the dagger at his hip. Comms off, I whispered, "Your shoes still have bloodspots."


    I felt him stiffen and smiled.


    All according to the Path.


    Author''s Note


    Can I just say how goddamn hard it is to write Alexandria? I dabbled at it a bit in the Inspired Inventor mini-series, but damn. I think the problem is that we only ever see three sides of Alexandria despite being such a looming shadow for Taylor: We see her as she punches Leviathan. We see her as she tries to murder the Undersiders. And we see her braindead corpse.


    Sure, there are other moments, but those are the highlights of her character. She''s harsh. She''s a bitch. She''s strong. Not much to write about as far as personality. We know she''s one of the best thinkers in the world, but see very few examples of that aspect of her powers in action.


    If you feel there are inconsistencies, my go-to excuse will be that this is Alexandria before she became completely jaded with the world. She hasn''t completely abandoned things like human interaction or morality yet.


    Arizona State Prison Complex in Florence, AZ, houses all of the state''s death row inmates. Currently (as of March 2022), Arizona has over a hundred on death row. Florence is a city southeast of Phoenix and is broadly in the same metropolitan area.


    Isn''t it funny what weird rabbit holes being a writer drags you into?


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.1 Ripples

    Ripples 4.1


    2000, August 19: Washington, DC, USA


    A month.


    Even with La Torcha dead, it took a full month to clean up the mess in Phoenix. The Crips, or at least her branch, were largely defunct. With Beartrap captured by Royalle, it left just Bone Maiden and Parade as surviving members. And if Camille''s gossip was anything to go by, Parade was only tolerated because he was useful.


    I tried to hold back the bile in my throat as I thought of her mangled corpse. After constant therapy, it was getting easier, if only a little.


    I didn''t see Bone Maiden putting up with Parade for long; she was nowhere near as patient as La Torcha.


    The fall of the Crips also signaled an end for the Peckerwoods. I killed Freeform and Royalle''s Team One had mopped up the rest in the same day that Alexandria "rescued" me. By all accounts, it was a quick, one-sided battle in which none of the remaining Peckerwoods were capable of handling Royalle''s powers.


    That just left Dos Caras. Yes, he was dangerous, but at this point, I felt he survived almost entirely because bigger fish had bigger plans. The Southside Mesa were mostly done too with Calavera and Sawtooth in custody, but Dos Caras was the kind of high-functioning crazy that could cause problems regardless of companions. Alexandria had flown back to LA shortly after the Red Sands raid.


    Still, the gang war was being smothered out, an unequivocally good thing. I had no doubt that with the Control Wards I''d left in Director Lyons'' care, he would be captured sooner or later as well. Not quickly or definitively enough to keep other villainous factions from moving in, but I couldn''t do anything about that.


    Fuck. Cauldron.


    I laughed as I slid into a breathable body stocking meant to prevent pinching. Wasn''t it sad? The gang war was an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. A hundred-twenty-nine people dead over the course of a single week and it was a fucking afterthought.


    "God I hate Earth-Bet," I muttered.


    "You say something, Andy?" Pyrotechnical asked as he tossed me my bodysuit.


    I knew for a fact that he was in his early twenties, but he looked older than he should. Pyro was a bulky man of Italian descent with a gut, Mario without the ''stache. I found it funny that his costume even included blue suspenders and a red hat. Though to be fair, it was a red bomb squad cap with flame patterns.


    I gave him a smile that wasn''t terribly convincing. "Nothing."


    And wasn''t that a trip. Pyrotechnical, canonically of Toybox fame, was a recent graduate of the Washington, DC Wards program alongside Glace of the same. The two were the "fire ''n'' ice" duo, tag-team partners who played up the buddy-cop angle while being mentored by Hero. They even went for the ridiculous "will they, won''t they" romance dynamic at the behest of the DC PR department.


    I could only assume that they left the Protectorate sometime in the future, possibly following this September. Whether that was canonically because of Hero''s passing or because they got fed up with the ridiculous bullshit PR put them through was anyone''s guess.


    And by Mantheon''s sourdough aegis, Hero.


    I had a single month until Hero would confront the Siberian in New York.


    I slid the external bodysuit Hero gifted me on over the stocking and swore I''d do my best to save his ass. The world was a quantifiably darker place without the cheery blonde.


    "Okay, well, you''re about to step out in front of the nation. Lincoln Monument, too. You nervous?"


    "I wasn''t, but thanks, you plumber wannabe," I grouched.


    "Hey now, I''ll have you know I''ve been losing weight," he complained.


    "Sure, sure." I looked over my suit once more. It was a neutral cobalt-gray, made of some intricate mesh material that looked almost like chainmail in the right light. If I twitched just so, polyhedral patterns would reveal themselves, a unique molecular bonding structure that was visible even extrapolated to the human eye. It was thick enough to not feel like spandex but still breathable. Over my heart was my new emblem, a black turtle shell.


    According to Hero, the suit was a tinkertech material he made while studying the way free electrons in the electron sea of tungsten blocks interacted with radiation waves. It was airy, light, temperature-regulating, insulating, and resistant to both knives and small-arms fire. It would even grow with me to an extent. It cost something like twelve thousand dollars and every one of Hero''s tinkers got one.


    Bullshit, pure bullshit, in other words.


    At my hip was a holster with the relic pistol securely fastened. It fit pretty well with the quasi-Star Trek getup I had going on so they didn''t take it from me. That it was a murder weapon was a closely guarded secret.


    I also wore a black domino mask, long enough to cover my scars but thin enough to give a good look of my face. It was more revealing than my old mask, but that too was intentional. I would build over it eventually, but appearing to start from zero sent a good message apparently.


    "Sir, stage in five," Pyro''s communicator chimed.


    "Got it, thanks, Brickhouse."


    I allowed my mind to wander as someone powdered my face for the cameras.


    My transfer to DC wasn''t the only meaningful outcome of that shitfest.


    I''d been played. By La Torcha, yes, but also by Cauldron. I always knew I''d be one cobblestone in the Path, but it was only in hindsight that I could grasp just how thoroughly I''d been used. A part of my problem was that I was so focused on what Contessa might want with me specifically, that I failed to take into account broader implications. And if I could somehow delude myself into thinking this wasn''t all part of Contessa''s shenanigans, Alexandria picking me up as I left the warehouse put paid to that.


    In a way, it was a relief. When I first heard about getting sued, I knew I was national, and therefore a known quantity to Cauldron. I decided then that the best way to not get offed by Contessa was to be useful. I theorized that the Path wouldn''t allow her to get rid of me so long as I could be valuable and¡­ I was right.


    By all measures, my detainment at La Torcha''s hands was mild, downright pleasant at some points. I''d never been hurt. No one I love got hurt. Camille, as emotionally painful as it was to think about her, was a slow-acting master I could reasonably escape if I put some effort into it. In the end, I''d come out of my kidnapping with a handful of creations I''d never have made had I remained in the Wards and a mentorship with Hero.


    I couldn''t deny that I''d grown tremendously from the experience.


    That was proof that Cauldron didn''t want me dead, right?


    On the other hand, I was livid. Contessa had threatened my mom. Indirectly, sure, but the message was loud and clear. And for what? To see me create without the constraints of the Wards?


    No, it was more than that.


    I had a month to ponder my place in all this and as galling as it was to admit, I was a catalyst. Nothing more. My own development was just one desirable outcome among many.


    Not only was the whole shitshow an incredible PR boost for Alexandria, footage of her hugging me and apologizing taken from an officer''s personal camera was still making the rounds, it was also reason for the PRT to grab even more authority.


    Following the Red Sands raid, Watchdog confirmed Lawless'' ability from my extensive debriefs and linked several information leaks to the local police and government. Most of them weren''t hostile or corrupt, but simply had predictable patterns and hobbies that could be exploited, like a woman who loved the slots a little too much or a man who loved to drink at one bar religiously. Coupled with the few that Alexandria had already identified, that allowed Costa-Brown to push for increased compartmentalization and isolation of PRT assets, reducing PRT cooperation with and reliance on local governments.


    The argument was that because the PRT could not be held responsible for the cybersecurity measures of local organizations and these organizations had cybersecurity measures of dubious reliability, the PRT should take increased caution to safeguard the identities of their heroes.


    It all meant the PRT gained more independence and less oversight, never mind that that wasn''t how Lawless found out about my identity. Petricite, yes. My name, no.


    But since when did truth matter?


    Worse, I found out later that my actions were used by Costa-Brown to justify a post-hoc kill order authorization against La Torcha and the Crips. In order to protect me from legal consequences for "decisive actions taken in self-defense during extreme duress," she back-dated kill orders and announced that Alexandria and local heroes had done the deed. The on-site teams were sworn to secrecy, all to protect a traumatized Ward of course.


    I''m sure things like that happened before, but for a Ward? From a supposed civilian agency? I helped to set a hell of a precedent. It was power, plain and simple.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Even then, I couldn''t hate Cauldron entirely. I, however grudgingly, had to admit that there were two good things that came of this.


    First was the "Red Sands standard" as acknowledge by the courts in a closed hearing. Second triggers, that was the explanation I gave for my vastly increased repertoire, were treated with the same kind of leniency as first triggers. It was effectively a form of temporary insanity and court opinion was a whole lot of complicated legalese that boiled down to, "If you make someone trigger, you deserve whatever happens next."


    I didn''t second trigger. I didn''t even know if I was capable of it. Contessa had to know that seeing how trigger events were some of her only blindspots. And yet, it didn''t matter. Polite fiction would be maintained on both our parts.


    Second, I helped cement the unwritten rules. As far as the public knew, Costa-Brown had signed off on kill orders against whoever had dared to kidnap a Ward. Alexandria had carried out the order with merciless efficiency, sparing absolutely no one, powers or no powers. The message couldn''t be clearer if Scion burned it into the surface of the moon. "If you break the rules, the rules don''t protect you."


    I could only hope a stronger foundation for the unwritten rules would mitigate some needless suffering later on.


    X


    I was brought back to reality by the announcement of Chief Director Costa-Brown: "As promised, I''ve kept my speech short. Now, it is my pleasure and duty to introduce DC''s newest Ward, Hyunmu," she said. Even in a celebratory occasion, her tone was rather clipped.


    I accepted my cue and walked out. The downside of joining such a high-profile department like DC''s was that the PR head was far more opinionated and less willing to take my preferences into account. Ms. Youngston back in Phoenix was pretty chill; she''d listened to what I was willing to do and crafted Rubedo''s kayfabe around my input.


    Mr. Powell was the opposite. He was the kind of man who considered any input besides glowing praise as criticism and hated taking shit from his heroes, especially Wards. It took a direct order from Costa-Brown to get him to leave my costume alone, though she didn''t do anything about the ridiculous name. Worse, he was the kind of racially profiling jackass that couldn''t quite be called racist.


    I couldn''t wait for Chambers to take over for the asshat. Fanon heresy, but I''d die on that hill.


    My new name didn''t quite fit with the generic sci-fi theme most tinkers had going on, but that was fine. It was a talking point to draw from other subjects I very much didn''t want broached.


    I walked up, shook the chief director''s hand, shook Hero''s, then Brickhouse''s, before finally returning to the podium to give my speech. My debut was a mirror of the one I''d had as Rubedo: Different people and backdrop, but the vibe was mostly the same. The Reflecting Pool was beautiful and the journalists were loaded up with softballs.


    I stood before the podium and took a polite bow, something I''d only done as Rubedo before Redbird, Director Lyons, and other senior members. "Hello, people of Washington, DC," I read from the paper in front of me with a slight accent I definitely didn''t have normally. "My name is Hyunmu and I am the newest and youngest Ward. Although I am young, I have the privilege of learning from some of the best tinkers in the world like Pyrotechnical, Glace, Metalmaru, and of course, Hero himself. I will also be supporting the other Wards in the field while working under Brickhouse.


    "When my family moved to the United States, many of my neighbors, friends, and teachers reached out to us. They opened their lives and their hearts to make room for us, allowing us to make a home for ourselves in a new country. Their kindness is what inspires me and it is for their sake that I stand here today.


    "My namesake, the Hyunmu, is the Black Tortoise of the North. In Korean mythology, he is associated with winter, but also protection and longevity. Ancient Korean warriors would paint black turtles onto shields to receive the blessing of this divine beast. It''s a big name to live up to, but I chose it to honor my heritage as well as to symbolize my determination to act as your shield for many years to come." I didn''t. I really didn''t. "I look forward to working with you all," I finished with another deep bow. I allowed myself a visible wince at the cringey speech the moment my head was bowed and they couldn''t see my expression.


    It was a drastic departure from my first debut. Where Rubedo had willfully tossed his speech to the winds for some "youthful candor," Hyunmu was respectful, disciplined, and leaned heavily onto Korean culture. Where Rubedo was ambitious, Hyunmu was wise beyond his years. Rubedo''s name implied alchemy, where Hyunmu''s name was far broader in scope. All intentional. Rubedo was a backline tinker, where Hyunmu would make himself visible.


    Soon, we moved on to the expected interview, though not before Director Costa-Brown pretended to pick up her phone and made an excuse to be elsewhere. It could be that Alexandria was needed, but it could just as easily be yet another ruse to emphasize her hardass image. Deputy Director Byron took over.


    The first question was eye-rollingly predictable.


    "Mike Waldorf from NPR. Hyunmu," an overweight man wearing glasses said, "can you tell us more about your powers?"


    I received the mic from Deputy Director Byron with a respectful bow before turning to bow to the reporter as well. "Of course, Mr. Waldorf. I am a tinker, though I do not yet know my specialization. I am very fortunate and it seems I can build many different things like Hero. I have many ideas and I hope that learning from him will help me discover myself."


    "Lindsay Insley, The Washingtonian," a pretty young brunette with her hair in a tight bun said next. She smiled at me gently and I knew it''d be a softball. "Welcome to the United States, Hyunmu. Your English is excellent and I''m sure the people of DC are happy to have you. What has been your favorite thing about being in a new country?"


    "I love the food. Washington, DC is such an amazing place to try new things. The first week I arrived, I had a different dish every day, from Ethiopian to Thai to Vietnamese. I don''t think I will ever get bored of the restaurants here."


    "What''s your favorite restaurant?"


    "Texas Jack''s," I replied, no hesitation. "Beef is very hard to raise in large amounts in Korea because of limited land so I never had a barbeque like that before. Brisket might be my new favorite food."


    "Donnell Stewart from the Washington Post, Hyunmu. I know you said you''re still exploring your specialization, but what are you personally interested in? Have you built anything so far?"


    I glanced at Deputy Director Byron. When he gave me a small nod, I pulled the relic pistol from its holster. "This is the first thing I made," I lied through my teeth. With a minute infusion of mana, it began to glow. "It doesn''t have a trigger because I wanted to make sure that only I could use it. I can use it to fire hardlight projectiles."


    Brickhouse had caught on and tapped his foot. A stone target sprouted from the ground, not even four inches thick. I got up and carefully took aim, cradling my firing hand in the other for stability. I breathed in, and intentionally missed.


    Frowning, I took a second shot, this time striking the stone target but leaving it whole. A faint black singe was the only proof that anything had happened at all.


    Turning and bowing, I apologized. "I''m sorry, that wasn''t very impressive to see, was it? I have a lot of work to do, both practicing my marksmanship and learning more about my specialization. As for something that I really, really want to make¡­ I want to fly like Hero. I know turtles don''t fly, but I hope the directors will forgive me if this one grows wings."


    X


    "Ugh, that was exhausting," I moaned as I collapsed into a sofa in the Wards common room after a grueling run of questions. Most were predictable nonsense, but keeping up that polite wallflower with a funny accent act was exhausting. I wasn''t looking forward to PR events.


    Thankfully, the room was mostly abandoned save myself and my new leader, Jonathan Rucker, also called Brickhouse.


    The DC Wards were divided into three teams: District, Virginia, and Maryland. With Hero being the fuck-massive deterrent he was, there honestly wasn''t a whole lot for Wards to do, giving us weekends off. We probably had the best work-life balance compared to all other Wards because despite DC''s political importance, it was a relatively small city.


    Only about 650,000 people lived in Washington, DC compared to the 8.6 million in New York, four million in Los Angeles, and 2.3 million in Houston, DC was positively tiny. Even Phoenix dwarfed the city with 1.7 million. Sure, the greater metro area was significantly larger, but that was why we had partitioned teams.


    Hero was here for the symbolic importance, not because the city warranted such a heavy hitter, which meant the District Team got a lot of free time. We did sortie out to relieve the Virginia or Maryland crews, but it wasn''t as common for the Wards.


    "You did good, Andy," Jon said.


    He had shed the brickwork-patterned armor he wore over his costume, revealing a blend of what looked like a construction foreman''s outfit crossed with a football linebacker''s protective gear. At five-eleven, my leader was a bulky, tall-ish man with dark skin and short, curly hair that formed a dense dome around his head. He had a bit of a snub nose from one too many football practices, but was otherwise a decently good-looking dude. If I remembered right, he was actually eighteen and would turn nineteen in four months but had not graduated to the Protectorate in order to obfuscate his identity. He would be attending Howard University in a week.


    "Thanks, Jon," I replied as I sank deeper into the cushions. "Can''t say I enjoyed that mess though. Do we have anything else?"


    "You have your therapy session at two and I think Hero wanted to grab lunch with you before that, but until then, you''re free."


    "Cool. Thanks, man."


    "Yeah, no problem.," he grunted as he walked off. "Just remember that you''re meeting the rest of the team in two days."


    I nodded. It was a long time coming. The circumstances of my transfer meant I was given a lot of time to acclimate, but this debut spelled the end for my isolation.


    I relaxed and forced myself to take a deep breath.


    I''d been stuck in master-stranger containment for a week, during which time I was briefed basically nonstop, forced to tread the same ground over and over again in the hopes that if I were truly compromised, I would accidentally let something slip in my frustration.


    That, I understood. It was infuriating, but the excessive scrutiny made sense.


    The thing I hated most was the mandatory therapy sessions. Not even Watchdog clearing me could keep me out of those because like any bureaucracy, they needed to dot their "i"s and cross their "t"s.


    My friends kept me sane through it all. Raquel was as jolly as ever and sniping barbs at Jazz let me endure the federally mandated therapy. Penny, for all her worrying, was always happy to lend an ear. David¡­ Our relationship was¡­ complicated.


    I¡­ didn''t think he hated me? And that was about as much as I could hope for. Every time he saw me, he saw the reason his dad died. Even if he knew I wasn''t at fault, he couldn''t fully absolve me of blame; his heart wouldn''t let him. Things got a little better towards the end when he figured out that Camille and Freeform were dead at my hands; "avenged pops," he''d said. I wasn''t supposed to, but I told him anyway. He deserved to hear it from me. Still, he found it hard to be in the same room as me and I heard that he requested a transfer out before I''d ever returned.


    I hoped Albuquerque worked out for him.


    Author''s Note


    Yup. Arc Four takes place in Washington, DC. It''s actually the city I know best, seeing how I currently live in the area. It''s weird, isn''t it, how none of the Triumvirate were stationed in DC in canon despite it being the capitol of the country and the Protectorate being a federal agency. I figured Hero being in DC made sense, both for his charisma and for how bullshit-powerful he was.


    Honestly, I was waffling between keeping Andy in the Protectorate and making him go rogue, but I decided that if I played Contessa straight and didn''t pull anything out of my ass, I just couldn''t justify making Andy go rogue. In the end, I think having Andy apprentice under Hero is both the most likely thing Cauldron would arrange and also the thing that lets Andy grow as a tinker most while placing him in a position to affect change.


    DC''s food scene is low-key really awesome, though they''re lacking in good Mexican (for obvious reasons) and their Korean food could be better. Yes, Annandale is K-Town, but it''s a huge trek if you can''t drive. Worth it, but definitely not a "grab a quick bite" sorta thing.


    Andy''s relocation and rebranding likely means an end to the Inspired Inventor mini-series. I might work on those for fun, but having divergent timelines is going to make writing more difficult.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.2 Ripples

    Ripples 4.2


    2000, August 20: Washington, DC, USA


    Inspiration danced before me, its turquoise light bathing me in a comforting glow. I''d stood in this temple countless times before, but never like this. The core of the World Rune was shining brighter than before, almost too bright to see. The nine censers that stood around the core seemed like a simple candle in comparison.


    It was calling me.


    "Why though?" I asked. "I haven''t made anything. Hell, I wasn''t even able to finish making Gwen''s scissors because there was so much red tape to go through¡­ Was it the debut? Are you trying to tell me to make a fresh start? Or maybe that I''m now fully free of Camille''s master effect? Or maybe this is anticipation?"


    I had no idea and I received no answers. Even if the World Rune was conscious in its own way, it wasn''t the sort to give me a response. I''d just have to live with the mystery of it all.


    I shook my head with exasperated fondness and stepped forward.


    I did what I''d done before and reached out, expecting one of the stars inhabiting the three outer rings to descend into my hand. Information in the form of memories and knowledge would fill me, giving me an ability I didn''t have before.


    Or, that was what was supposed to happen.


    Instead, the outer rings danced out of my way, each star grazing my fingertips and sending a bolt of heat through my body.


    Just when I was getting impatient, the core ignited brighter than before. It was drawing me into the light, a promise of power I couldn''t begin to comprehend.


    "A¡­ Keystone?" I tried. I knew what those were of course. In-game, they were major runes that granted immense buffs. Players would build entire playstyles around each and having the "wrong" runes was a popular excuse for those who just plain sucked at League. Normally, a player could unlock one Keystone and three lesser runes. It seemed that the World Rune before me would work accordingly.


    Inspiration beckoned me forward with another pulse.


    "First Strike, Glacial Augment, and Unsealed Spellbook if I remember right. Any of them would be¡­ game changing... Do I get to choose?"


    No, no I did not. The altar of the temple sported three orbs that made up the core, but I couldn''t tell the difference between any of them for the life of me. I didn''t need to do anything on my own though, because one of the Keystones separated itself and rested on my hand.


    Then my world became pain.


    Cold fire spread through me as Glacial Augment and I became one. I felt like liquid nitrogen was being injected into my veins, like my body and spirit both were being scalded and scoured raw, taken apart, only to be remade. I was getting an intimate lesson in the "augment" part of the Keystone and it was as though my entire existence was judged and found wanting.


    The Keystone had taken one look at my body and soul and decided to renovate in the most excruciating way before moving in. It was the single most agonizing thing I''d ever felt in my life, and I was including both nearly drowning to death and having a charged power cable rake across my eyes.


    "It carved mountains, drained oceans, and burned skies," I heard Ryze say. Or perhaps I imagined it in the delirium.


    I didn''t know how long I stood there as I got a firsthand experience of the power Ryze so feared. Eternity blended into a moment as I screamed myself hoarse. Until finally, the pain came to an end and I could hear myself think again.


    And with my thoughts came knowledge beyond my own. Supernatural clarity washed over me like the whitewater of a newly melted stream.


    As if it wasn''t blatantly obvious, a Keystone was special. It wasn''t just a milestone that marked my progress with a third of a World Rune. It was as its name implied: Just as the keystone of an arch was the wedge at the top that kept it all together by distributing pressure evenly throughout the structure, the Keystones were the defining pieces that held a World Rune together. They were Inspiration, distilled in a way I couldn''t fully grasp.


    I would one day become a celestial. A piece of the infinite dwelled in me.


    On some level, I''d known that of course. I''d known exactly what the World Runes were. I was an out of context spectator and that gave me some information that not even Tyrus or Ryze had.


    But it had never hit home quite so clearly before. A piece of infinity was bound to my soul.


    I didn''t even have to do a single thing. So long as I continued to bond with the World Rune, I would one day become immortal. The unobtainable ambition of alchemists and kings, granted to me simply because I existed.


    Laughter welled up from within at the absurdity.


    When even that finally petered out, I was left with the space to breathe again and examine the changes to my soul.


    The Keystone could not integrate perfectly in a normal human body. So, it didn''t even try. If the vessel was weak, the vessel must be changed. The icy immolation I''d felt was it forcibly changing me, turning me into something that could wield its power, turning me into an Iceborn.


    I was now kin with Ashe, Braum, and others.


    Becoming an Iceborn didn''t magically make me as physically powerful as Braum, nor did it give me the precision and grace of Ashe. What it did give me was potential. I knew without testing that I would never again be bothered by the cold. I knew that I had an innate affinity for ice magic, though it manifested most clearly in creation, as did all aspects of Inspiration.


    When I first considered my options, I discovered that making a sliver of True Ice the size of a guitar pick would cost me an overwhelming one hundred Mana Crystals. I knew now that this was because my mana wasn''t suited for it. With Glacial Augment, that price was halved to start, and it would decrease further as I became stronger.


    I could also manipulate ice directly, a discount pokemon, though barely more than a snowball at the moment. Now that the Minion Dematerializer was known to the PRT, I needed new aces up my sleeves and both the Hextech Flashtraption and the Glacial Augment seemed like excellent last resort weapons. Best of all, Glacial Augment didn''t have a built-in ammo system.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    X


    I yawned and turned in my bed. I reached out and slapped the alarm clock on snooze before rolling up into my blankets again.


    "Morning, my son," I heard my mom pour me a cup of Oracle''s Elixir. She placed it in my hands as I sat up with bleary eyes. I drank and saw the world expand around me.


    "Morning, mom," I said as I examined the premature lines on her face, lines from worrying about me, the son who was too valuable to be ignored and too weak to stand on his own.


    One more reason to stop holding myself back.


    In a lot of ways, I thought that my kidnapping did more damage to my mom than me. This wasn''t the first time she watched me sleep. Ever since I got back, she would enter my room to check on me in the middle of the night. She was almost always awake and waiting for me in the morning. She had a compulsive need to know what I was doing at all hours, to know that I was safe.


    As weird as the feeling of having someone watch me sleep was, I tried not to hold it against her.


    Moving so near the sea hadn''t exactly been a comforting notion. It took her weeks until she finally gave the go ahead to move us out east and even then it was only the promise of personal tutelage from the world''s greatest tinker that sold it.


    She was getting better, but it''d likely be a while before she trusted anyone else with my safety again.


    If I was being honest with myself, I wasn''t a fan of the sea either. Just looking out at the horizon made me wonder when the waves would start to rise.


    I looked at mom''s concerned face. She wasn''t even thirty but already had creases from worrying. It made me want to murder them all over again.


    "Wash up and come to breakfast. I made your favorite," she said with a watery smile as she left for the kitchen.


    "Yes, mom, good morning to you too."


    After a breakfast of rice and tuna omelets, I set up in the living room and flowed through the stances of the second string of kata favored by the Shojin acolytes, something about the Dragon of Ionia breathing life into the plains or somesuch. I''d graduated from the first in the past month, which really only meant that I didn''t feel like my ligaments were in open rebellion after the first set.


    The second was as hard as the first, though I now knew for a fact that what had felt impossible then could be achieved even with my lackluster athleticism.


    "A true master is an eternal student, right, Yi?"


    I rolled my hips as I took a long stride forward, arms swirling in a circle that ended with my palms meeting the hardwood floor. In Lee Sin''s hands, this move would have cratered the earth and launched a shockwave that could shatter great trees.


    Slowly dragging myself with one foot like a serpent, my arms rose back up into the archer stance. Then my back foot followed at the same snail''s pace, curving all the way around my body in what would be a textbook horizontal snap kick if it were faster before straightening out again parallel to my torso.


    All the while, I was trying to channel mana into my limbs.


    It was a heady experience. Being an Iceborn didn''t just mean an affinity for snow cones and poro snacks. With an affinity for ice magic came magic in general. Mana flowed more readily, which meant the Tear filled more rapidly, which in turn meant my body felt lighter, stronger, faster. I wasn''t suddenly Captain America, but I moved with a fluidity and crispness that was found among seasoned martial arts masters in my old life, far beyond what an eight year old should be able to accomplish.


    I''d never thought of myself as graceful before, but that was the only word that came to mind.


    I slowed to a stop as mom clapped from the sofa. "That was amazing, Yusung," she said, but became hesitant. "Was that¡­"


    "Yeah," I nodded. "It was a part of my powers."


    Some doctor and a Korean translator had explained the concept of second triggers to her. I didn''t correct them of course, I didn''t think I even could put words to what I was. A second trigger was the most convenient way for me to handwave my new abilities away. It meant that I was the fascination of every parahuman scholar and "expert" in the world.


    My "second trigger" was one more reason I was moved to DC; Johns Hopkins University was one of the best medical universities in the country and plenty of these so-called experts gathered here. The first week I''d moved here, spent my days almost exclusively in various interviews and lab settings. A second trigger open to being studied was rare, and not one had anything close to the versatility demonstrated by my own.


    Cauldron likely knew otherwise, but they were happy to keep their mouths shut for their own machinations. As always.


    Mom¡­ She didn''t take it too well. I was no psychologist, but for her, it was one more way in which she failed me.


    I gave her a hug. "I''m going to get strong, mom," I promised, "so strong that no one can ever take me away again. So strong that even Alexandria won''t be able to tell me what to do."


    X


    One of the perks of being forcibly relocated by the federal government, and being incredibly valuable besides, was the free housing. By the whims of the bureaucrats on high, mom and I were now among the vaunted elite of homeowners.


    We, like many of the upper-middle class, didn''t actually live in DC. We lived in the Clarendon neighborhood in Arlington, Virginia, three metro stops away from Foggy Bottom, home of both George Washington University and many federal buildings, including the national headquarters of the PRT.


    Our house was a two room affair, three counting a small basement. Having only one car, the garage doubled as storage space for my materials. I intended to co-opt the basement into a lab. I hadn''t had the chance to do much, but by the time I was done, I intended to make this house a goddamn fortress to rival the Immortal Bastion. And if the PRT had anything to say about it, fuck them.


    No more holding back. No more being the backline potion dispenser. In Earth-Bet? Weakness was a sin.


    I had plans. I did not forget about my promise. I swore that if I ever got out of the mess with the Crips, I''d tinker myself a way to flip two birds to masters and thinkers.


    Thinkers¡­ They were complicated. Powerful thinkers could just pull information out of their asses. Their Shards would tell them details like asshole spectators spoiling a movie. Tattletale, Contessa, Coil, and even Dinah were all examples of this.


    Upon reflection, I had to admit that Lawless fell into his camp too, though he was far more limited. Had he been smarter, had he not underestimated me because of my age, had he been more cautious¡­ I would have lost. It grated at me to admit, but I would have been forced to resort to far worse than the Dream Blossom Censer to escape. And had I done that¡­


    A loss, no matter how I looked at it.


    The problem was, I didn''t think I could just make myself a blank slate to thinkers, not unless I could directly fuck up their Shards. And if I could do that, Scion wouldn''t be a problem. If I couldn''t interfere with the Shard network, the other option would be to make myself incomprehensible, a "does not compute" error. I¡­ I wasn''t willing to touch the Void. I wasn''t that desperate yet. There were other options, but not many and none without their price. It would take a while to enact the ones I knew.


    But masters though? Those were far simpler.


    All parahuman master effects boiled down to two schools: body or mind. And in truth, even the latter was just nuanced body manipulation. It''d be more accurate to say that some masters manipulated the nervous and muscle systems of their victims while the rest hijacked control of the emotion centers in their brains. Cherish, Nice Guy, Valefor, and Tequila all fell into this latter category. They either overwhelmed cognitive thought with emotions or suppressed higher thoughts via Shard-assisted hypnosis.


    And that was why I spent the entire day converting my stockpile of holy water into the Water of Life.


    The Water of Life was such a versatile thing. An intrinsic connection to life was great, but I was interested in the more limited uses found by the Vesani: memories.


    Yes¡­ Gwen''s hallowed scissors, as phenomenally versatile a weapon as they would be, were not a priority. They could stay on the backburner for a bit while I figured out the best way to lock my own memories. The Vesani were the key.


    Author''s Note


    Yes, I''m back. Yes, this does mean you can look forward to a full arc day by day. This is the longest arc I''ve written yet and will go on for the next two weeks.


    Think of the Keystones like major feats. I did say I''d be "leveling" Andy based on significant milestones and I think DC counts.


    There''s a Korean dish called jun or jeon. It is a "pancake" that''s more like an omelet. My favorite happens to be tuna and scallions. Eggs and tuna are great together. It''s not the most popular dish even for Koreans, but I''ll die on that hill.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.3 Ripples

    Ripples 4.3


    2000, August 21: Washington, DC, USA


    Metalmaru, Hero''s assistant and longtime colleague, had come to pick me up in his civilian guise. A subtly but fully armed tinker in an equally heavily armored car was far less likely to end up a little square in the papers after all. He picked me up and though mom showed the traditional hospitality, there was a coldness to her that hadn''t been there before.


    "How are you, Andy," he asked as I got into the passenger seat. Metalmaru, or Steven Kajiya out of costume, was a tall, lanky man with corded muscle in his early thirties. He had tan skin and sharp eyes. In costume, he had a trademark ponytail. Out of it, the tail was kept in a tight bun beneath a bowler hat.


    "Pretty good. Ready to finally start doing something. They''re giving me the rest of my stuff back, right?"


    "Yeah, don''t worry about that. A month''s hiatus has to be good for something, right? We got them through the approval process. They''ve already been field tested anyway," he chuckled, then realized what he said. "Shit, I mean, darn, sorry, kid."


    I waved him off. "Don''t worry about it. And you can swear. It''s not like I haven''t heard it enough."


    "Nah, gotta get in the habit. Big boss was talking about putting me in charge of a Wards team and I don''t want to set a bad example, you know?"


    "I guess. Early congrats then. You looking forward to it?"


    "Ehh, sure. I mean, people say I''m a kid at heart, and I am, but maybe that''s why I shouldn''t be put in charge of kids."


    "Maybe. Or maybe, you''ll have an easier time relating to us young''uns than the other old timers."


    "Hey, I''m thirty-one! I''m not old yet!"


    "And I''m eight. That makes you almost four times my age."


    "Che. What happened to respecting your elders," he grumbled.


    "I''m American now. I''m embracing American values. Respect is earned, geezer," I teased.


    We drove in amiable silence for several minutes before the older tinker broke it.


    "Say, what''re you looking forward to building?"


    "You mean besides my costume?" I asked dryly. Hero may have gifted me a bodysuit, but it was just the foundation. I was expected to build up a kit of my own. I was honestly looking forward to it. "Maybe something to work against masters."


    "Ah¡­"


    "Yeah." As the second-most senior member of the District Protectorate and the head whenever Hero was off on one international crisis or other, he was one of the few fully briefed on my situation. I let the awkward silence drag on for a bit before asking a question of my own. "How about you? You''ve been a tinker for what? A decade? What''s the coolest thing you''ve built?"


    He embraced the subject change like a drowning man hanging onto a rope. "Not quite a decade. I was twenty-four when I triggered," he said with the ease of many years of separation. Most capes didn''t refer to their triggers at all if they could help it. "You know what my specialization is, right?"


    "Mmhm."


    And it was a good one. Not phenomenal, but excellent for support. Metalmaru was a tinker who specialized in metal alloys, creating new ones to perfectly suit any function, often with seemingly supernatural properties. His power also came with an innate understanding of metallurgy and mineralogy. Because he wasn''t the best at making weapons or armor to protect himself, he worked as Hero''s assistant and had seen several tinkers graduate from the Wards already.


    "Well if I had to pick one, it''d be my multiform shape-memory alloy. An SMA is a metal that bends itself back into shape when it''s warped, effectively repairing itself. I tinkered up one that can ''remember'' multiple shapes depending on the specific frequency of the electric current run through it."


    "That''s pretty cool."


    "I know, right?"


    "But doesn''t something like that mean it''s more fragile than regular reinforced steel? I think I read about SMAs somewhere. If they were as sturdy as regular steel, they''d be used for everything."


    "Right," he grinned. "That''s true, but I''m a tinker. My SMA is stronger than steel and can turn into my armor whenever I need it using my own bioelectricity."


    I thought about what he said. "You stuck armor into your own body so it can react to your nervous system, maybe hormones. Threat response?"


    "Yes and no. I didn''t graft metal into my bones or something crazy. I''m a metals-tinker, not some super-surgeon. There''s a signal amplifier in my skull though that''ll activate like you said if I feel threatened. I had to trade a few favors with Zero Day and Armsmaster for that one."


    "That''s¡­ That''s brilliant."


    "Thanks. It''s not exactly power armor and I''m not much stronger with it, but it helps to have for sure. It had its problems, but we mostly worked out the kinks. Anyway, you''ll be working on your own collaborations soon. Excited?"


    "Don''t senior tinkers decide the project? I figured Hero would just tell me who I''m working with and what I''m building for a while." It was what I expected of Cauldron if not Hero himself.


    "Nah, boss-man isn''t like that. You tell him what you want to work on and he''ll try to have your back with Costa-Brown so long as you can show that you''re working safe. You''ll have to negotiate with the other tinkers on your own though."


    "Dino eggs," I blurted out. "And sunstone."


    "What?"


    "Those are what I need. The PRT said they''d get me what I needed, so here it is."


    "But¡­ why?"


    I reminded myself that Metalmaru didn''t know much about my tinkering. "My tinkering focuses on making technology or enchanted objects that work with an internal energy source I call mana. I sometimes need unique or rare materials that have conceptual significance."


    "Enchantments?"


    "Yes, like magic. Seeing how no one seems to be able to explain how powers work, it''s as good a name as any. Seriously, you''ve been briefed on Petricite, right?"


    "Right, alright. I understand¡­ I think. But dinosaur eggs?"


    "Not specifically dinosaur eggs," I corrected myself. "I need fossilized lizard eggs from any species, but it does need to be a lizard¡­ alongside sunstone, which is-"


    "Plagioclase feldspar," he said. "I''m familiar. Mineralogy is my thing, remember? What do you think you can make with those? The sunstone will be easy to get, but the fossils might be harder. If a museum loans one out to you, I take it you''re not going to be giving it back?"


    "No, they won''t be seeing it again. I want to make something that protects my mind from master effects."


    "You can do that?"


    "I wasn''t lying in my debut," I said with a shrug. We were over the bridge now. I did my best to quell the butterflies in my stomach; open water still didn''t agree with me. "I have an incredibly versatile repertoire now. It just might be the only honest thing I said in my debut."


    "Huh¡­ How does it work?"


    "Ymelo," I said, "I think I''ll call them Ymelos. A Ymelo is a set of two piece lockets that interlock to form perfect spheres. They can lock away and return memories."


    "So if someone erases memories, you can just¡­ reboot like a computer?"


    "Yeah, that''s a fair way of thinking about it. It''d also work for rapid shifts in emotion too. Like, if your past until now represents your baseline, the Ymelo would trigger automatically if you suddenly find yourself suicidal, reminding your brain that you don''t normally think this way and therefore breaking the master effect."


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "That''s¡­ You just might be the strangest tinker I''ve ever met."


    "Didn''t you make a superconductor metal that functions in absolute zero to work with Glace''s freeze-ray? I''m not the only weird one."


    "Yeah, but that at least has some grounding in scientific principles. You''re saying a locket and some squiggly lines can make you immune to masters."


    "Not immune, just highly resistant," I corrected. "Anyway, is it possible? Can you get me a fossilized egg?"


    "For an anti-master effect? Definitely. It''s going to need testing before it gets approved, but if it does clear¡­ You''d be doing the world a big favor."


    I thought of the space pigeon who had yet to descend. "I know, Steven. I know."


    X


    2000, August 21: Washington, DC, USA


    I sat at my desk, my tools and creations before me. The Petricite dagger I''d named Sobriety (because fuck Camille) was set off to the side. I wanted to engrave runes into it, but that could come at a later date. The relic pistol was next to it; I wouldn''t name it until I had its twin. The Dream Blossom Censer was placed against one wall, a staff of willow holding it up.


    It was the "tech" that the PRT was most conflicted about. On one hand, it could end fights instantly. Unless the opponent wasn''t human in the first place, like an endbringer, or kept their body in another dimension, like La Torcha, the smoke wasn''t a resistible or avoidable attack.


    On the other hand, it affected everyone, allies included. Knocking out emergency response personnel and civilians alongside gang members would not end well. At minimum, it was begging for a car crash and multiple fatalities. For a tool with no offensive application, the potential for collateral damage was immense. Nonetheless, it was in the end cleared for use by multiple thinkers and psychologists who examined the after effects on animals then volunteers.


    On a not unrelated note, I had a bit of a following among the many insomniacs that made up the PRT administration and dream blossom petals were in high demand. The tea brewed from one granted luxuriously good sleep and rumors of "super-coffee" were making their rounds already.


    The censer was the first of my new emergency loadout. Kid Win had his Alternator Cannon. I had a massive AOE sleep that could force an end to almost any conflict.


    Call me motherfucking Mystogan.


    The Blitzpack was cracked open in front of me, its innards scattered as I tried to improve on the design I''d made in captivity. With the Crips, I very carefully kept from building my best because I wasn''t sure I would ever get them back, better that the Crips had half-assed tech in case I need to deal with them later. But here, I had no such reservations.


    To start, I wanted to make it so the Blitzpack''s prototype Hex Core could function without steam. Homage to my favorite yoink-bot or not, it was an unnecessary inconvenience. I instead made it so I could slot Mana Crystals directly into the back. From there, the raw mana would be directed to the transformers which would convert it into electricity, letting me activate its EMP function almost at will. I also planned to make an exterior that wasn''t spherical; a skull shape made handling difficult. Once I replaced some of the internals with the high-quality materials provided by Metalmaru and Glace, I expected to decrease both its size and weight.


    I leisurely sketched out a design for it. If I made the design hemispherical and reinforced the exterior a great deal, I could strap it to my arm like a buckler. It''d go well with the Black Tortoise image, too. I was short enough that I''d have to strap it to my biceps along with my forearm, but I''d grow into it.


    I imagined myself with my full loadout. Some nebulous, vaguely Asian armor hiding enough tech to wage a war with the shield in my left hand and the pistol in my right. The dagger that was more like a shortsword to me was strapped to my left hip while the censer hung from my back like an oversized blue lamp. I looked ridiculous. Even in my own head I couldn''t make that look good.


    "I really need a way to quick-swap between items," I muttered.


    "Yo, newbie, how''s it going?" came Pyrotechnical''s voice behind me.


    That was my one minor gripe. We didn''t have a separate lab, not normally. The national PRT HQ wasn''t a building as much as it was an entire complex. It sat near the Justice and State Department buildings in Foggy Bottom. The lab was a separate building altogether and although there were smaller rooms dedicated to highly hazardous testing, such as those involving radioactive materials, the main lab was a wide open floorplan with different stations for different tinkers.


    I didn''t expect Hero''s overt extroversion to grate on me in this way, but it proved to be a minor irritation.


    Not that the floorplan was bad or anything. A series of incredibly advanced force fields and blast shutters could close down a station with ease and a set of teleporters courtesy of Warptek, a former DC tinker who''d been transferred out to Milwaukee of all places, made transporting materials and tools to the right tinker from the loading dock simple.


    It honestly did promote cooperation and allowed for more senior tinkers to check up on and advise newcomers with ease. Best of all, all the "tools to make better tools" were already present in several communal stations. Any tinker could schedule some time on them and maintenance duties went to whoever could do the job, with some like Warptek being called in once or twice a year for upkeep.


    Still, the introvert in me really wanted his own lab. I supposed that was what my basement would be.


    Turning, I gave Pyro a wan smile. "Doing alright. I had a bunch of stuff I wanted from the PRT so I spent most of the morning filling out procurement forms. You?"


    "Pretty good. I wanted to let you know that a hundred pounds of fossilized tree came into the loading dock. Should be he-"


    He didn''t even get to finish before the teleporter nearest to my station flashed, rolling out a palette of red, brown, and blue quartz-like crystals.


    "Yup, there it is."


    "Oh, lovely," I said, dry as the Sahara. "I can now spend the next few days turning it into Petricite."


    "That''s the power-null stuff, right?"


    "Yeah, why?"


    "Mind if I get a brick for myself?"


    I rolled my eyes. "Ah, and now we''re finally at the reason you''re here. What, can''t visit a junior just ''cause?"


    "Hey, I''m just calling dibs before everyone else. Seriously, there are seven tinkers here excluding you. Do you know how rare that is? We don''t typically work together, too many differences in specializations and egos, but when there''s a new wonder-material to be had? All bets are off."


    "Thanks for the warning. Metalmaru said something similar. I''ll keep the blast doors shut."


    "You might want to. Or at the very least, start thinking about what you want from other tinkers. You know, start bargaining."


    "You said there are too many differences in specializations. How does that work then?"


    "I mean, yeah. You probably won''t be able to incorporate my thermal lance inside of that shield thing you got there, but you might be able to learn a few things from studying the blueprints, you know? Or in the case of Glace and Metalmaru, they might hold their superconductors hostage now that you have something worth trading for. And all else fails, you can take over the IT shift or something. Services are just as good as products; time is money after all."


    "Wait, tinkers get put on IT? I don''t actually know any programming languages."


    He waved his hand a bit. "Ehh¡­ Sometimes¡­? It really depends on the tinker, but that was just an example. Coding is really more Zero Day''s gig. But even if you don''t write code as a part of your power, you''d be amazed at how many people will just trust your word for it because ''you''re a tinker so you must know tech.'' You can repair microwaves, fridges, toasters¡­ You know, that sort of thing. You''d be amazed at how often the other departments call us to fix their crap. Or want a super-microwave or something dumb.


    "Lovely, looking forward to it. Fine, what can you offer me in exchange?"


    "I have an old thermal lance? It''s a bit obsolete for me, but it''s close to the limit of what other tinkers can understand about my specialization. That''s the only reason I haven''t scrapped it yet actually; I even finished a writeup on it meant to guide newbies through my thought process."


    "Maybe," I said noncommittally. It''d be nice to have, but that''s all. I wasn''t exactly lacking offensive options myself. Besides, my priority right now was the Ymelo. "I''m really focused on something else right now. Let''s say you owe me, deal?"


    "Deal."


    X


    As Pyro predicted, a small horde of tinkers descended upon my station the moment they heard I had the materials for Petricite. Eventually, the PRT wanted me to machine out shackles, but for now, they wanted to see what other tinkers would make of the wonder-material first. I had to explain repeatedly that Petricite normally was about as rigid and uncooperative as marble and that I needed to transmute it into a metal alloy for it to be much use.


    By the end of the impromptu negotiations, I had a standing invitation from Metalmaru to work on a stronger Petricite alloy with him. Seeing how I needed to make my costume and shield, I''d be taking him up on that sooner rather than later.


    Glace agreed to take a look at my capacitors for the Blitzpack and multi-tool in exchange for five pounds of raw Petricite. She wanted to see if it was possible to extend its power nullifying properties through a beam the same way she made a laser endothermic. I wasn''t holding my breath but I wished her luck anyway.


    Pyro, Armsmaster, and Bluesong owed me favors for the same.


    I was mildly surprised at seeing Armsmaster, though I shouldn''t have been. He was Hero''s apprentice after all. He apparently graduated from the Wards two years ago and was the youngest person here save me. He acted far more grown up than Pyrotechnical though.


    Hero claimed "dictator privileges" and preordered several pounds for his own use, something about using it to disrupt higher dimensional wave patterns. To be fair, he already made me a bodysuit; he''d earned his share.


    The only one who wasn''t interested was the aforementioned Zero Day, who was busy designing a nationwide cybersecurity network on account of the shitshow revolving around yours truly. How effective it''d be, I had no idea. I was no expert, but I knew that human error had a way of bringing down even the greatest firewalls and there was no real way to eliminate human error from the equation for a project like this.


    Truly, stupidity was the mightiest force in the universe.


    Even while I waited for a goddamn dinosaur egg, I was still up to my nonexistent eyeballs with work.


    Author''s Note


    A zero day vulnerability is a cybersecurity vulnerability for which the developers have no patch or do not know exists. White-hat hackers get paid lots of money to discover zero day vulnerabilities on behalf of their clients. That is the tinker''s namesake.


    The Helian Sunstones, not to be confused with Earth''s sunstones, are materials made by the Vesani in the Blessed Isles using the Hallowed Mist, a byproduct of the Water of Life. They were a tribe of Vastaya capable of manipulating memories and drawing power from memories. These Sunstones were used to create golems.


    Ymelo is the name of the Vesani craftsman who made Ahri''s Sunstones. The orb she throws in game can stop glowing and will turn into a golden ball with flaming designs. These designs separate like puzzle pieces into two halves. As per A Fair Trade, Ahri finds out that Ymelo made his tokens from the eggs of ancient lizards, while the Vesani made theirs from Sunstone.


    This is where I''m getting the dinosaur egg + sunstone + Water of Life requirement for Andy''s craftsmanship, along with Ymelo''s namesake.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.4 Ripples

    Ripples 4.4


    2000, August 21: Washington, DC, USA


    I stood outside the Wards common room and took a deep breath. Wards introduction, round two.


    I was in an interesting position. On one hand, I was a Ward under Jon, Brickhouse. On the other, I was now a part of Hero''s lab, fondly nicknamed the Madhouse.


    That meant that outside of patrols and PR events, I likely wouldn''t be spending much time here. And judging by the looks on their faces as I walked in, they knew it. There wasn''t any hostility, but they weren''t exactly thrilled to see me either, just a whole lot of ambivalence.


    "Hyunmu, welcome," Brickhouse said with a smile.


    He stood in full uniform. Next to him was a green, bipedal deer with two pairs of antlers. The stag stood an impressive six-six without the antlers. With the antlers, he easily cleared seven-ten. It certainly explained why the doors were so wide. I wondered how his neck could support the weight then shrugged it off as Shard fuckery. I recognized this one as the only Case 53 in the District Wards, Verdeer.


    Verdant. Deer.


    Creativity was dead and we now danced in its ashes.


    That was where my knowledge ended.


    To my leader''s other side stood a boy of about sixteen of middling height. The only thing noteworthy about him was that he wore long, white robes and hood that obscured everything. The robes had bright golden highlights and a closed eye on the hood, probably to avoid looking like a Klan symbol or some Halloween ghost costume.


    The last Ward was a girl who stood an inch taller than the boy in white. She wore a sunshine-yellow bodysuit with crimson lightning streaks. By her costume alone, I pegged her as some sort of mover, though electrokinesis was also a possibility. The Flash inspiration couldn''t have been more obvious if they just wrote out "Flash" on her chest.


    "Hey," I greeted with a friendly smile. There was no reason to make enemies of them. "I''m Hyunmu, nice to meet you all."


    "Didn''t you have an accent?" Verdeer asked. His voice was an odd mix of deep rumbling and the honk-chirp of a deer. "Also, Verdeer."


    "Only in public."


    "Powell?"


    "Powell."


    In that single moment, a connection formed between us. We all shared a commiserating look at the PR head''s expense.


    "Anyway," Brickhouse coughed and tapped the boy in white, "this is Whiteout. He can white out cameras and recorders. He''s not a tinker, but he gets called in for private meetings a whole lot."


    "Sup, turtle-boy," Whiteout said with a smirk.


    "Sup, toaster strudel."


    "What''d you call me?"


    "Don''t talk smack if you can''t take it."


    Ignoring Whiteout''s grumbling, Brickhouse continued. "And this lovely missy is Gold Rush. She''s really fast and doesn''t get tired. She also leaves behind a trail that slows down anyone who enters it."


    "Hello, Hyunmu. I think the turtle theme is cool. Are you going to make a giant shield to carry around?"


    "If I do, it''ll have a ram''s head on it," I said easily.


    "Huh?"


    "Don''t worry, it makes perfect sense."


    "Sure¡­"


    "Right. Everyone, Hyunmu will be working with the other tinkers in the lab most of the time, but he''ll also have his share of patrols."


    That caused Gold Rush''s eyes to light up. "You work with Hero? How is he? He''s great, right?" She was in my personal space in the blink of an eye and the scary part was that I wasn''t sure that was her power.


    "Your fangirl is showing," Whiteout drawled.


    "Shut up, toaster strudel."


    "Sure, if you can come up with something original."


    "Oh, fuck you."


    He made two finger-guns and winked. "Is that an invitation, babe?"


    "Ugh, you''re such a pervert."


    "You say ''pervert,'' I say ''healthy teenager.''"


    I sided up to my new leader. "Are they¡­"


    "They''re always like this, don''t stress," he sighed. "And yes, Gold Rush really likes Hero. She even wanted a golden bodysuit like Hero''s armor, but Powell said it''d look too showy."


    "Not that I disagree, but¡­ is sunshine-yellow any better?" I asked incredulously.


    "It''s marigold," she huffed.


    I rolled my eyes. They¡­ They didn''t leave the best impression. I knew that I was being unfair to them, but I couldn''t help but compare them to my old team. Brickhouse seemed to be a mix of Stingray and Ranchero, acting as both the older sibling and mediator to Whiteout and Gold Rush''s squabbling. Gold Rush gave off the impression of someone who was a little na?ve, though perhaps it was too early to judge. Bandit, but without the bubbly cheer. Whiteout was as obnoxious as Hat Trick, but without her versatility. Verdeer¡­ was Verdeer.


    I had no beef with the antler-horse.


    "So, what else did Powell have you do for your public persona?" Verdeer asked. "The first thing he did was make me do a photoshoot for the National Zoo."


    "Oof, sorry," I winced.


    "Wasn''t so bad. I really like animals."


    "Oh, then I guess that''s cool. Do animals¡­ react to you differently?"


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "What, ''cause I''m a Case 53?"


    I nodded. "Yeah, sorry if that was rude."


    "Nah, we''re good. It''s a legitimate question. And yeah. Herbivores don''t see me as a threat because I look like them. Even had a stag try to square up to me during this Thanksgiving shoot I did."


    "Wait, why?"


    "Mating season," he laughed. "He thought I was trying to poach his girls. Funniest thing to happen to me at the zoo to this day."


    I laughed with him. For a man with a stag''s head, his smiles could be very expressive. "That''s awesome. Bet the camera crew got a kick out of that. Did you butt heads?"


    "Nah, my horns are harder than diamond. Like for real. Metalmaru confirmed it and everything; he has no idea how or what they''re made of, but he can''t scratch them with anything. If we butted heads, the zoo would be selling venison."


    "Damn, that''s pretty awesome. Wait¡­ stags shed their antlers¡­"


    "Sorry, he already checked. I don''t shed so you can''t have any to tinker with."


    I clicked my tongue. "Tsk. Damn."


    "So yeah, is the PR team making you do anything?"


    "Just some suggestions I''m pretty sure aren''t really suggestions. Mr. Powell is trying to get me to start a video series teaching either origami or tea ceremonies." I made no secret of my disapproval.


    "Don''t like those?"


    "It''s not that. I''m not even Japanese."


    "Most people won''t know the difference so they likely won''t care."


    "Yeah, that''s what he said too, but that doesn''t mean I''m happy about it."


    "Hey, at least that''s not so bad," Gold Rush cut in. "When he found out I was from Georgia, he wanted me to appear on a cooking show, a ''southern belle cooking some classic peach cobbler.'' It was horrible. I didn''t even know how to cook. I still don''t!"


    The green stag smiled. "I thought you did alright. It tasted pretty good."


    "Thanks, Verd, but you like to eat everything."


    "True. Don''t mean I''m lying."


    "Come on, guys," Brickhouse said. "Powell''s not that bad. He doesn''t mean any harm."


    "Maybe not," Whiteout said, "but he''s super annoying."


    "You don''t even have to do anything," Gold Rush complained.


    "I give tours at the International Spy Museum once a week. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"


    "That doesn''t sound so bad," I said.


    "I mean, the place is super cool, but once you''ve seen it all a dozen times it gets pretty dull, you know?"


    "Fair enough. I think he''s just throwing everything at me to see what I''d be willing to do."


    "Yeah, that''s Powell. Try to agree to as little as possible; he''ll take a mile if you give him an inch."


    "Noted. Thanks, Whiteout."


    "Yeah. You''re also a tinker so that''ll work in your favor. It''s unfair," he groused.


    "Why? I mean, I think my power''s awesome but-"


    "It''s not that," Gold Rush cut in with a pout. "It''s because Hero runs the show here. I mean, Director Costa-Brown does her thing too, but as far as we capes go? Hero''s the boss and he looks out for the tinkers a lot more than us normal capes."


    "It''s not like that," Brickhouse placated. "It''s because tinkers all work together at the Madhouse so you see him more often. You''ll get more chances to tell him how you''re doing than the rest of us."


    "Yeah, he''s told Powell to fuck off before," Whiteout said. "I mean, not literally, but basically that."


    "What happened there?"


    "Nothing much. This was like three or four years ago when Pyrotechnical and Glace were still in the Virginia Wards. Glace was the leader back then and Powell wanted them to do a kissing scene for Valentine''s Day," my leader added. "Hero put a stop to that real quick."


    "They were underage so, duh."


    "That and they don''t actually like each other," Gold Rush said.


    "They''re friends," Verdeer rumbled.


    "Yeah, but they don''t like like each other."


    I sighed. "That''s good to know. I want to be in charge of my own image as much as possible. I still need to build my armor and that''s one less thing to worry about."


    "Right. That''s the suit hero made, right?" she asked.


    "Yes. All the tinkers on staff help each other where we can and this was his welcome gift to me."


    Whiteout rolled his eyes. "Tinkers got it good here. So not fair."


    Our yellow mover gave him the side-eye. "Jealous much?"


    "Yes. I''m man enough to admit it. How much does a bodysuit like that cost?"


    "Not a clue," I lied, no sense telling a bunch of kids they couldn''t have a fancy new toy. "I owe him some unique mats I can make though so it''s not like it was completely free."


    "Whatever. Just don''t do laundry on-base. Gold Rush''s gonna sneak in and sniff it, watch."


    "I wouldn''t do that!"


    While the two returned to bickering, Verdeer nodded to him and walked to the kitchen. "You want anything, Hyunmu?"


    I looked around and sighed. "You know what? Yeah, sure. What''s there to eat?"


    X


    2000, August 22: Washington, DC, USA


    I glanced down at the box in front of me then looked back up at Hero''s smiling face. "Fast."


    The man, the myth, the not-Legend, stood tall at six-five, though a few inches of that I knew came from the armored boots and helmet. He wore a friendly smile and golden armor over a blue, chain mesh material not dissimilar to my own suit. Surprisingly, his armor wasn''t "power armor" in the traditional sense; it didn''t grant him augmented strength or come with a mechanical exoskeleton. Instead, it was a collection of tastefully designed gadgets that came together to form a unified whole.


    "Heh, yeah. Rebecca really wanted to see if the anti-master locket could work. She can pull some strings when she needs to. Even if mass production isn''t on the table, having it handed out to a few important people would make the whole organization much safer."


    I looked at the roughly eighty-four pounds of fossilized wood in one corner of my station. "So I noticed. Thank you for this, Hero," I said sincerely. The box contained a sunstone as large as two chicken eggs polished to a mirror shine and an oval stone with bumpy, scaled patterns of about the same size.


    "Don''t mention it. You''re one of my people now. If you need anything, let me or Metalmaru know. And between you and me," he leaned forward as if to share some big secret, "Becky has a soft spot for young heroes like you. Don''t be intimidated by her, you hear?"


    "Got it." It was sometimes hard to remember that the man before me was a part of Cauldron. He was "the best of them" according to Alexandria, but that wasn''t really a bar as much as it was a ditch in the ground. "Say, Hero?"


    "Yes, Hyunmu?"


    "Can you add holy water to the list of stuff I need?"


    "Holy water?"


    "Alchemy, remember? I mean, my power''s expanded a lot, but things with conceptual importance apparently matter and I''m almost out of my own stock. You can find holy water in any Catholic church. They''ll give it out for free so have some agents pick up a gallon each. I mean, chemically, it''s just mild salt water, but the priestly blessing matters to my power for some reason."


    "Huh. Weird. Sure, that''s fine. Shouldn''t be too hard to get some in bulk. Just don''t go around telling everyone your locket can absolve people of their sins or anything."


    "Deal." We shared a light chuckle at that.


    As he walked away, I turned back to the Petricite I''d been working on. With both Hextech Flashtraption and Glacial Augment, the rate at which I could pull mana had increased a great deal. Before, my kidnapping, the PRT was under the impression that I could generate one every ten minutes or so. In reality, I could do so once every eight minutes and had used that slight difference in time to create a stockpile of Mana Crystals for myself.


    My change into an Iceborn halved that time again. Fifteen Mana Crystals per hour didn''t seem like a lot, but it meant seventy-five in a five hour meditation session. It was the kind of production rate I''d only dreamed of before. It wasn''t long ago that forty-eight potions per week seemed like a reasonable quota.


    And yet, I''d only grown busier. Demands on my time grew as fast as my capability.


    My lab station was everything I''d ever needed back in Phoenix. Seeing how Rubedo was retired as an identity, I couldn''t generate potions and distribute them publically. That just meant I needed to dehydrate them into pills, which meant an extra Mana Crystal to stabilize them during the process. A massive dehydrator to one side was used for the purpose.


    Next to it was a smelter I could use to turn Petricite into its alloy. And next to that was a furnace alongside a lathe, drop hammer, and some other tools I could use to shape metal.


    I was fortunate in that much of what I did could be automatic, leaving me time to work on my costume and Ymelo tokens. I took one look at the half-finished Blitzpack, more of a Blitzshield now, and shrugged. The Ymelos came first. My costume could wait.


    Author''s Note


    You know, I''m quickly starting to realize that the problem with these tinker of fiction style fics is that there is so much potential. It''s like a random person shoving a blank canvas in your face and demanding that you paint a picture. It''s hard deciding what to make because there are so many options.


    "What do you want for dinner?"


    "Uh¡­"


    Yeah, definitely one of those people.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.5 Ripples

    Ripples 4.5


    2000, August 24: Washington, DC, USA


    Two days. The Ymelo tokens took two days to complete even despite my expanded mana generation rate. The dinosaur egg and sunstone had to be alchemically merged into a Sunstone, not to be confused with the Earth-Bet variety, after which the painstaking process of engraving runes could begin.


    Each rune needed to be infused with a steady stream of mana during the carving process, meaning I couldn''t just pass off the task to an automated machine like I could with Petricite alloys or dehydrated potions. The runes needed to be precise too, a talent I was slowly developing ever since I started work with the Control Wards. The engraving process did go by a bit faster thanks to my new multi-tool, but it was still a laborious task.


    But finally, I was done.


    Before me sat two hemispheres, twin flames that shone a molten gold. The surface seemed to flicker with an inner flame, dancing as it caught the light. Each token was smaller than Ahri''s, only about the size of half a tennis ball. I slowly put the two pieces together, the "tongues" of flame interlocking. Protrusions that seemingly had no purpose filled hidden cavities, two perfect reflections that formed a greater whole.


    Then, a single blue spark danced at one end of the golden orb. That stray spark of mana traced the barely visible seams where the two tokens joined, leaving behind a line of blue flame. It circumnavigated the sphere and ignited every tiny rune carved onto the face until it returned where it started, a corona of fire encircling the orb.


    The fire spread and covered the surface, molten gold replaced by radiant azure. It was beautiful to watch, utterly breathtaking. I gingerly picked up the blue orb and felt the warmth of mana flowing through me. This, this was a treasure of the Vesani, Ahri''s inheritance. I had no ability to draw power from memories, nor could I charm or steal the memories of others. Only the most basic of its functions were available to me. In my lackluster hands, it was just a storage device, but that was enough.


    Piece by piece, I sank my essence into the globe of light, every memory, my very identity. First went the memories of my past, thoughts of a distant world and a distant life. Then went the memories of this life. Dad. Mom. Leviathan. Phoenix. The Crips. Everything. Third went my knowledge of Worm, of Ward, of Wildbow who may as well be a prophet in my situation. Secrets that many would kill for were sealed away in my new Ymelo, locked away so I couldn''t forget until the day there should be the need.


    The last thoughts to be copied were not really memories; they were feelings. It was the feeling of helplessness I felt as I worked out how to escape from both a thinker and a master. It was the dismay I felt when Alexandria hugged me and I realized I''d been played more than a Bon Jovi song at an eighties high school reunion. It was the regret I felt as I apologized to my mother for being too weak, for making her cry¡­ for leaving her alone. It was the sorrow that made me get on my knees before Agent Morrison''s grave.


    Most of all, it was determination, the same as I bid my friends goodbye and boarded that plane knowing I''d be at the heart of Cauldron''s influence.


    The globe pulsed in my hand when I finished and I knew that I would be the only one capable of drawing these memories out. This Ymelo was mine and mine alone; it would answer to no other. It was, in a very real way, a part of my identity now. There was a connection between it and me, a link that bound it to my soul and therefore to the World Rune. Inspiration would keep it inviolable, immutable save in its intended function. Not even I could change that now.


    It would take in every memory of mine and, should I so choose, I could draw it outward again to trigger something similar to a system reboot. That function was also linked to an automatic trigger, the single most difficult runic matrix I''d carved thus far. If the Ymelo sensed a significant deviation between my present emotions and the historical standard, it would flood my brain with the same, forcing me to recall the reason I was the way I was. My resolve. My pain. My triumphs. My failures. My very identity was now my shield.


    This was my answer to emotional masters: A love-me aura wouldn''t work if I remembered exactly why I hated them with a passion. Suicidal depression wouldn''t take hold if I forced myself to remember the people and things that drove me.


    And seeing how it was linked to the Inspiration, my new floating buddy wouldn''t be running out of juice anytime soon.


    It wasn''t perfect. For one, I had to have the Ymelo on my person. It could be made to hover and follow me around, but I''d have to carry it in my pocket while in my civilian guise. While I could call it, it could still be separated from me.


    Second, it worked for any significant deviation in my mental state. It didn''t necessarily have to come from a power. That meant that I was cutting off the bell curve on both ends. I could feel joy, but never the delirious kind, grief, but never the soul-crushing kind. Something like this would have required a month of review at least, which was why I didn''t really ask for permission or clarify exactly what I was doing.


    As it was, I was probably going to get chewed out by Hero. If nothing else, I was about to let a therapist retire early.


    Lastly, it did nothing for masters with a focus on nervous control. Alec, currently Jean-Paul, could fuck me over just as easily as before.


    Even so, this would have been enough to keep me from getting Pavlov''d by Tequila and that alone was a weight off my mind.


    I gently set the glowing blue orb down onto my desk to the sound of applause. I didn''t notice I''d drawn a crowd.


    "That was quite the light show," Pyro said with a low whistle. "Does everything you make glow like that?


    I looked back to see the entire lab facing me. "Are you all really this bored?" I asked, a tad miffed.


    "Yes," the man I''d learned was Zero Day spoke flatly but I could spy a slight smirk of the lips. He wore a gray bodysuit like my own, but with a lab coat over it. The lab coat was decked out in green lines tracing a pattern reminiscent of computer chips. On his left breast was his logo, a big fat "Z" with a lock overlaid onto it.


    "Aww, don''t be like that, Hyunmu," our chief said, his smile annoyingly bright. "The first time a tinker completes a project in this lab is always a bit of an occasion. Besides, yours is pretty important. You called it the Ymelo, right?"


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Right. This lets me reboot my memories, but it''s tied to me and I''m not giving it away."


    "Why would you want to make something like that?" Pyro asked.


    "Anti-master protocols," I said. I breathed deep. He didn''t have the full story. "It''s been a personal mission of mine to make myself immune to them." And thinkers, I didn''t say.


    "Right¡­"


    "How?" Armsmaster asked, or really, demanded. He wasn''t nearly as abrasive as he was in canon, jaded determination hadn''t quite set in, but he was nonetheless a very direct person. I tried not to take it personally. "How were you able to link it to you?"


    I shrugged. I had no idea how to explain the existence of the soul to someone like Armsmaster so I didn''t even bother trying. Instead, I ignited my hand in a soft, blue glow. "My energy is very versatile. It''s also why I can''t really give a Ymelo away."


    "So even if you made a few extra, no one else would be able to use them?"


    "No¡­ Maybe? Give me a sec to think."


    They didn''t know how to draw mana from their souls. They couldn''t activate anything complicated, but¡­ the core function of the Ymelo tokens weren''t complex. All the fancy bells and whistles Ahri could do weren''t relevant. Hell, most of the things I could do weren''t relevant either.


    The tokens just needed to work once, provide a dose of clarity and emotional void for the wearer. I considered it. I could scrap the linkage matrix. No reason to forge a permanent connection if they had no idea how to channel mana along that connection in the first place. It didn''t need to hover either. No storing memories because no link existed, but¡­ that would mean it''d need to be voluntarily activated rather than have an automatic trigger because no history exists to identify deviance in emotional patterns...


    Theoretically, the runes carved onto the Control Wards that allowed a person to activate them without mana could be repurposed here. So long as I infused it with some of my own¡­


    "Maybe," I began, "but it wouldn''t'' be easy. The carvings get more complicated because I''m effectively going to have to design a battery containing my internal energy so anyone else can activate it. It''d also only have enough juice for one shot, a few minutes of clarity to hopefully give someone a fighting chance against a master."


    "I''m going to kick this up the chain to the chief director," Hero said. He called her by title so we knew it was serious. "This is big news if you can cleanse a master effect. She''ll want to test that in detail."


    "How? Will we have him mastered in a controlled environment?" Armsmaster asked. I stiffened at that. I''d kill him before I''d let them try, canon be damned.


    "They''ll probably get a low-level master to try their power on someone then have that volunteer use a Ymelo to cleanse himself. I''ll have the chief director hold off on testing until Hyunmu makes another."


    "Thank you," I said earnestly. "I appreciate it, boss."


    "No problem, kid."


    X


    The rest of the day was spent in cooperation with my fellow tinkers. I expected the next few weeks to look similar. Glace took a look at my capacitors for both the multi-tool and Blitzshield. They were hextech and so preferred to channel mana over standard electricity, but I learned a lot just by listening to her lectures on the way temperature could affect metals and their conductive properties. I considered asking her for more blueprints so I could learn more about my own Glacial Augment, but held off. No time. Just one more thing to make a note of for later.


    After a few hours of that, I had dinner with Metalmaru at the PRT canteen. The food was surprisingly nice, perhaps because the operations director contracted out catering services to local restaurants rather than hire in-house cooks. It did mean we needed to keep our masks on, but that was a small price to pay in exchange for a solid meal.


    Metalmaru wanted to talk about the incorporation of Petricite into a new super-metal, as promised. We sat in an out of the way table in the corner. Some sort of tech he set down on the table kept away eavesdroppers.


    "Alright Hyunmu, tell me everything you know about the properties of Petricite."


    "Excuse me?"


    "You know. Malleability. Conductivity. Melting point. Boiling point. Density. All that good stuff."


    I looked at him blankly. He''d grabbed himself a chicken sandwich but I''d settled for an instant cup of Shin ramen. Sue me, I was feeling nostalgic. "Umm¡­ I don''t know any of that."


    "You¡­ How?"


    "It''s technically a tree," I said. "Malleability is closer to marble than any metal. It''s a poor conductor, as are all trees. It¡­ burns into charcoal if the fire is hot enough, but probably has a higher combustion point than something like¡­ the melting point of copper?"


    "Are you telling me or asking me?"


    "Telling you? Telling you. Yeah. Boiling point is irrelevant. It''s denser than water, despite being plant matter, so will sink under normal circumstances. It''s lighter than most metals though."


    "Don''t you have any specifics?"


    I shook my head. "No? I mean¡­ It''s a material that absorbs the energy I call mana, an energy that is released in small quantities by parahumans as they use their powers. This disrupts a parahuman''s power. I thought this was more important."


    He put his head in his hands. "Oh, we have so much work to do."


    "Fine," I huffed. "What did you have in mind?"


    "Okay, so there is this thing called graphene and it''s got the highest tensile strength in the known universe."


    "I know what graphene is. Single sheet of carbon molecules. What''s that got to do with metals?"


    "Everything," he said brightly, eager to talk about his favorite subject. "So normally, metals bond to create something called an ''electron sea.'' But, when I tinker, I can blend the two electron seas of two separate metals in a way that forms magnetic links between protons and electrons."


    "So you build alloys like Legos?"


    "Not quite, but yeah, that''s a good description. It means I can position atoms and molecules to form the best structure chemically possible, which in most cases looks remarkably like graphene."


    "I see¡­ And Petricite, being an unknown material¡­"


    "Needs testing!" he exclaimed. "We''re going to be working together to discover every last property of the material. And then, we''re going to figure out what its atomic structure is so I can incorporate it into a new alloy."


    "Sounds good," I said. Metalmaru was a surprisingly methodical man. I wouldn''t have expected that from the motor-mouth. "But doesn''t the ''perfect'' alloy depend on what you''re trying to use it for? It''s not like every super-metal is equally conductive or durable, right?"


    "Right, and that gets to the next question: What do you want? I mean, how do you think Petricite can be best used?"


    "Containment for prisoners," I ticked off on my fingers, "maybe body armor for troopers if we can get enough of it, something to relieve thinker headaches in a consumable form, but that''s something I''ll have to figure out on my own. Really, what I was hoping for from you was a lightweight, protective material I could use to make my armor out of. Oh, and coating for my shield. If I could do that, I should be able to negate most powers, or at least dampen them enough to shrug them off without too much consequence."


    "Is there any reason heroes can''t use the same armor?"


    "Tinkers can," I agreed, "but a blaster like Legend would find that Petricite armor interferes with their own power."


    "Yeah, fair enough." He polished off the last of his fries and stood. "Alright, let''s get to work. We won''t be able to do too much today, but we can get started on the basic physical properties. Man, I can''t believe you never recorded this."


    "I had other things on my mind, sue me."


    Author''s Note


    I''m pulling shit out of my ass so much now. The Ymelo tokens are mysterious even by Runeterra standards. Literally no one, not even Ahri herself, knows exactly what they can do in full because as far as anyone knows Ymelo is dead. I''m pulling shit out of my ass based on what Ahri can do, but without her drain and charm abilities. The summoner spell Cleanse doesn''t actually have anything to do with Ahri, but I figured the function of the Ymelo tokens as I described them was close enough that I could get away with a bastardized version of it.


    It''s funny that narratively, it''s called Inspiration. Andy''s branching out. From a meta-narrative perspective, it''s called an asspull.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.6 Ripples

    Ripples 4.6


    2000, August 25: Washington, DC, USA


    I felt better now that I had my Ymelo. I kept the glowy tennis ball in my pocket at all times, a safety measure against emotional masters. It was basically my security blanket now. If it ever activated automatically, I''d start dematerializing and ask questions never.


    I arrived at the lab early in the morning and got through Metalmaru''s intensive testing regimen by ten. According to him, it''d take another few hours before he could figure out how to best incorporate Petricite into an alloy. Then, he''d need a few more hours to actually craft the metal. Finally, we''d have to undergo all the same tests all over again to make sure that we had what we aimed for in the first place.


    Seeing how I was no longer any help, I returned to my station and tried to incorporate all the lessons Glace had taught me about capacitors and temperatures into my Blitzshield. Before her extensive instruction, I only vaguely knew that lowering a material''s temperature reduced its resistivity and that if you lowered the temperature enough, you could sometimes get a superconductor. There was a surprising amount of nuance that high school physics had glossed over and I was happy to find most of it meshed with the knowledge I''d gleaned from the likes of Jayce and Dr. Heimerdinger.


    Using the materials provided by Glace and Metalmaru, I was able to make better hextech capacitors that stored energy longer. In that sense, removing the prototype Hex Core was a good idea. Like this, I could have my shield store Mana Crystals like bullets in a magazine and recharge the capacitors directly as needed.


    There was one more thing that made me feel really stupid. Proof positive that even having a slice of infinity stuck to my soul didn''t make me any more detail-oriented. I''d forgotten the cardinal rule of tinkertech: Never make something that can be used against you. An omnidirectional EMP that shorted out all tech in a city block could, and would, fuck over anything I built as well.


    It''s not like I lived on Summoner''s Rift. Friendly fire was very much on.


    This wasn''t a huge problem at the moment because I didn''t have any hextech besides my multi-tool and I wouldn''t be bringing that on patrols, but it would be eventually if I didn''t redesign it. I needed a way to either harden my tech against EMPs, or make my EMP more selective, a short-out laser of some sort instead of an omni-directional wave. Or better yet, both.


    Hero was off in New York for a meeting with Legend, something about the Butcher causing problems and how they wanted to deal with the inheritance mechanic of his Shard, but he wasn''t the only expert on wave motion in the lab. The thought of a Butcher-Hero hybrid sent shivers down my spine, but I consoled myself with the fact that it wasn''t September yet. Shit wouldn''t go down until the Founders met up with Manton.


    Putting my future worries aside, I headed to Bluesong''s station.


    Bluesong was a tall, Nigerian woman in her late twenties who wore her hair in long cornrows that touched her hip. She had a lithe build accentuated by a skintight bodysuit, ocean-blue with white, wave-patterned highlights, another work of Hero''s. The logo on her breast was a cartoonish blue whale and a music note. Her most notable feature was a multi-layered shawl that reminded me of the aurora. It was decked out in so many sensors that she could hear a cricket chirp from a mile away if she so chose. She was like Hero in that she too dealt with wavelengths, though her power seemed to focus almost exclusively on sound and fluid dynamics, hence her name.


    The woman was much beloved. I heard from Metalmaru''s gossip-mongering that she was born in Nigeria. When she triggered, her condition for joining Hero''s burgeoning tinker collective was that he escort every last person in her village to safety in the United States and provide them a new life. He, in a move counter to everything I''d come to expect of Earth-Bet, did. Since then, she became the pillar of her community. Technically speaking, more people knew her secret identity than anyone else in the Protectorate, but her shield was the unshakable loyalty her village had towards her.


    It didn''t hurt that she was capable of crafting far-reaching sonars. With the advent of Leviathan, she became the cornerstone in an international warning network. I suspected that Dragon and Armsmaster would take pointers from her in their own efforts.


    Such an important woman wasn''t likely to be targeted, not that she was a slouch in a fight herself. Sound could really fuck up a person and her tinker-eight classification proved it. Resonant frequency wasn''t a joke.


    "Hey, Bluesong," I called as I walked into her station. It was immaculate, with countless pieces of equipment kept on neat shelves. Most of it looked like some sort of cross between steampunk and radar systems, possibly a hybrid of her water and sound specializations. "Oceanpunk," if that was a thing. A large stuffed whale, a gift from her old village, sat in a place of prominence on her writing desk.


    "Yes, Hyunmu? How may I help you?" she spoke. Her voice had a thick accent, completely genuine unlike my bullshit PR gimmick. It lent her voice a smooth, sultry quality that I knew Metalmaru appreciated.


    Man really talked too much¡­


    "You''re good with wavelengths, right?"


    "You could say that."


    "Well, I was hoping you could help me focus this," I said, holding up the Blitzshield. "When I originally made it, it was supposed to act as a wide-area EMP. But now¡­"


    "Now you''ve realized that bigger lightshows do not make for a more effective hero," she finished for me. At my nod, she smiled. "You are learning, my young friend. That''s good. A scalpel is far more versatile than a bomb."


    "I know you mostly do sound, but sound disperses too. Can you help me?"


    She thought about it, then looked at the three pounds of Petricite on her desk. I had no idea what she wanted with it, but she did owe me a favor. "I don''t know how much help I can be. You will likely have to ask Hero for help once he returns, but I can show you a little bit of what I''ve been working on. Maybe you''ll have a breakthrough by observing."


    "That''s great. Thanks, Bluesong."


    "Don''t mention it, my friend. This is what I''m here for." She took out a gun as large as her arm. It was long and sleek, with a satellite dish at the end instead of a muzzle. "This is a sonic rifle. It focuses vibrations and launches a wave of high frequency sound so dense that it can be felt like a physical force. It was the first thing I ever made so I could never bring myself to tear it apart. Now, listen closely¡­"


    X


    Bluesong was a phenomenal teacher. Admittedly, many of the concepts she talked about flew over my head. Multivariable refraction quotient of sound across different dimensions? Yeah, no way in hell; just seeing that equation made me want to inject some Shimmer and jump off the roof. Even so, what I could understand did give me several ideas.


    I was inspired.


    Heh.


    It wasn''t that I fully grasped her specialization. Rather, speaking with her jogged memories within the World Rune, giving me a hint as to who and what I should be diving for.


    She interspersed her lesson with stories from her childhood, including building a special alarm system that released subvocalizations that deterred elephants from her village''s crops without harming the animals. They were fascinating to hear about and I could see why she was so widely respected.


    Soon after, I returned to my own station and put some of my new ideas to paper. What I needed was a focusing lens that could condense Blitzcrank''s immense electrical charge into a beam without losing cohesion over long distances in the same way she did with her sound. Or at least, make it so that the damage area was a cone rather than a sphere. What little I could comprehend from her lecture helped.


    Zeri. I turned to the Runeterran pikachu.


    The Spark of Zaun had an innate affinity for lightning magic, so much so that she had trouble controlling it in her youth. Every time she so much as giggled, electricity would run wild. As impressive as that was, I wasn''t too interested in her personal magic. Rather, it was her weapon I had my nonexistent eyes on.


    Much like Bluesong''s, Zeri''s story was a story about community, unity and fellowship amidst hardship and strife.


    She once waged a one-gal war against the chem-barons of Zaun and made such a nuisance of herself that she forced feuding barons to unite to stamp her out. They almost succeeded and destroyed her neighborhood in retaliation. In response, her family and neighbors banded together to pool their resources and expertise. Her mother built her a rifle, one that could be fueled by her emotions, launching an unending salvo of electricity.


    And the best part of all this? It was made by civilians. Sure, skilled tradesmen who grew up around hextech, but still civilians. They weren''t genii who would go on to change the course of history; they were just normal people. The rifle wasn''t some incredibly advanced tech like Viktor''s Hex Core or some divine enchantment like Soraka''s banana-launcher. It was just that, a rifle that focused electricity. I could build it rather cheaply.


    Yes, talking to other tinkers was an excellent idea.


    X


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    I finished the Blitzshield''s internals around four in the afternoon. It cost me a working lunch, but that was fine, it wasn''t like I had any other obligations.


    Metalmaru called and told me that a secondary project blew up on him, metaphorically, always needed to clarify in the Madhouse, and that he likely wouldn''t be done with the Petricite testing until tomorrow.


    With several hours to kill and both Hero and Metalmaru busy, I dedicated the time to a more personal project. Namely, keeping Hero from starring in the history section.


    ''How does one defeat the Siberian?'' I asked myself, then immediately amended my query. ''Or really, I don''t need to kill Manton, just keeping Hero alive would be enough for me...''


    One option was simply to give him Gwen''s scissors. It wouldn''t be too much of a hassle to finish them. The Siberian projection ignored any and every physical law at will. It was Assault, Madcap pre-canon, on steroids. So, it stood to reason then that a weapon that could impart force that wasn''t physical would be able to kill or dispel the Siberian. Gwen''s scissors, being spiritual weapons, should lie outside the scope of the Shard''s power, if not necessarily its understanding.


    But¡­ That only gave Hero the chance to fight back. It didn''t mean he''d escape alive. If anything, giving him something like that might make him more aggressive in the name of preventing other casualties. As callous as it was, the rest didn''t matter. Eden''s version of Stilling did.


    The second option was to somehow guarantee Hero''s survival with an immensely powerful defensive item. Zhonya''s Hourglass was practically the go-to item for survivability. And, it might even work. Shards didn''t stop time, not really. The theory was complex, but I knew that "time stop" as a concept was just elaborate dimensional fuckery on their part. This was true of Phir Se, Gray Boy, and Clockblocker. And I knew for a fact that Clock''s "time stop" versus the Siberian resulted in the cancellation of both powers.


    Even if the hourglass could be broken by the Siberian, Manton would be forced to remake the projection, giving Hero precious seconds to escape.


    That did seem like the ideal pick but¡­ I couldn''t build it. There wasn''t a damn thing on Earth Bet with that kind of conceptual weight and I was loathe to try without the Commencing Stopwatch to start me off.


    Zilean was a freak of nature and he had no business existing in the first place. I personally chalked it up to the general fuckery of Icathian mages. A nation of idiot-savants who looked at the Void and said "Let''s open it!" shouldn''t be taken as the norm of anything. And yes, that was coming from the child with a slice of infinity grafted to his soul.


    So, if I wanted to keep Hero alive without resorting to timey-wimey shenanigans, I would need to remove Hero from the situation completely. Then, I would have to have a healing potion powerful enough to fix any injuries incurred, up to and including bisection, a true Elixir of Life.


    There were several ways to teleport someone, but the best, the Worldstone and Wayfinder, came from the Sentinels. The Worldstone was an enchanted map used by the Sentinels of Light. It was a map of Runeterra which tracked the Black Mist. It, alongside the Wayfinder, allowed a certain Rookie Sentinel to teleport his teammates around the world and confront the Black Mist.


    Cauldron had Doormaker of course, but they didn''t use it to save Hero. Why? Was Manton''s pseudo-trigger enough to muddle Contessa''s sight? If I had to guess, Leviathan''s attack a mere day after coupled with Manton''s vial clouded her Path. It was truly the kind of freak accident I could only expect from Earth-Bet. I couldn''t think of any other reason than that, no way she would have sacrificed Hero unless she had no say in the matter.


    My own teleporter would be far more limited, but it could work. The Worldstone was able to scan all of Runeterra the way it did because of the mana in the air, a far greater application of the principle behind the Control Wards. But even with the mana-poor environment of Earth-Bet, it could still act as an anchor, a beacon for the Wayfinder to latch on to.


    A Wayfinder that led back to HQ. It''d only lead back to HQ, but it would suffice.


    The Worldstone and Wayfinder would be my priorities moving forward. Then, I''d craft the Elixir of Life, or as close as I can get with my current abilities.


    With enough mana, it was possible to elevate the corrupted Water of Life I had back to its original state, as pure as it was when Maokai first found it. Pair that with the bioengineering knowledge Singed used to create Warwick and¡­ It was doable, a potion that could keep Hero alive post-bisection.


    Best of all, everything started with the Water of Life. It made the refining process a bit tedious, but a simplified procurement pipeline was always best.


    I put in the order for many more gallons of holy water and got to work.


    X


    I sat in my private lab, the basement of my new house. It wasn''t much. Perhaps I was being a bit hasty calling it a lab. Really, there was a hot plate and kettle with a set of pipes and beakers for distilling potions ingredients, a water dispenser with a five gallon tank half full of holy water, and a small collection of boards of a variety of woods for engraving practice. It was basic, but I could get away with it for the most part thanks to the multi-tool.


    My phone was propped up against a book, the screen revealing Penelope''s smiling face. On their end, Jazz had her phone on a call to Albuquerque as well. It was ten in DC, eight in Albuquerque, and seven in Phoenix.


    This wasn''t the first time I spoke with my old teammates. We agreed to keep in touch once a week so Friday evenings became our scheduled time to reconnect. Truthfully, we spent most of this time watching a movie or playing games; none of us were particularly good with emotions and my and David''s departure was still raw between us.


    "Hey, Penny," I greeted. "Are Jaz and Raquel there?"


    The phone was pointed towards my old leader''s smiling face one second then I was peering up into Raquel''s nostril the next. "Yup! Hey, Andy!"


    "Hey, give my phone back," my old leader complained.


    "I just wanna say hi."


    "You have very long nose hairs," I said dryly.


    "Eep!"


    The phone fell, only to be snatched up by Penelope.


    "Just kidding"


    "Thanks, Andy," she chuckled.


    "Boo, jerk."


    "I still have no idea how you can see faces through a screen," Jazz remarked from the side somewhere. "I mean, tinkers are bullshit, but come on. Oh, and Dave''s on."


    "Hey guys," David called. His voice sounded a bit tinny through the disjointed connection.


    "Hey, David. I''m just more bullshit than other people," I said proudly.


    "Clearly. So, chico, what''chu been up to? ?Qu¨¦ pasa?"


    "Rebranded as Hyunmu. It''s this black turtle thing from Asian mythology. I''ve been working on something I call the Ymelo, something to keep me from getting mastered or kidnapped again."


    "Ooh! I saw your debut. You had a funny accent and everything," Raquel chirped. "Was that on purpose?"


    "Does Andy ever do anything on accident?" Penelope laughed. "I can''t imagine that was your idea though. PR?"


    "PR," I confirmed. "How about you guys? You do anything special? How''s Albuquerque, David?"


    "I''ve been busier ever since I got into the Protectorate. New SOPs. Moving in. Finding a school for Josie. You know. Things are a lot calmer here though. Josie''s setting in well; the director even helped me arrange a nanny for her." Even through the line I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. Still, there was palpable relief in his tone.


    "I''m glad," I said honestly. "If you need anything¡­"


    "I know, Andy. I know you have my back."


    "Hey," Raquel cut in, obviously trying to draw us away from heavier topics. "Did you know Jazz got asked out?"


    "Oi!"


    "Oh, right!" Penelope crowed with delight. "You know Poundtown, right?"


    "Yeah, did you give him the shovel talk?" David asked, going along with the change. "Agent Carter might let you borrow her pistol, you know, just as a prop."


    "Psh, please. I can punch holes through a car. I don''t need a gun. Besides, he seemed like a sweet boy. Looks all big and tough but a big teddy bear inside."


    I nodded as I sketched out draft number eight of the Sunstone Talisman. "Yeah, that''s the impression I got from him too. Did you know he volunteers for every PR tour around orphanages and elementary schools? Guy loves kids."


    "I did know that actually. Anyway, Jazz, you say yes?"


    "No¡­ I don''t know," she admitted. "I mean, he''s not a bad guy and he''s not ugly or anything, but¡­"


    "It''s fine," David said. "Dating''s complicated enough without a mask between you guys. Take your time."


    "Thanks, David," she said, perhaps with a bit more than gratitude. For all that had happened, I was glad that at least something had remained consistent. Still wasn''t touching that with Wukong''s pole.


    The conversation died for a bit before Penelope picked it back up. "Oh! I got to punch some new villain named Shakedown in the face. He was really surprised when his power stopped working for a second."


    "Yep. Getting decked with Petricite will do that. You have to keep holding on to him though."


    "I know. I did¡­ after I fed him his teeth."


    "I''m sensing a lot of unresolved aggression here¡­"


    "Heh, I remember that. He called her a gym-slut," Jazz snorted. She then realized who she was talking to and said lamely, "Ah, that''s um¡­ a not nice word."


    "I can guess," I said dryly. "How ''bout you, Raquel?"


    The current youngest Phoenix Ward shrugged. "Oh, you know. I''ve just been hanging out. The wildfire died down so it''s been much more relaxed lately. Turned fourteen, had a birthday party. No big."


    "Oh, right. Happy birthday. August twenty-second, right? Sorry I didn''t get you anything."


    "Don''t worry about it. Say, you joined that fancy tinker lab run by Hero, right?"


    "Yeah, we call it the Madhouse here. You want his autograph or something?"


    "Already have it. He dropped by on his tour of the Wards bases last year. I just wanted to know how it was."


    "A ton of work," I drawled. I picked up my phone and adjusted the camera so it hovered over the sketchpad. "I''m still drawing drafts while I''m talking to you guys, see?"


    "Ooh, what''s that? Is it a badge for something?"


    "Kind of. It''s a talisman. One time use only, but it can cleanse someone''s mind of any master effects."


    Jazz let out a whistle. "That''s going to be huge. Mind sending any of those our way? Dos Caras is still a pain." Although she''d never been Wards Leader, Jazz was one of the best informed among all of the Wards thanks to the many literal and not so literal hats she wore. Her social circle was wider than anyone else''s so she tended to hear more gossip and grasp the broader implications faster than the others.


    "Definitely," I agreed easily. I made a note to send a package of potions as well. Rubedo might have been retired from the public eye, but it wouldn''t be strange for the now heavily guarded tinker to send his old team a care package every now and then.


    I allowed the conversation to wash over me like gentle waves as I carefully etched the sketch pattern onto plywood for practice. The real deal would be carved into Sunstone then alchemically infused with mana, but it was always good to know I could actually do the carving before I ruined something more expensive.


    The five of us eventually agreed to shelve further talks in favor of a movie. I headed to the living room and turned it on before muting the phone. Just knowing we were watching something together helped. As per rotation, David got to choose and his pick was The Temple of Doom, the first Indiana Jones movie. He wasn''t okay, far from it, but I thought he was getting better. That was all I could ask.


    By the time I needed to turn in for bed, I had a good idea of what the runework should look like.


    Author''s Note


    I have no idea how to describe a Nigerian accent. I''ve heard it a few times, but damn if it''s hard to put to text. Hopefully I''m not poking anyone''s buttons.


    The Wayfinder is a weapon built specifically for a rookie sentinel during the Rise of the Sentinels event. Though the Rookie is not a playable character, you choose their dialogue.


    And yeah, I agree. The conversation with the old crew was a long time coming. I think that if I were to release multiple arcs simultaneously, people would be able to read through them all at once, but because you''re forced to put up with the segmented release, you all felt like there wasn''t much closure between them. It''s a fair criticism, and one I feel that the fanfiction medium doesn''t support well. I can really only keep writing. Just know that just because I dropped a plot threads in Phoenix doesn''t mean I''ve decided to burn them. I''m very much aware that they''re there.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.7 Ripples

    Ripples 4.7


    2000, August 26: Washington, DC, USA


    "Yusung, it''s Saturday," mom called. "Are you still going in?"


    I nodded. "Yeah, mom. I start homeschool on Monday so I won''t have as much time to tinker. I want to do as much as I can."


    "Why? Why do you work so hard?"


    "Most moms think their sons don''t work hard enough," I said wryly.


    "Most moms don''t have you for a son. Yusung¡­ This life¡­"


    ''I know. I know it''s dangerous. I know that better than anyone. That''s why I need to work harder. The more I make, the stronger I become, the safer I''ll be. I... I don''t want to be weak ever again."


    "Just¡­ be careful," she finished lamely.


    "I will," I smiled. "And besides, this really is what I love doing, mom. The making. I feel most like myself when I''m creating something new."


    I understood. Really, I did. And it was because I understood that I couldn''t stop. If I stopped, she really might lose me.


    X


    I was seated next to Metalmaru at his station as he went over the properties of his new favorite alloy. His lecture was a complicated mess full of jargon I didn''t fully understand, made more difficult by his rambling tangents, but the gist was that this new Petricite alloy was more durable than any conventional metal yet only slightly heavier than aluminum. It was a dazzling silver, but with a lighter note that leaned towards white.


    Like every metal, it was a conductor, but I had an idea on how to turn that into an asset rather than a vulnerability. Since Petricite stored magic, I planned to conduct any electricity that hit my shield or armor into a transformer, converting it into mana before fueling it back into the metal to store for later use. I could then release the stored mana and the process would then reverse. All that mana would be converted back into electricity and directed into my shield, electrifying the metal exterior.


    Blitzcrank''s Power Fist? Yes, please.


    Now that I had a better grasp of the material, I could finally get to designing my armor. Hero''s bodysuit was great, but it wasn''t mine. I''d still wear it, it did boast some impressive defensive properties, but it''d be the underlayer.


    "You know what this means, right, Hyunmu?" Metalmaru said.


    "What?"


    "You get to meet PR again so they can hound you over what your image should be."


    "Crap," I groaned. "It''s gonna be such a pain¡­"


    "Hey, it won''t be too bad. You already know what kind of image they''re going for thanks to your debut so build with that in mind. Go ahead and design the blueprints online then load it up into the fabricator. I should have the settings coded to work with this stuff by Tuesday at the latest."


    "Shouldn''t I wait to build? PR will nitpick and make me remake this stuff anyway, right?"


    He leaned forward and whispered conspirationally, "Between you and me? If you tell them the metal''s special tinkertech and hard to make with other demands on both my time and yours¡­ Well, I won''t tell them otherwise," he winked. "They tend to let tinkers get away with a lot more freedom for our image because at the end of the day, most of us build our own costumes and we can blame it on a fugue. Just about the only thing about my costume that PR had absolute control over was the color scheme. It''s not like they can take away something just because it doesn''t fit their ideal image. If one of those PR goons tries to take away your armor just for something like that, tell Hero. He''ll have their heads for depriving a Ward of protection.


    "Ah, I''m not saying you can just build what you want, though. Even we have limits. You''re supposed to be a cultural warrior who''s disciplined and polite and all that jazz. If you make an electric guitar and get a Mohawk, Hero''s going to bench you regardless."


    "Haha, yeah, fair enough. Thanks."


    X


    My Blitzshield was ready. It was two feet in diameter and looked like Blitzcrank''s faceplate, if said faceplate was painted a lustrous black. The emblem of a turtle shell was stenciled in cobalt-gray paint on the forehead. In my tiny hands, it looked like a Spartan''s aspis but would one day be much more manageable. The two "eyes" glowed a haunting blue, indicating that its shockwave function was loaded and live. The lightweight alloy meant it weighed only ten pounds, a big change from the twenty-some pounds it used to weigh as a spherical hunk of steel.


    It wasn''t comfortable to wear, but a shield wasn''t supposed to be comfortable anyway. With my increased fitness and magical reinforcement, I could swing it about without slowing myself too much or losing balance. By now, my continued exercise and mana infusion made me comparable to athletic teenagers.


    I carried the shield to the basement after converting a batch of healing potions into pills. The lower levels were in fact more like a tunnel system, with underground pathways connecting to the PRT administration building, emergency bunkers, and Wards commons. I used them to get around sometimes.


    These tunnels also sported several testing areas and gyms designed with capes in mind. Tinkers weren''t the only ones who frequented the place, but I managed to snag one of the specialized rooms. The target area contained a host of sensors that measured everything from kinetic force to temperature and electrical current.


    I called for a target and the automated system obeyed, depositing a metal cutout of a person.


    Breathing in, I held my shield in front of me and, holding it steady with a bit of magic, pressed the trigger.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Blitzcrank''s entire face lit up before a flash of light and electricity blinded the area for a moment. An instant later, the light faded as the electric charge dispersed.


    I walked over to the monitor and read the display. During the adjustment process, I decided to halve the range from two hundred to one hundred feet in order to further minimize chances of collateral damage. Now, the conic blast was tweaked to maximize brightness in exchange for a slightly lower amperage.


    I pulled out a spare Mana Crystal and armed the shield before firing again. I repeated the exercise, giving myself a chance to get accustomed to aiming with such a cumbersome weapon. It was a good thing the blast was conic because had I made it as precise as Zeri''s rifle, I wouldn''t be able to hit anything.


    After that, I switched off between the shield and relic pistol. I imagined facing an opponent and crouched behind my shield as I fired back. One benefit of the Oracle''s Elixir was that so long as the target was in range, I could aim just fine regardless of my posture.


    Then, I mimed a few of the martial arts movements I''d been practicing, flowing from one form to another and focusing on footwork above all else. Burgeoning talent in martial arts or not, I didn''t think I was ready to try and make my own "gun fu." As Lee Sin liked to say, the center was everything. Everything else could be built upon in due time.


    By the time I was finished training, I''d reduced the metal target to Swiss cheese. And yet, I was unsatisfied. I took too long switching between weapons and the weight of the shield threw me off a little. I sighed. There was nothing for it but to condition my body rigorously until I could compensate.


    To the gym it was¡­


    X


    After my stint in the gym, I grabbed a club sandwich from the communal fridge then headed back to my station to work while eating. I checked my email and received the notice that another batch of fossilized lizard eggs would arrive tomorrow so I could merge them with mundane sunstones to get the alchemically potent Helian variety.


    With little else to do, I focused on transmuting fossilized trees into Petricite. It was the material that was most in demand, both personally and from the PRT at large. I needed it for my Worldstone, Wayfinder, armor, shackles, and of course, as bribes to curry favor with curious tinkers. With so many uses, I could seemingly never make enough.


    I was only at it for an hour and a half when I heard heavy footfalls headed for my station.


    "Hyunmu, are you busy?" came Armsmaster''s voice.


    I cracked on eye open. "Two minutes." The transmutation process wasn''t one that should be interrupted. Even were it not dangerous, I found the notion irritating, a quirk of being the host of Inspiration.


    "Understood." Credit where it''s due, the man stood patiently to the side while I finished with the piece in my hands. When the light faded and the browns and blues warped to white, he spoke again. "I would like to incorporate Petricite into my halberd and wanted your thoughts on the matter."


    I nodded. I assumed it''d be something like this. "Sure, but you know that it doesn''t have any truly valuable properties besides power negation and that it won''t negate powers unless in contact with an enemy cape?"


    "Yes. I initially wanted to make a blade out of it but realized that it would only be effective if I stabbed every cape I encountered. Such brutality is unbecoming of a hero so I designed a wire bola that would replace my current grappling hook attachment."


    "Let me see your halberd."


    He handed it over, a five feet long shaft with an extra foot of blade. It was as thick as my wrist and sturdily built. I suspected that even a man as athletic as Armsmaster would have trouble wielding it without his armor''s assistance.


    "I don''t recommend this," I said flatly. I learned quickly that though Armsmaster was far from the robot that fanon portrayed him to be, he considered social niceties to be a pain, something we could both agree on. Anything that saved us time was good. "The amount of Petricite a cape needs to come in contact with is affected by both the concentration of Petricite in the alloy and the surface area of contact. A bola made of the material would not provide enough of either, especially through costumes."


    Really, the gauntlets I''d made Stingray contained the minimum amount of Petricite required to disrupt a cape''s powers, and even that was only in short bursts so she could land the knockout punch in the opening provided.


    "What do you recommend?"


    "A blade is effective because it comes in contact with the cape''s blood. That would have been my first suggestion. Do you know about the elixir?"


    "Yes. It was used to suppress a villainous tinker''s urge while in captivity. Each elixir was said to work for one week."


    "Right. A hypodermic needle would probably be your best bet."


    "How much Petricite Elixir would be required to disable a cape?"


    "No idea. Let me get back to you with the calculations," I said. "I fed Sawtooth a small bottle each week, roughly twenty fluid ounces, but that''s unlikely to be efficient for you since you have limited space. Their powers only need to be off for a few minutes in the field."


    "I can handle efficiency," he said. "Liquids can be easily concentrated."


    "Maybe, but consider incorporating a knockout drug alongside the elixir. The quantity of elixir necessary to negate a cape''s power completely is unlikely to fit in a single dart assuming you want to carry more than one dart. Disrupt their power for a few minutes then knock them out while they have no defense."


    He smiled. "Yes, that sounds like an effective method. I would like a sample of the Petricite Elixir so I can analyze it to see which drug works best in tandem."


    "That''s fine. I''ll send it along in a day or two," I promised.


    He turned and made to walk away before stopping. "Thank you," he remembered.


    I waved him off and got back to work.


    The Worldstone and Wayfinder were both due soon. They were more urgent than my own costume, though I couldn''t explain to anyone precisely why without inviting some uncomfortable conversations. I knew that sometime in September, the Founders would confront Manton. I also knew that Leviathan would attack the day after, though the exact dates escaped me. Eleventh? Nineteenth? It was in the tens for certain. Regardless, I had approximately three weeks, give or take a few days.


    That just meant I''d have to work faster. Both tools of the Sentinel s were made from the relic stones found in Helia, not unlike the relic pistol on my hip. In total, I estimated that I would need at least forty pounds of Petricite to convert into relic stone.


    Sighing, I placed an extra order for the unorthodox materials I''d need to make more Petricite. At the very least, fossilized wood wasn''t very expensive, ranging anywhere from a quarter up to ten dollars per pound at the absolute maximum. And thankfully, holy water was free, though acquiring it was a bit awkward for the nonbeliever.


    ''If I keep using fossilized wood like this, will Cauldron eventually start a mining operation into other earths for me?''


    Author''s Note


    The PRT building, lab, and Wards commons being connected underground isn''t unusual. The US Capitol building and separate buildings for House and Senate are all linked in these tunnels. You can take tours of them. There''s even a cafeteria under them that reminded me of high school canteens the last time I was there. The mystique and awe I had for senators disappeared real fast after watching them eat chicken nuggets from those cafeteria trays. Ah¡­ intern days¡­


    Yeah, did you know that most homeschool parents teach their kids for two to three hours a day only? Like, shit, wish my school years were that nice.


    "22.1-254.(A): The requirements of this section shall not apply to¡­ (b) any child who has obtained a high school diploma or its equivalent, a certificate of completion, or has achieved a passing score on a high school equivalency examination approved by the Board of Education, or who has otherwise complied with compulsory school attendance requirements as set forth in this article."


    According to the state of Virginia, a homeschooled student can graduate at any time regardless of age, so long as the course administrator signs off on a diploma-equivalent document.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.8 Ripples

    Ripples 4.8


    2000, August 27: Washington, DC, USA


    I made a bottle of Petricite Elixir in my basement last night and left it in Armsmaster''s mailbox in the morning. Not ten minutes later, I received a prompt but scripted thank you email from the overly serious man.


    On another note, Hero returned late last night.


    I decided to give him the morning to decompress and spent the time working on my own. I made some Sunstone, sketched runic matrices for the Worldstone, then sketched some designs for my armor when I got tired of that.


    The matrices were the most complicated piece of runework I''d ever attempted. The closes comparison I could make was to coding a new program or video game, not that I knew much about either. Each bit of "code" needed to do something different and in a specific sequence to get the effect I desired. There was the common matrix for mana absorption so the Worldstone could take in mana from me. Another would release a steady pulse of mana like a beacon atop a lighthouse, allowing the Wayfinder to latch on to the specific signature.


    I also set the foundations for future adjustments by setting aside several more matrices designed to scan a region, interface with nearby wardstones, and take on some of the burden of portal generation from the Wayfinder. It was my hope that after the fiasco with Hero was done, I could make a Worldstone that covered the entire metro area. That way, it could play a more active role in threat response.


    Finally, I called out the most approachable member of Cauldron for lunch.


    "Hello, Hero," I greeted him, making sure to bow and seem extremely polite. One benefit of the ridiculous kayfabe PR forced on me was that it was easier to hide my nervousness. My Ymelo token hovered merrily by my head. We were both in our costumes, or what passed for one in my case, and out in public. "Thank you for meeting me."


    He''d insisted on a place called Tonic At Quigley''s, a restaurant on G Street that used to be a pharmacy. It was a popular watering hole for George Washington University students and federal employees alike but afforded us some privacy by virtue of being a three story restaurant. The university dorms, State Department, Red Cross headquarters, and more were all within three blocks, making it an extremely well-situated business.


    The food was nothing spectacular, but was affordable, tasty, and easily accessible.


    The armored blonde waved away my greeting with a friendly grin. "None of that, Hyunmu. I really enjoy meeting my Wards. I''ve been meaning to check in with you anyway but things got a little hectic in New York. Sorry for that, you kids should always be my priority."


    The trouble was, I knew he was a member of Cauldron. I knew he at least tacitly condoned some horrible things in the name of the greater good. But either this man was schizophrenic or a deceiver on par with LeBlanc because I couldn''t for the life of me sense even a shred of duplicity in his greeting. He seemed like a genuine, friendly man who showed sincere concern for a Ward who had been through a traumatic experience. Even through the Oracle''s Elixir, I couldn''t spy any difference in expressions, heart rate, breathing, or muscular impulses that might have indicated deceit.


    I, somewhat hesitantly, was forced to conclude once again that Hero was indeed as nice as he seemed. Alexandria may not have been remembering him with rose-tinted glasses; he truly might be the best of them.


    "There is nothing to apologize for," I spoke, playing up my accent. I dipped my waist a little, a half-bow that advertised a willingness to sink into a senseless apology-spiral that would only leave us both looking like idiots.


    "Holy shit, that''s Hero," I heard the hostess gasp the moment we walked in. She was a rather chubby looking woman in her twenties, probably a grad student trying to pay the bills.


    Thankfully, this being a Sunday, there weren''t many patrons. I still felt as awkward as a three-flippered turtle standing around while he gave her an autograph. Then that turned into several waitresses arguing about who''d get to serve us, which led to the manager coming out to see what''s going on, only for him to pose for a selfie so he could put the picture up on the wall next to presidents and other notable patrons. Never mind that there were four other pictures of Hero already. Then they asked me for autographs too, mostly out of pity.


    We were seated in a corner booth on the third floor¡­ eventually.


    "Sorry about that," he said with a sheepish chuckle. "It''s been a while since I''ve visited my alma mater. I used to eat here all the time back before I got my power. I still do sometimes. Hope you don''t mind my nostalgia trip."


    "Of course not, sir. I didn''t know you went to GWU though."


    "Not many do. Secret identities, you understand. I wasn''t in the best health so I barely attended truth be told, but I ate here pretty often after a visit to the hospital as a treat to myself. It wasn''t much, but man did it mean the world to me at the time."


    "I am glad you can indulge a little more now," I said honestly. "I do not need to worry about your failing health, do I?"


    "No, no, nothing like that. I got better, I promise. So, how are things?" he asked, changing the subject. Seeing how I was the first tinker with medical applications, he likely didn''t want to explain how his multiple organ problems, migraines, and diabetes were cured. Less he had to allude to a Cauldron vial, the better from his perspective.


    I went along with the shift in topic, no need to dig for information I already knew. I also wasn''t sure how much I could talk about in public. Eating with Hero was very different from grabbing some Tex-Mex from El Jefe''s with the Wards. I could see at least four patrons and a waitress not so subtly trying to listen in. "Things are better¡­"


    Seeing me gesture towards them, he smiled and unclipped a blue toy whale from his belt about the size of a golf ball and placed it on the table. "It cancels sound waves and shorts out listening devices," he answered my unasked question. "Originally a Bluesong creation that I adapted to my own kit. Cute, huh?"


    "That explains the whale theme. I enjoyed working with Metalmaru and the other tinkers to develop a new Petricite alloy. I think I will simply call it Neo-Petricite."


    "I''m glad. How is Dr. Kazmar? I know you''ve been going in to see him every week. And you can drop the accent. I still have no clue what Powell was thinking."


    I shrugged and relaxed. "The doc''s alright. He''s a bit confused about me though."


    "How so?"


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "I''m too smart."


    "And humble," he teased.


    "Humility and I are mortal enemies," I drawled. "No, really. He''ll couch it in as much psychobabble jargon as he likes, but that''s the gist of it. I don''t talk like an eight year old. I don''t process information like an eight year old. I don''t behave like an eight year old. Most of all, I don''t handle trauma like an eight year old.


    "He has no idea how to deal with me because he''s expecting some traumatized kid, and to an extent, I am. On the other hand, I''m also someone who''s perfectly capable of coping through that trauma. I''m not saying I''m some once in a generation prodigy or anything, but I don''t behave like I should so he seems really conflicted on how to treat me. Sometimes, he talks to me like you are now, as an adult, but other times, he brings me chocolate bars and asks me to draw my emotions."


    "Hyunmu, I know that you''re smart, brilliant even, but you do need to take the sessions seriously. They''re for your own good."


    "I do," I defended. "I''m pretty open with him, actually. Thing is, he''s not the first psychiatrist to not have a clue about me. When I first came to the states, I saw this doctor named Owens. She legit thought I was sociopathic for a good while because I don''t react to emotional stimulus like someone my age should. It took a while, but her professional opinion was that my trigger event and subsequent physical therapy forced me to mature at an accelerated rate."


    He smiled though it was a little bittersweet. "Yes, I read the files. It wasn''t always as detailed as I''d like, but her recommendations were pretty clear. Maybe that''s the problem, huh? We keep expecting you to break down like any other kid and you''re¡­ not. Did you know? Even Lexi thinks you''re a genius from what brief interaction she''s had with you. And trust me, impressing her isn''t easy. I just wish you didn''t have to grow up so fast. Powers. Circumstance. Doesn''t matter what caused it."


    "If it makes you feel better, I really do appreciate Dr. Kazmar. He''s trying and it''s not so bad to just talk to someone for an hour. Sure, he isn''t making up some behavioral modification plan for me or anything, but he''s a great listener."


    "That does make me feel better. Sometimes, all we can ask for is someone to listen to our troubles."


    We nodded solemnly. I saw the waitress approach and tapped a finger against the wood before pointing behind me.


    "She''s coming."


    Hero tweaked the whale ornament a certain way and I could hear my surroundings again.


    "Thanks. Oracle''s Elixir, huh? That''s a good name."


    "Hello, Hero, sir. And¡­ Hyunmu?" she asked, the foreign word not quite rolling from her tongue.


    I nodded with a soft smile. "Yes, I am a new Ward. It is a pleasure to meet you, ma''am," I said, accent back.


    "Do you know what you want, sweetie?"


    I gestured towards my senior. "Please take his order first. It is courtesy."


    "Right, can I get an eggs benedict and an order of tater tots for the table?" he said. "If it helps, they have great chicken wings. Have you tried mambo sauce yet?"


    "I have not, sir. What is it?"


    "It''s a DC regional sauce. Think sweet and sour sauce with the smokiness of barbeque sauce. You should have it at least once."


    "That sounds excellent," I said, handing the menu back to the waitress. "I''ll have that, please."


    As she walked away, Hero tapped the whale and the silence was back. "You''re really good at keeping up that accent."


    "It''s not much different than what I did as Rubedo. Besides, I''m just copying mom''s accent. Did you see my original debut?"


    "No, I didn''t. What''d you do?"


    "Ms. Youngston, the PR head in Phoenix, had me throw the script behind me and pretend I was going off the cuff. I could read everything with the Oracle''s so it was fine. She wanted me to show some ''youthful candor,'' apparently. Whatever that means."


    "Heh, you could be an actor if being a hero doesn''t work out for you."


    "I could, but that sounds boring."


    We shared a grin. "So, what did you want to talk to me about? You wanted to ask me something, right? Is it a new project?"


    "Kind of," I said. "I would like to delay my costume construction for at least one more week. Ideally two. I figured you''re the man who can make it happen."


    "Why? What''s wrong?"


    "Nothing''s wrong."


    "Oh, thank God. Is it because you can''t think of a cool design? Because I can help with that."


    "No thanks, I''d rather not look like a streetlight," I drawled.


    "Hey," he whined back goodnaturedly. "I look like at least three streetlights."


    "Heh. Well, jokes aside, I have a different project that I want to prioritize. It''s something I call the Worldstone."


    Hero was silent as I told him about the project that might well save his life. Now that we were talking about business, I could see how he became the universally respected icon he was. He may have been a goofball, but he could turn it off like a switch the moment things got serious.


    "So¡­" he began, "let me get this straight. The Worldstone is an anchor that these Wayfinders can teleport to?"


    "That''s the gist. It''ll work from anywhere in the world, an instant recall to portal someone out of danger, but it can become much more than that. I think that if I bury some wards around the DC metro area and carve a relief of the area into the Worldstone, it can also be used to create portals to and from anywhere in DC. Think about it. Immediate evacuation of civilians in the event of an emergency. Instant deployment of troopers or medics as needed."


    "That does sound good, but why are you so focused on this?"


    ''Because you''re going to die,'' I wanted to shout. Instead I said, "DC is my city now, Hero. I want this to be my proof of concept. If I can do this, and if I made one for major cities across the world¡­ Imagine¡­ an endbringer battle with no casualties. I might be able to pull it off. I know that if I can prove this works, it''ll be something far more valuable than anything I can achieve by pounding pavement.


    "Stingray, my old Wards Leader, once told me that being a hero is about doing the most good however we can. Well, this is how I can do the most good."


    We briefly put the conversation on hold so the waitress could give us our food. The wings were good, though not the best. The mambo sauce was a bit too sweet for me.


    Hero nodded slowly as he chewed on a piece of biscuit. He then looked at me with a proud smile. "She sounds like a wonderful girl," he said. "And¡­ I agree. If the Worldstone works as promised, you''ll have built a safety net like nothing else. I''ll talk to the chief director."


    ''Yes!'' I crowed in my mind. "Thank you, Hero," I said earnestly. Now I only needed to make a healing potion on steroids and my plan to yoink him away from danger was a go.


    X


    I returned to the lab with my belly full and satisfied that my plan could go ahead. With the Blitzshield ready and my costume on hold, I only had the Worldstone and Wayfinder to work through.


    To start, I measured out fifty pounds of fossilized wood on what used to be a tree trunk then popped an Elixir of Iron for the added strength. I needed the Worldstone to be one whole piece, easier to engrave runic matrices, so I had to make a single large cut. I weighed south of seventy pounds soaking wet so even fifty was a bit of a stretch for me without enhancements.


    As I was rolling the tree trunk onto a cart, it hit me: Iron wasn''t the only elixir I had. Wrath¡­ I had thus far avoided using it for obvious reasons, but¡­ My gaze flickered to the Ymelo hovering by my head. That would require some testing¡­


    I whistled a jaunty tune as I shoved my cart towards some of the communal work stations. This one was designed specifically for cutting larger materials down to size. Pyrotechnical built it so it used some kind of hyper-dense plasma wire, but damned if I knew how he got it that hot or that focused. He didn''t use it often enough to warrant keeping it to himself so it became communal property.


    Soon, ash and lime joined the chunk of rock-tree in a vat. At fifteen crystals per hour, the conversion to usable Petricite still took a massive three hours and change. Had I tried this before I merged with the Glacial Augment Keystone, I would have tired myself out after a full day of this. Or more likely, been forced to waste several days tuning my mana as I tried to break up the monumental task before me into manageable chunks.


    I then loaded up on snacks to quell the munchies before returning back to the materials conversion process. I had my Petricite. I now needed the Water of Life to infuse into the Petricite so I can get my relic stone. Then and only then could I finally start making the actual Worldstone.


    Another three hours passed before I was satisfied with the amount I had. I got nothing else done; there just wasn''t enough bandwidth to attempt anything else.


    Author''s Note


    I kind of like writing Hero. He''s a canonical character, sure, but he''s such a blank slate that it''s almost impossible to fuck up. It''s like night and day compared with Armsmaster.


    Next up, a look at Hero.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.8.5 Eugene Lewis

    Interlude 4.8.5 Eugene Lewis


    2000, July 22: Cauldron, Ivory Coast, Africa


    I walked into Cauldron''s main compound with the familiarity of a man returning home. It was here that I first discovered the limits of my powers. It was here that I broke down weeping as I felt my Agent mend my broken body, both the most agonizing and satisfying moment of my life. The compound''s many halls were a plain, boring white reminiscent of hospitals, but to me, this was as much my home as the penthouse flat in DC.


    I quelled the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me and hardened my heart for what needed to be done.


    We failed.


    Again.


    Years ago, Rebecca, David, Keith, and I had all but knelt before the President of the United States. We, the greatest heroes of our generation, bowed our heads and submitted to lawful authority in the name of peace. We founded the Protectorate and did our best to grow the organization into an international presence. We recruited. We trained. We inspired. All in the name of ensuring humanity''s survival.


    That was the big irony: Our mission wasn''t to be heroes. It wasn''t for justice. Or hope. Or glory. Or even the simple pleasure of saving lives.


    No. Our mission was singular: the survival of humanity and the end of the Cycle.


    The death of a god.


    Everything else was secondary.


    I was secondary.


    I came to terms with that. I acknowledged that I would have to do terrible things. Already, my hands were stained red. I knew there were harsh choices and harsher truths awaiting me and my friends. I sometimes wondered how it would feel to look ourselves in the mirror when it was all said and done, if we survived at all. I wondered how history would paint me because I had no delusions that Cauldron could remain a secret forever.


    I wasn''t a good person. Neither was anyone in Cauldron. In the end, I was a hero in name only, a gilded statue built on a pile of bodies.


    And despite it all, there were days when my resolve was shaken. I clenched my fists to keep my hands from trembling as I thought back to Rebecca''s report.


    Rubedo. Andy Kim.


    Our fault.


    I walked into the meeting room and took a seat by Keith. All but two were already in attendance. Keith, Legend, was a friendly fellow whose greatest superpower was the ability to charm strangers to his side. He wasn''t the strongest of us, but he was without a doubt the only one who could wear the mantle of the leader of the Protectorate. A frown didn''t suit the man.


    To his other side was David, Eidolon, greatest hero in the world save Scion himself. Without his mask and suit tailored to appear flattering on his slightly overweight frame, one would never know. David looked so very plain right now. In him I saw little interest in the upcoming matters, though I didn''t hold it against him.


    His power was waning. We didn''t know why and being Fortuna''s blindspot was coming to bite him. For a man who had dedicated himself to his mantle so thoroughly, it was as good as a terminal illness. David had no family. David had no friends save Cauldron. David¡­ David was the mask and Eidolon was the man. I pitied my friend as much as I loved him. He was a reminder of why I couldn''t let the mask take over my life.


    Across from us sat Kurt, Harbinger, Number Man. When Fortuna brought him into the fold, it took everything I had to not kill him then and there. The lanky man was sociopathic in the extreme. I had no idea if it was his Agent''s influence, but Kurt simply did not have empathic concerns. It was all about numbers. Statistics. Probability. Everything else was secondary and I found myself wondering how far we could trust him even while grudgingly acknowledging his necessity.


    The world economy wouldn''t run itself. No, it was best run by a sociopathic mass murderer.


    God, this world was depressing.


    Next to him was Rebecca, Alexandria, chief director of the PRT. She was as beautiful as ever. Her Agent had fixed her cancer-ridden form and she hadn''t aged a day since. She was flawless. No, perhaps that wasn''t the right word. Meticulously calculated was a better way of putting things. Even now, carefully maintained poise and discipline assisted by her not inconsiderable thinker power oozed from every pore.


    She nodded towards me and shot me and Keith an apologetic smile. She knew exactly how we felt about the Red Sands Incident. I doubted she cared truth be told. Not for the first time, I wondered what immortality must feel like. Could it be that out of all of us, she was the one most detached from the human experience?


    Precisely the moment my ass touched the seat, Doctor Eva and Fortuna stepped through a Doormaker portal.


    "We''ll begin with the Red Sands Incident," the doctor began.


    "Yes, let''s talk about that," Keith said with a frown. "Doctor, with respect, what the hell? Since when do we arrange for the kidnapping of children? How does that help us?"


    "We gained immense goodwill on a national level as both Director Costa-Brown and Alexandria. Rest assured, the competence of the national PRT is not under question."


    "That''s not the point! When did we decide kidnaping a minor was an acceptable way to boost our image?"


    "He''s right," I said, getting angry myself. "We formed the Wards program to make sure things like this wouldn''t happen. What''s the point of being in charge if we do exactly what we set out to prevent?"


    "Director Costa-Brown''s approval rating rose by thirteen percent from this event alone. The Founders are similarly seen in a favorable light as decisive decision-makers," Kurt drawled. He''d never been particularly interested in the human experience, a "Number Man" through and through. "We''ve gained more than PR. By all measures, we benefited a great deal."


    "All at the cost of our morals," Keith growled. Sparks of azure energy danced along his costume. It was rare to see my jovial friend so upset. "What exactly did we get that was so valuable? Was this worth it?"


    "The Red Sands Standard has set a heavy precedent in favor of trigger-leniency. It has also verified conclusively that second triggers are possible and that second triggers should be treated with the same approach as firsts. We were also able to demonstrate our commitment to preserving the unwritten rules.


    Kurt shuffled the papers before him, no doubt ready for the question. "Coupled with the positive PR from this event, I approximate a twenty-two percent rise in new parahumans joining the Protectorate as a result of a more favorable initial impression of the government over the next four years. This will result in a six percent drop in new villains across the country, which translates to a one-point-nine percent drop in violent crime over the same period.


    "I realize that the numbers don''t sound like much, but I would like to point out that a single percentage point is massive when taken on a national scale. An event with such a large positive impact on the nation''s law enforcement is exceedingly rare, especially one in which the person of interest was completely unharmed.


    "Further, the majority of parahumans die or retire within six months of their trigger events as you well know. This event created a sort of buffer zone. New triggers are now fourteen percent more likely to either join the Protectorate or another local power, whether out of moral purpose or fear of something similar happening to them. This encourages them to fully discover their powers, raising the chance that useful parahumans will remain alive by three-point-nine percent. We will have thousands more bodies by the final battle."


    "That''s¡­"


    I glanced at Fortuna. She was of course already turned to meet my gaze. A subtle nod.


    Planned then. Statistics prepared to placate Keith and me. Of fucking course.


    "That doesn''t change the trauma done to one little boy," I said firmly. I tried to appeal to their pragmatism. "Are we ready to throw away children for the sake of having more cannon fodder? Practically all of them will be nothing more than distractions, if that. Didn''t we agree that Rubedo was too useful to waste his potential like this?"


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "We don''t know that, so yes," Rebecca said matter-of-factly. "Rubedo himself is immensely valuable, but he was never in any true danger. Furthermore, his psych profile concludes definitively that he has the mind of an adult. His trigger, for whatever reason, has forced him to mature at an unprecedented rate, something I was able to verify in my brief conversation with him."


    "Correct. The Path is more efficient if we treat him like a small adult rather than a boy," Fortuna confirmed.


    "I don''t like it," I said. "It still feels like we''re slipping down a slope we''ve been trying to avoid."


    "You don''t have to like it, but I ask that you understand. My actions were for the greater good."


    ''And maybe that''s the problem,'' I thought. We were so focused on what needed to be done, I sometimes wondered if we were giving up something irreplaceable along her vaunted Path. I hated that I could see their point.


    The meeting had just begun and I already wanted it to be over. "So what now? It''s been a week since his second trigger. What do we know about it?"


    "He didn''t second trigger. That was just the narrative that advanced out goals the most. I was able to monitor him for the full duration of his captivity and you know that my Path gets muddled during a trigger event."


    "Then he was hiding his abilities?"


    "Yes. Like I said, treat him like a little adult rather than a young boy. He had his relic pistol long before his kidnapping but did not tell the PRT so he could secure an emergency weapon for himself. I was unaware of his disintegration beam however."


    "That''s¡­" I didn''t know what to think. I had to accept that an eight year old managed to dupe the Phoenix PRT. Director Lyons wasn''t an idiot so she must have noticed something, if not precisely how much he was holding back. She clearly saw no need to pursue the matter however. "Why?"


    Fortuna had no trouble parsing the meaning behind my one word question. "Director Lyons believed that his sudden maturity and traumatic trigger event caused him to develop a highly paranoid personality. As such, she wanted to give him time to open up to her on his own. He grew close to the other Wards in a short time so she thought this approach was likely to be effective."


    "Until you decided to upend the board," I said dryly.


    "Quite," she said unapologetically, a ghost of a smile dancing on her lips.


    Fucking thinkers. Even when they were on my side. Sometimes, especially because they were on my side.


    "So what can he do then?" David asked exasperatedly. "Is he useful against Scion or not?"


    "Very," Doctor Eva said. To this day, I still had no clue what sort of "doctor" she was, or if she was one at all. "Petricite in particular will allow us to keep parahumans in reserve. Along with his potions, even if he never grows beyond what he is capable of now, he represents an enormous force multiplier."


    "Can we use Petricite in lieu of the Birdcage?" Keith asked. Life sentence without chance for parole always rubbed my friend the wrong way. No, the Cage was far worse than a life sentence. A life sentence at least included wardens and the promise of physical safety. There was none of that in the Cage where villains ran the roost. To be honest, I couldn''t say I disagreed.


    "Both," Rebecca answered, "It won''t replace the Birdcage. Too many parahumans are unaffected by Petricite shackles and Rubedo cannot be expected to produce nothing but Petricite Elixirs to quell tinkers. There will always be those who invite a Birdcage sentence as well. However, Petricite represents a middle ground between the revolving door of normal prisons and the absolute life sentence of the Birdcage."


    "How about his alchemy?" David demanded. We all knew where he was coming from. Eidolon, the strongest pillar of the Founders, was weakening. It wasn''t common knowledge, and wouldn''t be if Fortuna had anything to say about it, but he was. The Eden Agent was, for whatever reason, dropping off in power. Then, almost as if by miracle, a new Ward emerged who could craft powers. "Can those elixirs be made permanent?"


    "Can they be used to recharge me?" He didn''t say but was heard loud and clear.


    "I wouldn''t mind taking a look at a few vials myself," I admitted. "It''s not my specialization, but who knows?"


    "They cannot at this time be used to bolster your power as far as I am aware," Fortuna said, crushing his burgeoning hopes. And just like that, he lost all interest in the meeting.


    "At this time?"


    She nodded to me. "I am not omniscient. The Path shows me what I need to know in order to accomplish my objectives, but that does not mean I know everything that happens in the world at any given moment. This is true of tinkertech as well. I can largely model your growth because of our close working relationship, but beyond tinkertech that may be useful to kill Scion, I do not know what you will make next. I have a limited bandwidth and only so many things are worthy of my attention.


    "In the case of Eidolon, his power remains a blindspot. I can model his behavior, but not the workings of his Agent. How his Agent may react to the mana generated by Rubedo is a mystery, though my models suggest that his elixirs will be ineffective at this time.


    "Rubedo himself represents a unique challenge. I can see him on the Path, but at each point of interaction, his power grows. He is one of a handful of parahumans whose power seemingly increases without limit, and not simply because he has been hiding his abilities from the PRT. Because of this, I know what he can build now. I do not know what he may build for anything outside the Path''s direct oversight."


    "That¡­ That makes him one of the most promising tinkers in the world."


    "Quite, Hero."


    "So it may be possible that Rubedo can one day repower Eidolon," the doctor summed up. "The best that we can do is to encourage his growth, which was partially what the Red Sands Incident was about."


    "Fine, moving on, what''s the best way to develop Rubedo as a cape then?" I really just wanted this to be over. "I won''t throw him into fights again and again if that''s your idea, doctor."


    "That would be far too crude. We need to rebrand and relocate young Andy anyway."


    I seized my chance. "I volunteer. I can give him a safe environment and still have him grow as a tinker. Combat isn''t the only drive for growth."


    "Acceptable. He has much to learn from you. The Path predicts that we can influence the effectiveness of Petricite by bringing him in contact with your second," Fortuna said with that same self-satisfied smile. It was incredible how she always managed to get what she wanted.


    Rebecca nodded in approval. "I can keep an eye on him in DC as well. This will bring him further under our influence."


    The meeting progressed into a conversation about the Path''s current objectives. As always, the primary directive was the creation of more parahumans. Soon after, the meeting concluded. I left the base feeling conflicted all over again. Taking Andy under my wing was the best way to keep him safe, make sure he''s not one more casualty tossed by the wayside in the name of the greater good, but it still left a bitter taste in my mouth. In the end, everything, everything was for the sake of the Path.


    X


    2000, August 27: Washington, DC, USA


    I kept up my smile as I walked away, fully aware that Andy could see me even with his back turned.


    Lunch with the young man was¡­ an experience. I read the psych reports. Rebecca briefed me. Steven briefed me. And yet, I wasn''t prepared for the enigma called Andy Kim.


    I went into that luncheon expecting a traumatized child. I assumed I would have to put up with an hour of hero-worship, pun intended. I''d sign a few things, take a few pictures, and he''d babble on about his day while I nodded along. I''d have to dissuade him from building the biggest baddest robot he could in favor of something more pragmatic. Or maybe, I''d have to hold him as he dribbled snot on my armor, forced to act as a therapist I definitely wasn''t equipped to replace.


    Andy did not talk like a child. It wasn''t a matter of being precocious; I''d met plenty of precocious children. No, with him, there was an air of experience that was impossible to fake, a look in his eyes that demanded he be considered an equal.


    If I closed my eyes, I would never have pegged him as a boy of eight. The waitress who served my crab cake was less mature than him. He asked after my health, talked about my alma mater, was conscientious of his public persona, noticed eavesdroppers, cited his psychiatric reports to explain why he should be treated like an adult, and demonstrated incredible foresight and ambition in his project pipeline.


    Hell, he knew what a project pipeline was!


    That¡­ That wasn''t the thinking of an eight year old. The lunch felt more like an amiable meeting with Keith or Steven than a chance to check up on a Ward.


    What really sold it for me was the scope of his proposal. His goal wasn''t just a portal device, because following Warptek''s example wasn''t good enough apparently. His ultimate goal was a global network dedicated to emergency deployment of heroes and evacuation of civilians.


    A zero casualty endbringer event. I knew how he triggered. Few were the capes with the resolve to chase an endbringer. Fewer still could potentially make good on that burning passion.


    It was a dream even I didn''t dare entertain.


    As much as I could admire his dedication, it broke my heart to see it in someone so young. I guess I was still struggling to put his age past me because a small part of me wanted to steer him away from such an ambitious project. The same part of me that took Wards fishing or to Disney Land wanted to keep him on street-level patrols. Maybe set him up with the Aerospace Museum so he could interact with the public.


    I wanted to shield him from the bitterness of failure, the crippling despair that inevitably crashes down on anyone who stands against an endbringer. I wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up, that sacrifices were necessary, perhaps make some ambiguous promise about how we''ll triumph one day. Perhaps if I steered him from such lofty goals, I could help him preserve that childish innocence for a while longer.


    A bigger part of me had asked, ''What innocence?''


    He triggered from Leviathan''s tsunami. The same had taken his father. He was kidnapped because of Fortuna''s machinations. Only a month prior, he became a killer of a dozen people. Andy Kim wasn''t innocent. I''d be doing a disservice holding him back, both to him and to Cauldron''s goals.


    Cauldron came first. Scion''s death came first.


    Everything else was secondary, even my conscience. If I needed to exploit an uncomfortably mature eight year old for the greater good, I knew I would. I''d hate myself and resent the circumstances I found myself in, but there was no other way.


    No other Path.


    Author''s Note


    Finally a look at Hero. I didn''t have a name for him, so I went with Eugene. Don''t ask why, I have no idea either. There isn''t even a fanon name like how Rune was called Cassie before Wildbow decided her name was Tammi.


    Nod to Ward: Battery explored Cauldron''s main compound and found that it was somewhere around what should be the Ivory Coast. The compound stretches across multiple continents and its branches are only connected by Doormaker so she needed a GPS to get anywhere. The description reminds me a little of the Team Rocket hideouts from the Pok¨¦mon games with those teleporter pads that always led to a master ball surrounded by electrodes.


    And if you don''t know what I''m talking about, your childhood sucked.


    More details on the Path and Andy''s role on it.


    Steven Kajiya is Metalmaru. I mentioned his name literally just once so I don''t expect you to remember it.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.9 Ripples

    <div>


    Ripples 4.9


    2000, August 28: Washington, DC, USA


    The last week of August also meant the start of my homeschooling experience. Though admittedly, mom didn''t exactly teach anything.


    The PRT had introduced her to several banks in Annandale, the closest thing the metro area had to K-Town. Because the city had so many Korean immigrants, being able to speak the language was mandatory and she managed to snag a job at Hanmi Bank as a teller. It wasn''t glamorous or particularly high paying, but it was out of the way, in a good neighborhood, and did not impose too much on her time.


    Maybe I was seeing shadows where there were none, but I took her rapid employment as Cauldron''s olive branch to me. I told myself that I would try to look at the big picture. Contessa had managed to use my kidnapping to advance the PRT''s agenda immensely, to the point that my personal growth seemed almost an afterthought. Even so, I couldn''t help but focus on myself and what Contessa was planning for me, if anything at all.


    As for my homeschool schedule, one Ms. Emily Kosker materialized seemingly out of thin air. I didn''t know which hole Costa-Brown dug her out from, but she apparently was a teacher for a few years before seeking a career as a budgeting analyst with the feds. Since then, she''d acquired a security clearance, high enough to be let in on my identity if not my past. Which meant she was cleared to know who I was and could sign off as a course administrator for my homeschooling schedule. I had a feeling that she was pulled from her budget team and volun-told to oversee my education.


    I hoped they were paying her overtime.


    By the end of the day, the chubby middle-aged woman left a little shellshocked. No one told her I was that far advanced, I guess.


    She promised to look into testing so I could hopefully graduate early. There were some concerns about the legality of it all, but the state of Virginia had some different provisions for homeschooled students. Then came the discussion about what exactly I wanted to study and how it would look for an eight year old to be a high school graduate, but that was to be expected. In the end, she''d be presenting me with a series of math, literature, science, and history exams for each grade level to make sure I learned the material.


    Of these, I was really only worried about history. I read and wrote at a grad student''s level. Math was a joke compared to the calculations needed for techmaturgy. Sciences? I could write a dissertation on any subject should I choose to delve into the World Rune.


    Was it a conflict of interest that a PRT affiliated teacher was my course administrator? Definitely. Was anyone asking too many questions? Not if they wanted me in the lab as much as possible.


    Social interaction? I was homeschooled! What social interaction?


    All things considered, the PRT was adapting smoothly to my abnormal mental state.


    That wasn''t to say mom didn''t have any say in my education. She, with Ms. Kosker''s enthusiastic approval, tacked on Korean language and music lessons three days a week. To "enrich my learning experience," Ms. Kosker had said. Really, mom just wanted to spend time with me and I couldn''t bear to deny her that.


    X


    Back at the lab, I received an email from Brickhouse. He and Hero had a chat about my costume and they agreed that I would be going out on PR patrols anyway. After all, Hyunmu was supposed to be visible. Even if I only had my pistol, Sobriety, and Hero''s bodysuit, I couldn''t be mistaken as anything other than a Ward and the suit alone looked nice enough or they wouldn''t have let me debut in the first place.


    They agreed that seeing me start from nothing then grow into a tinker persona would be best for my image. So, seeing how both of my bosses were in harmony, I had no choice but to join Verdeer for a lap around the National Mall.


    "Hello, Verdeer," I greeted with a polite bow. The two of us were standing outside the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, the building directly west of the White House. We were already attracting people''s attention. This was an extremely tourist-heavy neighborhood; plenty of people visited every day to take pictures of famous buildings, not least of which was the White House.


    "Hello, Hyunmu. I see you''ve added some new inventions," he said. His voice had that rumble-honk of a stag that was hard to place. Still clearly audible, but it made me wonder how much of his vocal cord were cervid. He also spoke a bit louder than strictly necessary so he could be overheard.


    "I did." With a gesture, I sent the Ymelo hovering to his side. "Please meet Ymelo. It is a drone tuned to my biorhythm."


    "Very pretty. What does it do?"


    We began walking south, a small but not inconspicuous trail of tourists following behind us.


    "It is my flashlight," I said brightly. "I only jest. It is also a tool which keeps me focused longer. Imagine it like coffee, but without the caffeine addiction and turned to only work for me."


    "Huh, that''s pretty cool. It''s a big shift from your laser gun."


    "It is. I am slowly discovering my specialization. I also made a shield. It seemed only fitting given my name."


    The two of us made for an odd sight. His six-six height towered over my own four and change even without his added antlers. With them, the guy could have easily posed as a small tree.


    He did, in fact. It was a bit of an ongoing game for Verdeer to hide in Theodore Roosevelt Island off the Potomac and dare children and parents to find him before anyone else. The monthly game of hide and seek made him one of the most popular Case 53s in the nation.


    A few minutes later, we stopped at a hotdog stand that served classic New York style dogs, boiled in suspiciously murky water instead of grilled. We intentionally took our time to eat and "connect with the community," which really just meant signing a few autographs and letting people touch my relic pistol. Some of the parents were a little nervous, but we reassured them that because the gun was attuned to my unique biorhythm, no one could fire it but me.


    Biorhythms¡­ Like anyone knew what the hell those were. Pseudo-scientific jargon was amazing at explaining things without explaining anything. Bullshit, but convenient bullshit. If that''s what it took to get the public used to seeing a Ward open-carrying, then that''s what it took.


    Seriously, there was a small pamphlet titled "Science-y Things You Can Tell Civvies to Avoid Long Explanations They Won''t Understand Anyway" that was basically a list of meaningless soundbites that sounded tinkertech-y but was vaguely sensible to the average person. It was written as a joke by Warptek before he transferred out years ago but still made the rounds for a good chuckle once in a while. Metalmaru included it in my introductory packet. That thing came in surprisingly handy at times.


    Our path took us from the Eisenhower Building south to the Lincoln Monument where I had my debut. From there, we made a tour of the National Mall and its varying memorials, starting with a walk around the Tidal Basin. The Franklin Roosevelt and Thomas Jefferson Memorials were around the waterfront. Somewhere along the way, Verdeer turned to the gathering tourists and began talking about the history of the Tidal Basin and the monuments, turning our patrol into a guided tour.


    He was a good speaker and had clearly done this before. I found myself wishing this was back in February so I could see the sakura trees in bloom. Yes, sakura trees. Apparently, there was a petition from one Mrs. Eliza Scidmore as early as the 1880s to plant these Japanese trees on the National Mall. She was a bit of a globetrotter and fell in love with these trees during her visit to Japan, so much so that she approached every new superintendent for twenty-four years with the idea. Eventually, the movement grew to involve one First Lady Taft and the mayor of Tokyo.


    Even today, there was an annual Cherry Blossom Festival as well as a ten mile run during peak bloom.


    After that spontaneous history lesson, we circled up to the Washington Monument where Verdeer took several pictures in front of the monument, positioned so it looked like he was charging the monument horns first.


    Then came a winding trek that saw us through several Smithsonian museums. Some smart-aleck asked me to explain jet propulsion because "tinkers know science things." The impromptu lecture on aerodynamics forced me to draw on Corki and Dr. Heimerdinger''s knowledge but I managed to shut him up and leave a nerdy video recording for posterity.


    The trip wouldn''t have taken more than an hour and a half at a leisurely walk, all the monuments were fairly close together, but the constant press of tourists kept our pace slow.


    We were turning north to the National Gallery of Art and back towards HQ when we heard someone shout through a megaphone.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Gather ''round, gather ''round, for the greatest show in the city!" shouted a college-aged Asian man in a crisp, black tux. He also wore a white domino mask, a crimson bowtie, white felt gloves, and a tophat. In his hand was a cane.


    Next to him were two more men in sharp tuxedos. One had a far more elaborate mask that covered much of his face and another was short and rotund with both an obviously fake Monopoly-man style moustache and an honest-to-God monocle. He took a seat on a hardlight chair that seemingly materialized from nothing.


    I wondered how they could stand to wear tuxedos in the middle of August. That truly had to be a superpower.


    The three men were standing on the steps of the gallery and drawing quite the crowd with their antics. Above them, a squad of eight drones hovered. Four shone down spotlights that had an obvious tinkertech component; it was the middle of the day but the lights still shone brightly without being blinding. They even seemed to have a minor entrancing effect, almost as though they were whispering, "don''t look away."


    Two more drones created hardlight curtains to frame their impromptu stage. The final two hovered at Monopoly-man''s side, presumably for self-defense or some future stunt.


    "Ah, fuck," Verdeer grumbled lowly before speaking into his mic. "Console, we''ve got Stage Crew. National Gallery of Art. Should we engage?"


    "Negative," came the static-filled response. "Back off and we''ll see what Prestige has planned for us."


    I wracked my brain for the dossiers I''d been given. "Prestige, Masquerade, and Showbiz of Stage Crew, correct? I was told they are villainous rogues. Are they a threat?"


    "Right. They''re mostly harmless but make a habit of putting on shows and taking ''donations'' from tourists."


    Nodding, I readied my shield. "Agent Mitchell, Wards have engaged them in the past."


    "You''re not ready yet, Hyunmu," he told me. "You haven''t worked with any of the Wards before."


    I had to remind myself that he almost certainly didn''t know me. That I was rebranded Rubedo? He might have the clearance to know that much. That I murdered twelve people and had enough firepower in the back of my hand to write those three into the history section? Probably above his paygrade. From his perspective, he was keeping a fresh Ward from getting in over his head.


    I took several steps back and merged into the gathering crowd. It would be very much against my kayfabe to go against orders. "Understood, sir. I will be on standby."


    "Thank you. Verdeer, wait for Brickhouse and Gold Rush. Hyunmu, this will be a good chance to see how they operate. ETA ten minutes. Park police have been notified. They''ll begin herding people back to give us some space."


    Ten minutes? That alone told me everything I needed to know about the PRT''s assessment of the three before me. There was no way in hell that such a delay would be permitted against anyone actually dangerous. Washington, DC had its own Uber and Leet, it seemed. "I understand, sir."


    I took stock of everything I had going for me. I had a packet of a dozen health potions turned into pills as well as pill variants of both elixirs. If pressed, Time Warp Tonic would also grant me a burst of speed. And of course, the Blitzshield, Sobriety, and relic pistol were holstered at my side.


    I doubted things would escalate to lethal levels, but I also had all three charges of my Minion Dematerializer as well as my Hexflash. A blast of ice magic should also prove useful in the right circumstance. It''d mean tipping my hand so I wouldn''t use it unless I had no other options, but itw as comforting to know that I was better armed than most SWAT teams.


    Satisfied that I could salvage the situation if things got bad, I settled down to watch the show.


    "Thank you, thank you. It''s always nice to hear such a welcoming reception. And look, we even have two of the Wards in the audience," the man with the tophat, Prestige, called.


    Two spotlight drones took that as their cue and pointed us out. People backed away, leaving me alone. A few feet away, Verdeer received the same treatment.


    "Play along and try to be humorous," the agent on call told us. "They want a reaction out of you so let them play their tricks until they do something blatantly dangerous. Hyunmu, withdraw further if you can."


    "Yes, sir," I heard Verdeer rumble. Louder, he said. "You carry on, Prestige. I''ll just be a deer and watch for a bit."


    Prestige groaned exaggeratedly. "Well, it''s a good thing you''re a hero, Verdeer. You have no future as a comic."


    "Maybe, but I won''t turn green over it," my senior drawled, "¡­ much."


    Up on stage, I could see the three men crack a smile. "Alright, can we hear from the littlest Ward, please? How''s DC?"


    "Greetings, Prestige of Stage Crew. I am learning much," I said respectfully. "Mambo sauce is too sweet. People from Maryland cannot drive. The subway is, as you Americans say, ''on fire.'' Quite literally, oftentimes. This is a truly fascinating city."


    "Ha! Dry wit''s the best kind of wit. Bravo, turtle-boy. Now, let''s get on with the show!"


    He waved and the tallest, skinniest man with the elaborate mask, stepped forward. "How is everyone this afternoon? I''m Masquerade and we''re going to start things off simple. I''m going to need someone to volunteer to come up on stage with me. Yes, you, the pretty lady over there." A girl no older than eighteen skipped onto the stage. "I''m going to read your mind," he told her.


    "Okay, what am I thinking?" she snarked back.


    "That I am the most roguishly handsome man you''ve ever met in your life." Whatever retort she was going to say was drowned out. "Or that you think I''m really weird and kind of creepy. See, everybody? Mind-reading."


    "Boo," a few voices called from the crowd, proving that idiots will call out even villains with no regard for self-preservation. Thankfully, I saw two pairs of the DC park police begin to herd people away. They weren''t getting much done, but even a bit of extra room would be nice if things came to a head.


    To his credit, Masquerade played off the hecklers and laughed along. "Haha, alright, fine, fine. Let''s get serious. For those of you who don''t know, my name is Masquerade and I am a mentalist, someone who can read minds and peel back the mask on any falsehood. So, here''s what''s going to happen. You and I are going to have a conversation. It can be about anything you want, absolutely any subject at all. We''ll have a chat and your goal is to lie to me."


    "Okay, my name is Sarah."


    "It''s Jamie, but good, good, exactly like that."


    "What?"


    I felt her heartbeat quicken. ''She''s not a plant in the audience,'' I mused to myself. ''That must mean he''s very confident. He''s either a very good mentalist or he''s a thinker. Probably both given the context.''


    Masquerade grinned and pulled out his wallet. It looked pretty thick. "If, throughout this conversation, you can sneak a single lie past me, I''ll give you everything in this wallet. If you can''t¡­ Hmmm¡­ How about a kiss from the lovely lady?"


    The brunette, Jamie, seemed intrigued. "You''re on."


    "You can start talking about anything, anything at all."


    "Okay, so I''m a freshman at Georgeto-"


    "You''re a junior in high school, but nice try."


    "My favorite class is marching band." She waited expectantly to see if he''d call her out. Seeing nothing, she continued. "I play the French horn. In the off season, I''m also a part of the drama club."


    "You''re part of the orchestra. You must be very talented, Jamie."


    She scowled. "Damn. Okay, I have three cats¡­"


    "Do we know what Masquerade''s power actually is?" I whispered into my comms.


    "Not the specifics, but he does this often enough. He likes to get people to lie to him then tell them the real information," came the reply. "He''s mostly harmless. ETA seven minutes. Just hold out for a while longer."


    "Yes, sir."


    After a few minutes of that, he sent her back down with a few hundred bucks in cash. He then tossed someone in the crowd a marker and told them to tell him a random statement, truth or lie. That marker was passed around popcorn-style for audience participation.


    Finally, someone tossed it my way.


    "Alright, let''s see if the youngest hero can lie to me," Masquerade said confidently. "Come on, little hero, tell me something."


    I rolled my eyes. By now, it was fairly clear what his power was. Like any magic trick, it stopped being mysterious if you showed it off a few dozen times. I decided to fuck with him a little.


    "Truth or lie? My life goal is to murder God," I said, face flat as a board.


    "Hyunmu," the agent admonished me.


    I could just about see the cogs turning in Masquerade''s brain.


    Logic was telling him that there was no way in hell that this was true. By appearance, I was ten at the very oldest. The idea of "God" was a nebulous concept at best. By its very definition, God wasn''t an entity who could be murdered at all. A child shouldn''t have a life goal in the first place, at best a whimsical wish like "I want to be an astronaut," certainly not the kind of resolve I spoke with.


    Everything about that statement should logically be false, but Masquerade''s power wasn''t answering him, which implied it was true. Cogs were turning, spinning faster and faster until I almost expected steam to start pouring out of his ears.


    He flinched back and cradled his head, a thinker headache rampaging inside his skull like a bull in a china shop. "Oww¡­"


    I got up on stage and wordlessly took another of the wallets he''d been dangling as a prize, my victory obvious.


    "Huh, two hundred, not bad," I chuckled to myself before tossing it into the crowd somewhere.


    Privately, I couldn''t lie to myself. After resigning myself to being vulnerable to Contessa''s shenanigans for a while longer, there was not a little schadenfreude at causing a thinker to short circuit like that.


    "How''d you do that?" some kid asked as I got back to my place near the stage.


    "Mentalism is not a superpower," I told him in my heavy accent. "It is the art of understanding the mind, discovering truths inside others. It appears that my truth is greater than his."


    "So how?"


    I shrugged with a mischievous grin. "Knowledge is like fruit. It is all the sweeter if you grow the tree with your own hands."


    He huffed but turned his attention back to the stage.


    ''Heh, being a fortune cookie stereotype might be fun after all.''


    Author''s Note


    Stage Crew is a very low-risk kind of villain team. They''re here because I wanted to show something low-risk and more or less consequence-free before I get anywhere specific.


    Brockton Bay canonically has a civilian population of ~350,000. DC has about twice that. Though DC is a much safer city than Brockton (not that that''s saying much), it wouldn''t be out of the question for DC to have nine Protectorate members: Hero, Metalmaru, Bluesong, Pyrotechnical, Glace, Armsmaster, Zero Day, Wonderland, and Outreach. For reference, Brockton Bay had seven Protectorate members at the start of canon: Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Velocity, and Triumph with Challenger being a recent transfer out.


    I am firmly of the opinion that Earth-Bet has its share of responsible adults. The problem is that they''re all in the wrong place doing the wrong things. Turns out, your efforts can be morally righteous and still be horribly misplaced.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.10 Ripples

    Ripples 4.10


    2000, August 28: Washington, DC, USA


    The show went like that for a while. To their credit, Stage Crew did an excellent job of adapting to an inebriated member. Prestige did a few card tricks and Showbiz told some jokes to buy a few minutes for Masquerade to recover and continue his act.


    He returned eventually and called up a few more people, guessed someone''s PIN number for their credit card, and did other neat tricks to prime the audience for the flashier act to come. He notably stopped calling on me. Eventually, he bowed out and took a step back, one of Showbiz''s drones turning into a hardlight chair for him to sit on.


    "Masquerade is pretty great, isn''t he? Give him another round of applause. Oh, and Percy, you gotta change that PIN number, man," Prestige said, taking center stage again to some laughter. With the flick of his wrist, a dove appeared from his sleeve. "Now, keep your eye on the bird."


    The bird turned into a sparkler. Then the sparkler became a bouquet of flowers he tossed into the crowd. At the very edge of my senses, I saw Brickhouse and Gold Rush pull up. Brickhouse seemed a tad out of breath, though our resident speedster looked just dandy.


    "Verdeer, Brickhouse and Gold Rush are here," I spoke under my breath.


    "Thanks," came Agent Mitchell''s sheepish response. "I¡­ may have gotten caught up in the show. Let me patch you all through. Mic check?"


    "Brickhouse here."


    "Gold Rush."


    "Verdeer."


    "Hyunmu."


    "Great. Hyunmu, sit back and watch," he reminded me. "Brickhouse, show''s yours."


    "Thank you, sir," my leader said. "We''re on the roof."


    Up on stage, Showbiz handed Prestige a large tablecloth that he shook, causing a dining table to appear. That alone wasn''t impossible with clever mirrors and the right set of pulleys, but in front of the National Art Gallery? I somehow doubted they came here the previous night to set up the necessary equipment. A tap of his cane caused a set of fine china to materialize on top in full view of the audience.


    "What was Prestige''s power again?" I asked.


    "That wasn''t it. It''s inorganic transmutation based on mass. Striker medium," Verdeer told me. "That was Showbiz. Showbiz might be the most versatile tinker in the city, with only Hero matching him. He handles everything from lights and camerawork to sound and props."


    "Is he a tinker with a stagehand focus?"


    "That''s how he uses his power, but we don''t really know much more than that."


    "Yeah, they''re really good at tricking the viewer. It''s hard to tell what''s their power and what''s just really good sleight of hand sometimes," Gold Rush added. "We even had to hire magicians to help us isolate what is and is not a trick."


    A few more tricks. The dining table was covered then turned into a birdcage as the tablecloth was pulled away. The bird that became a sparkler reappeared with the snap of his fingers. It went into the cage, only for the cage to vanish at the next swish of the cloth. I had to give him some credit; he was a genuinely engaging performer who focused as much on keeping up a constant string of jokes and repartee as flashy tricks.


    "Now for the grand finale," Prestige raised his voice. In his hand was the tablecloth he''d been throwing about all day. If I had to guess, the cloth was a dimensional storage device made by Showbiz and everything else was some very sneaky fingers, though I couldn''t be sure. "Can I get one last volunteer? How about you, good sir? Yes, you, the jolly fellow in the front with two kids. Kids, you think daddy can help me out a little?"


    "Yeah!" I heard them shout, tugging their dad forward.


    The man who came forward wasn''t fat per se, though he did have a bit of a beer belly. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip flops, the picture of a tourist.


    Prestige flipped his tablecloth into the air and it settled over something that wasn''t there a moment ago. "As for what the finale is¡­" He pulled it away with his typical flourish to reveal an ornate coffin decked out in gothic angels. Its edges were glowing with an eerie light. With the snap of his fingers, the tablecloth folded itself into a wicked looking saw. "Let''s stick to the classics, shall we? Sir, please get inside the box. Who knows? You might even come out again," he joked.


    "Go." The agent on call sounded firm despite the static.


    "Yes, sir," Brickhouse grunted. "On three. Two. One!"


    Plenty of people considered Brickhouse to be the tank of the group, a mobile fortress for his team to rally around. And this was true, but it was a mistake to think that the terrakinetic couldn''t pile on the speed if the situation called for it.


    Out at the edge of my vision, I saw Brickhouse stamp his foot, creating a concrete pillar that rocketed out of the rooftop.


    At his best, the earth he created could be launched at speeds a little slower than a car on the freeway, roughly fifty-three miles per hour. He wasn''t going all out, but the pillar still had enough kinetic energy to launch him from the roof, clear over the drones that made up the hardlight "curtains," and onto the stage. The brickwork panels he wore shifted at his command to his feet even as a ramp rose up to meet him, allowing him to skid across the stage and between the tourist and Prestige.


    It looked impressive, but I had to wonder how he could bleed off that much energy using only varieties of stone. A normal person would have fractured their legs at the very minimum, definitely some Shard-enabled bullshit on his part.


    Gold Rush, her brunette ponytail flying behind her, raced to his side in a yellow streak. Thanks to the curtains in the way, I was the only one who saw her race down the side of the gallery, dashing on a Roman pillar as though it were flat ground. If I had to put a number on it, I would have guessed her speed to be approaching ninety miles an hour. She wasn''t the Flash or anything, but she was far faster than most could hope to keep up with. She left behind a visible light trail, almost like smudged paint or a camera that couldn''t quite keep up. I found it a little funny that I could see her power''s effects despite it not being a physical manifestation.


    Verdeer was slowest to arrive despite his closer proximity. His lumbering form and two pairs of branch-like antlers were impossible to ignore. The crowd wisely began to back away.


    "It''s rude to interrupt a show, you know," Prestige scowled.


    "Show''s over, Stage Crew. You can''t use untested tinkertech on tourists, especially not to cut them apart," Brickhouse snapped.


    "He consented. Besides, Showbiz''s tech is perfectly safe."


    "He came up here before you revealed your finale. Surrender and don''t make this worse for yourselves."


    "Worse? We''re not breaking any laws," Showbiz huffed.


    "You''re breaking the city busking laws for one. I somehow doubt you have a license. More importantly, we can''t let you use untested tinkertech on dangerous stunts," our leader repeated. "You''re also wanted for multiple counts of theft, including grand larceny which is a felony crime."


    "You really want to do this here?" Masquerade taunted. "See the crowd? Everyone was having a good time until you showed up on your high horse, Brickhouse. Hell, even your game animal and the pint-size over there were enjoying the show."


    "We were, until you went too far," Verdeer rumbled.


    "Yeah, whatever."


    The two parties stared each other down even as Verdeer herded the father back to his children. I fingered my pistol but did as told, better to watch than enter and force them into a confrontation. I stepped away from the tourists a little ways and made to stand perpendicular to a cop car. If I had to, I wanted to catch them in a crossfire with the fuzz.


    I was happy to see that a van of PRT troopers had shown up during the festivities. Four troopers stepped out and I couldn''t help but think that it was a bit light for backup against an established cape team. They weren''t carrying even half the loadout I was used to seeing in Phoenix.


    "What''s the goal with them?" I asked, dropping the accent. "Arrest them then¡­ what?"


    "They haven''t killed anyone and respect the unwritten rules. They''ll be rebranded and relocated to a different city where they can hopefully use their powers more productively."


    I rolled my eyes. ''How typical of the PRT.''


    "Understood," I said, voice clipped.


    All motivation I had to actually catch them vanished and my pistol went back into its holster. This wasn''t about putting bad people in jail, but about getting extra bodies as heroes. A worthy cause perhaps, but I wasn''t down with the pressganging. Unless someone was about to die, I resolved myself to not intervene. I wasn''t being ordered to after all.


    If Hero asked later, I was just obeying orders and learning more about teamwork.


    "Now how about we all just pack up and go our separate ways?" Showbiz tried to be the mediator. "We do need a busking license, but hey, no one really cares about that. We haven''t actually done anything dangerous today."


    "Today," Gold Rush stressed. "You three are a menace."


    "Sweetheart, you wound us," he gasped.


    "Don''t call me sweetheart!"


    "Enough. Stop letting them set the pace," Verdeer said.


    Two of the eight drones Showbiz had shined the "look at me" spotlights down on the Wards and rogues. The drones manning the curtains cut the projections and joined the other four.


    "Six drones behind Showbiz," I warned. "They might be getting ready to cut and run."


    Brickhouse nodded but didn''t respond. Instead, he squared his shoulders and took a wider stance. "Last chance," he warned.


    "I think it''s about time for us to leave, don''t you?" Prestige drawled to his comrades. "We''ve worn out our welcome."


    "Seems like it," Masquerade eyed me cautiously. "And you. Hyunmu, was it? I''ll figure you out next time."


    I snorted. That was unlikely.


    Showbiz snapped his fingers and the two spotlight drones descended, turning the harsh lights onto my teammates. At the same time, the six drones behind him burst into action. Two of them began spewing smoke and irritants while four created hardlight constructs. Stage prop walls that were usually made of painted cardboard. Chairs. Even a giant cube with question marks on each face. Anything and everything that could reasonably show up as a gimmick emerged and launched themselves towards the Heroes. The drones then compressed into palm-sized discs and tucked themselves in a pouch on Showbiz''s lower back.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The crowd reacted predictably. Most of them ran away from the irritating smoke, but one in ten of them stuck around to keep recording. This no longer surprised me about Earth-Bet, but my faith in the survival of my species died a little more each time I saw shit like this.


    The three rogues dashed away from the Wards. My teammates were still trying to blink the spots from their eyes when Showbiz whipped a goddamn invisibility cloak out of his ass. It was a rich burgundy but faded into transparency with a flick of his wrist.


    I stood there narrating for the PRT agent on comms. "Showbiz has an invisibility cloak of some kind. He covered himself and his teammates. They are not moving very quickly. Should I give chase?"


    "Where?" Gold Rush demanded.


    "Northeast. To your right. Other right. Turn. Turn a little more. There."


    She shot off almost before I could finish. The problem was, she had no idea how far she had to go before running into them and she was still blinking away the flash and smoke, so she ran headfirst into what had to be Prestige''s back.


    "Hey!"


    "Gah!"


    "Ow!"


    "What the hell?"


    The four of them got tangled into the cloak and rolled like a cartoon dust cloud before crashing painfully into a tree. Somewhere in the scuffle, Stage Crew''s invisibility cloak fell away.


    "When did our patrol turn into a comedy routine?" I heard Brickhouse moan.


    "This is fine, at least we can see them now," Verdeer added.


    I sighed. I now knew precisely why only Wards were ever sent out against Stage Crew. These guys were jokes. Both sides. I had no doubt that they could be more dangerous if they wanted to be, but it was clear that both parties were playing with kid gloves. Suddenly the civilians with video cameras made more sense.


    Brickhouse tapped his feet and stone walls encircled all four downed capes. A moment later, Gold Rush dashed out of the makeshift jail by running straight up the wall.


    "Well, that''s a wrap."


    "Good job, Brickhouse," Agent Mitchell said. "Verdeer, Hyunmu, continue your route. Brickhouse, Gold Rush, join the troopers and escort the prisoners to base."


    "Yes, sir," we said together.


    But before we could do anything else, I saw Prestige lay a single hand on the wall and the wall turned to so much melted wax. He walked out at the head of the three rogues with an irritated frown on his face.


    "Now that was ru - Woah!"


    Before he could get his quip in, Gold Rush dashed forward and decked Showbiz in the face. Her form was mediocre at best and she wasn''t leveraging her speed nearly as well as she could, but her speed was still enough to send the much heavier man reeling. Frankly, I was surprised she managed to not break her own wrist. She had to have a brute power of some sort, maybe some biological toughness that compensated for her mover rating.


    "Gold Rush! Don''t go in without us," Brickhouse chided.


    "Not the time, leader," Verdeer rumbled as he lowered his horns.


    He growled but began to snap out orders. "Gold, containment. Run circles around them."


    She did as told, running fast enough that she touched the edge of her own trail. Since the trail of light wasn''t a physical object, Prestige couldn''t touch it and turn it into something else. It was honestly a clever strategy for containment. Anyone could pass through, but their movement would be slowed relative to Gold Rush''s own speed, making running them down a trivial task.


    So, Prestige did the only thing he could. He held out his hand and waited until a finger brushed her costume as she dashed by. He pulled his hand back with a wince, even if it wasn''t a direct hit, a hundred miles an hour wasn''t a joke. Still, the damage was done. She skidded to a stop and crouched low to cover herself as the torso of her costume turned into chains that tried to trip her up.


    "Kyaa!" she shrieked as she crouched on the ground to cover up her sudden wardrobe malfunction.


    "Showbiz!" Prestige shouted.


    "On it!" Their tinker hurled everything he had in his hidden cache.


    All eight drones flew at Brickhouse and Verdeer. Brickhouse chucked several stone spears, spearing three out of the air in an impressive display of marksmanship. Verdeer began his charge and his antlers caught another two even as they tried to evade, breaking them apart like matchsticks.


    But that was the only distraction they needed because Showbiz waved his wonder-cape and conjured a human-sized cabinet, one with three doors and multiple slots that could be used to insert swords.


    "Inside!"


    I watched the last of Stage Crew disappear into the cabinet, the remaining drones following after them, just as Verdeer reached them, rendering their magic box into splinters and sparkling wires. I paid no heed to the ongoing dialogue and lamented the fact that we couldn''t get a single working sample of tinkertech. If I knew how his Shard bent space, I might be able to improve the constraints of Flashtraption.


    When I came back into focus, Brickhouse had created an earthen screen for Gold Rush to hide behind. I was glad to see that the park police were already confiscating phones. This likely raised their rap sheet from larceny to include sexual assault, however accidental. At the very least, Prestige would likely be threatened with the charge. Her being a minor, the police weren''t taking no for an answer from any onlookers.


    X


    The four of us were gathered in a meeting room in the Wards'' wing alongside Agent Jeremy Mitchell, our communications officer, and Outreach, one of the available members of the Protectorate. Agent Mitchell looked like a shaved bear, with a beard as large as my head. Outreach wore a skintight bodysuit that in my opinion showed altogether too much. It was white with a blue hand reaching out from his chest done in some pigment that seemed to glow.


    The hand-themed hero was one of the two non-tinker members of the District Protectorate. He could fire bolts of light that struck with variable force. Anything hit by his blasts could be pushed or pulled relative to his position.


    "Welcome back, kids," he said with a smile. He had a good smile, friendly and warm without appearing condescending. Made sense, with a name like Outreach, he was often a shoe-in for participation in charity events. It made him exceedingly well-liked, but also very vanilla, as though no one expected much of him beyond reading to children at the library, not that there was anything wrong with that.


    "Sir," Brickhouse nodded with tired sigh.


    Verdeer, Gold Rush, and I took a seat next to our leader. The only one out of costume was Gold Rush who had gotten changed into a Hero-themed hoodie. She still wore the mask though.


    "It''s always good to start from the top so let''s hear it from you. What happened in your words?"


    That prompted Verdeer rehashing our patrol and how we encountered them. He mentioned how we decided to take a wait and see approach at the prompting of Agent Mitchell, after which reinforcements were called because I was deemed unfit for actual fieldwork. That still rankled but I let it pass. If that was an example of "actual fieldwork" by their standards, I was happy to be left out.


    Sour grapes.


    Verdeer''s narration ended at the arrival of Brickhouse and Gold Rush.


    "Hold on, Verdeer," Outreach stopped him. "Hyunmu, how exactly did you see your teammates arrive?"


    "I have a pill that grants temporary pericognition," I replied with my standard refrain. "My field of vision expands spherically up to one hundred meters or one hundred sixty four feet."


    "Right, did any of you know this?"


    "I did," Brickhouse said. "It''s in his file, sir."


    "I didn''t," Gold Rush pouted, still sulking from her run-in with Prestige. No one got an eyeful or anything, but she wouldn''t be getting over it anytime soon.


    "Verdeer?"


    "I knew he had enhanced senses because I saw him react to tourists and obstacles during our patrol that he shouldn''t have been able to see, but I admit I haven''t read his file in any real depth either."


    "That''s a mistake. Correct it," Outreach said sternly. "Not knowing what your teammate can bring to the table is unacceptable, especially for a tinker. Their files get updated practically on the weekly."


    "He wasn''t even allowed to do anything," Gold Rush huffed.


    "Yes," Agent Mitchell chimed in. "But that was on the grounds that none of the Wards were used to working with Hyunmu. That you had no idea he had enhanced senses only proves my point."


    "You kids get it so I won''t say any more on the matter. Now, Brickhouse, why did you go in?"


    "I went in on Agent Mitchell''s directions, sir. We decided that the risk of pitched combat was low and that letting Stage Crew use untested tinkertech for a potentially fatal magic trick was riskier than trying to take them down."


    "Good. Now let''s hear about the fight itself. Brickhouse?"


    "Showbiz used his drones to make some kind of irritating smoke and bright light that somehow didn''t interfere with each other. He then pulled out an invisibility cloak. Hyunmu was able to see them through the cloak. Gold Rush chased them but tripped and collapsed with all three of them.


    "I then trapped them all in a stone cylinder that Gold Rush ran out of. Prestige dismantled the wall by turning it into wax. Gold Rush decked Showbiz. She then ran circles to keep them in her trail. Showbiz used his drones to distract Verdeer and me. Then¡­ Gold Rush had an accident¡­ and then they got away in some kind of teleporter box that Showbiz pulled out."


    "Asshole did it on purpose," our mover grumbled. "I''m going to kill him."


    "Let''s not plan first degrees. We''re still a law enforcement agency last I checked," Outreach said dryly. "We''ll have to make sure that doesn''t happen next time. He''ll also have his rap sheet updated."


    Gold Rush leaned back into her seat with a huff. "Good."


    "Now, let''s talk about powers. What exactly did you notice about them that we didn''t know previously?"


    "Oh! Hyunmu was able to fool Masquerade''s thinker power. Any idea how you did that?" Mitchell asked. "Anything that can mess with a thinker is very valuable."


    I nodded. I''d thought about how I wanted to phrase this on the way back. "I do. He used his power to play that lying game so many times that it was pretty easy to figure out what his power did. If he hears a false statement, his power tells him what the truth is. Or something very close to that."


    "We already knew that."


    "Right. So I said that my life''s goal was to kill God and his power registered it as true. I mostly said that because I thought it''d get under his skin, but I think there are two possibilities for why my little prank worked.


    "First, I''m not religious. Or rather, I think there is a god out there, but I don''t ascribe to a concrete faith. Because the world ''god'' is a nebulous idea, ''to kill God'' with a capital ''g'' is likewise an equally ambiguous notion to me. It could be that since I don''t really know what I want myself, his power was unable to provide him an answer. In essence, it was a more elaborate version of saying, ''This statement is false.'' He then took that silence as truth."


    "That¡­ That''s very well thought out," Outreach said. "What was the other possibility?"


    I waved and my Ymelo glowed. "This. The details are a little complicated, but it''s an anti-master tool that''s synched to my unique biorhythm. There could have been an unexpected power interaction that kept him from reading me. This would be because his power enhances his cold-reading capabilities. Honestly? It could easily be a mix of both possibilities."


    ''Or just me trolling him with some harsh truths,'' I thought, amused. I couldn''t wait to fuck with Tattletale. 2010 couldn''t come fast enough in that regard.


    "You said it was light-based caffeine during our patrol," Verdeer noted.


    "I lied. It''s an anti-master ball. If masters don''t know I can counter them, having it might let me catch them by surprise."


    "And how do we know you''re not lying now? You really shouldn''t be able to lie so easily."


    "Ask Hero," I said with a shrug. "It is as I said. I have no reason to lie to my teammates."


    "Only to the public."


    "Absolutely."


    I thought Verdeer lost a bit of respect he had for me. Regrettable, but I stood by my decision.


    Outreach finished taking notes of the encounter. We then moved on to Prestige, though there were no changes from his extant dossier. Showbiz however, had debuted a few new inventions that we didn''t know about before, namely the invisibility cloak and a more robust hardlight drone. Apparently, he had used the "look at me" spotlights as distraction while the rest of Stage Crew robbed a bank in the past.


    "Good, this is all good information for next time," the Protectorate hero encouraged. "Now the hard part: What did you do wrong?"


    The room was silent. I didn''t think it was my place to criticize so I remained mum. Agent Mitchell clearly wanted to see what they had to say for themselves so likewise kept his peace. And the rest were teenagers; self-reflection was never going to be a strength of theirs. After a minute of the awkwardness, Brickhouse bit the bullet and spoke up.


    "I didn''t react in time. No, I wasn''t a good enough leader," he admitted sourly. "We were there watching their magic show for several minutes before their finale. I should have taken the time to prepare. I should have told Gold Rush to circle behind them and cut off their escape. Verdeer and I should have hit them from different sides. We had the time to plan and I wasted it."


    "It''s not all on you, Brick," Gold Rush said. "I''m the one who ran in headfirst. Twice. Just¡­ Showbiz¡­ ughhh!"


    "What''s your problem with the guy? You looked like you were out for blood," I asked.


    "He''s a sanctimonious hypocrite."


    "He seemed alright though? He didn''t do anything egregious that I could tell."


    "That''s because you''re new," Brickhouse filled me in. "He''s a lot more polished now, but he wasn''t always. In one of his first acts, he made a ring of fire that malfunctioned. It¡­ It got a friend of hers hurt."


    "And he still pretends it wasn''t his fault!" she exclaimed. "He goes on about how they''re gentleman thieves and how they don''t hurt anyone. Bullshit!"


    I held my hands before me placatingly. "Okay, he''s not a good guy. His inventions can be dangerous but not enough for a Protectorate response?"


    Brickhouse sighed. "Yep. He''s very polished now and some of his antics are funny, but not all."


    "Back to the debrief," Outreach tapped his pencil. "Verdeer?"


    "We should have involved Hyunmu more," he rumbled. "He could see through their invisibility but only Gold Rush followed him on it."


    "You have a point. None of the Wards are familiar with what he can do, but that doesn''t mean he''s helpless. Brickhouse, you plan for at least two weekly training sessions between the four of you."


    "Yes, sir. We already train Monday and Wednesday in the afternoon."


    "I''ll be there," I promised. "But¡­ Four? What about Whiteout?"


    "He doesn''t train with us because he''s usually on information security detail," my leader explained. "He gets told to shadow ambassadors and whatnot. I think he might have the highest security clearance out of all of us."


    "And he''s a smug jerk about it," Gold Rush huffed.


    "Enough," Outreach chided. "You will not badmouth a teammate. If that''s everything, I think we can break for the afternoon."


    I left with yet another obligation, but one I''d gladly uphold. While it was time away from tinkering, I was lacking in actual combat experience. There as only so much image training could do for me. I already had a solid foundation; it was time I started building on it.


    Author''s Note


    A bit longer than expected, but I wanted to wrap up Stage Crew''s intro scene. I won''t lie, I''m not too happy with it. Maybe it''s because I''m having a bit of trouble inserting a bit of levity and low-risk combat in an otherwise serious arc. Or maybe I''m just bad at writing fight scenes.


    Either way, if you as the readers felt a bit exasperated with Stage Crew and the District Wards, you were supposed to. Andy''s personal priority is obviously saving Hero. From the perspective of a protagonist who knows the stakes are high, a fight like this can''t help but seem like an unnecessary distraction. Alas, bureaucracy is bureaucracy and there is a limit to how little Andy can show himself in public.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.11 Ripples

    Ripples 4.11


    2000, August 29: Washington, DC, USA


    I kicked up towards my imagined opponent''s throat, really closer to their solar plexus considering my height, and spun with my own momentum, jumping into a flying knee towards what would be the small of his chin. Landing in a soundless crouch, I turned the downward momentum into a leg sweep before tucking my feet under me and rising with a cleaving elbow towards the kidney.


    All four strikes took less than three seconds. Fast for a normal person, barely adequate for an acolyte of the Shojin Monastery, a disciple of Wuju, or a student of Souma''s. Panting, I allowed my breath to calm and the mana flowing within my veins to still. The Ice relaxed me, washing my frustrations away as my mind was covered in new snow.


    No, I couldn''t allow myself to get frustrated. Progress would come with time. I was already excellent for a child. I knew for a fact that the masters I tried so hard to emulate spent decades honing their crafts.


    It was still cold comfort.


    I looked at the clock without turning my head. Six-thirty in the morning. Mom would wake up soon. On cue, I heard her alarm begin to chime as I settled in to meditate facing the sun. There was no specific reason for it. I couldn''t'' even see the sun from the living room, nor would it have mattered given my Oracle''s. In the end, I was a creature of habit and Master Yi had Wukong meditate this way.


    "Greet the dawn with a clear mind. Let your meditation harden your resolve for the trials of the day," he''d said.


    If it was good enough for the Monkey King, it was good enough for me.


    The living room was and odd mix of modern sensibilities and my own workout needs. We didn''t have a coffee table, but we did have a sofa and TV so mom could watch her Korean dramas and relax after work. Instead of the coffee table, we had a large, roll-up mat that I would roll out each morning to practice on. We did have very good blackout curtains though, wouldn''t want any nosy neighbors peering in on my sessions.


    I breathed in and felt mom begin to putter about in the kitchen. This was my solution for mom insisting on checking in on me during the night. I woke up earlier so I could greet her instead.


    "Good morning, mom," I said, legs crossed and eyes still closed.


    "Good morning, son. Did you have a nice workout?"


    "I did. It''s refreshing."


    "That''s good. What do you want for breakfast?"


    "Grilled mackerel?"


    I could feel her smile. "Are you afraid I''d say you''re not your father''s son? Namjoon loved mackerel too."


    "Fish is good for me."


    She chuckled lightly and returned to washing the rice, allowing me to delve deeper within.


    My mana had changed somewhat, and not just in the way it leapt to my metaphorical hands like an eager puppy. There was a coldness there that was absent before I''d merged with the Keystone. If I had to describe it, it wasn''t quite like ice manipulation so commonly found among anime and superhero comics. It was more like the Elven Rings of Power in Lord of the Rings, a metaphysical type of chill that gave me clarity, focus, and purpose.


    The glacier did not stop for anything. Neither would I.


    The actual ice manipulation was there, but most closely associated with invention. Runes of ice, methods to shape True Ice itself, and the science of endothermic reactions swirled in my brain as I allowed the World Rune to envelop me.


    ''Worldstone first. Explore all the other cool shit after you make sure Hero''s entrails aren''t spaghetti.''


    After breakfast came homeschool.


    I headed to the lab immediately after testing out of high school calculus. Tomorrow, I''d crash through advanced placement tests for physics, biology, and chemistry.


    In the end, Ms. Kosker had no choice but to agree to a greatly reduced homeschool schedule of three hours per weekday: one for world and national history, or "world issues" as Taylor knew it, the second alternatively for Korean language or music, and the third for my own personal reading, an elective period she insisted on to give me some breathing room from tinkering. This allowed me to end my compulsory education at noon, much like the Wards'' student-learning programs.


    When I got to my lab, I received the email form Metalmaru that the large fabricator at the center station could now handle Neo-Petricite. Good to know, but my focus remained on the Worldstone.


    I finished converting Water of Life and Petricite into fifty pounds of relic stone after that ridiculous patrol yesterday. The encounter with Stage Crew did show me one thing: Compared to the Wards, I was hilariously over-prepared and over-equipped. That made me feel a little better about putting my own costume on the backburner.


    Right now, I was knelt atop the relic stone, a large tablet of pristine, milky-white, marble-like stone. Despite the similar appearance to Petricite, it had wildly different properties. It was attuned to life and light magic specifically and lacked the mana-absorbent property unique to the Demacian wood. That was important: I could cut it with the plasma cutter function of my multi-tool.


    One of the details I''d overlooked was that a plasma-cutter fueled by mana would have trouble cutting Petricite for obvious reasons. It wasn''t some impossible hurdle; there were plenty of other ways to cut it without relying on the high-temperature exacto-knife, for example by waiting to transmute fossilized wood into Petricite until after I''d cut it into shape, but I was once again reminded of my own absent-mindedness.


    I spent the entire day swapping out between carving runes onto the Worldstone, making pills for my teammates, and meditating to regain my center and charge the Tear.


    By the end of it, I had sets of health pills, pills for iron, and even two Control Wards ready for each of the Wards. The next time we faced Stage Crew, they wouldn''t be reliant on my Oracle''s to see through Showbiz''s invisibility cloak.


    X


    I returned to my meditations right after dinner. This time, the focus wasn''t on training my body or infusing the Tear. Instead, I uncorked a bottle of crimson as red as blood.


    It tasted like blood. The coppery tang filled my tongue. It even had a citrusy-sour aftertaste going down. I wished I could devote some time to make this thing taste better, but there were better things to focus on.


    Then my metaphorical vision turned red as the Elixir of Wrath took hold. And with it came the benefits of Time Warp Tonic. My strength was increased half again. My body accelerated as my personal time ceased to flow in harmony with the world. There was so much energy flowing through me that I felt like I could headbutt a car and come out on top.


    I did my best to expend my energy in the basement, doing pushups that shoved my body six feet into the air. When that wasn''t enough, I pulled a Might Guy and started doing handstand pushups while balancing on my thumbs. This switched to seeing how fast I could punch the air. No, I wasn''t setting the air on fire with friction alone, but the whistling sound my fists made as they cleaved the air brought a smile to my lips.


    ''I wonder what would happen if I punched concrete?'' I thought.


    Then, before I could think things through, I wound back my right arm and struck down, stone cratering before my fist. I felt my knuckles pop and break, shooting lances of agony through my arm.


    "Fuck!"


    ''Reduced restraint, idiot,'' I chided myself as I reached for a health potion.


    The pain made me angry. My own lack of restraint made me angry. Then I got angry because that too was a sign of my loosening discipline. I-


    A blue glow suffused me as my Ymelo activated. Memories and emotions flooded me, reestablishing my identity. This wasn''t like me.


    And just like that, I had control again. The Elixir of Wrath induced a version of hysterical strength. Sure, there was magic involved, but that was the closest approximation. With the Ymelo, I could have its strength without sacrificing my inhibitions.


    I grinned widely. Yes, this would do nicely.


    X


    2000, August 30: Washington, DC, USA


    As promised, 1:00 PM found me in the Wards'' training ground. As expected, Whiteout was absent.


    "So, how does this work?" I asked. I''d chosen to appear in full regalia. The Blitzshield was strapped to my left forearm and Sobriety, my Petricite dagger, was sheathed at my left hip like a shortsword. The relic pistol was holstered on the opposite side and my Ymelo was shining merrily behind me, bathing me in a blue halo. A pouch on my belt contained pills of every potion I''d ever made.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The training studio was in the basement of the building reserved for Wards and Protectorate members. It was honestly very similar to the one I saw in Phoenix, if a little more advanced. There was a large sparring area with a myriad of sensors aimed that way. There were gym equipment and even some that were obviously tinkertech and designed for esoteric powers.


    Brickhouse grinned. "Glad you''re excited. Let''s start with the basics. You know what we can do, but we don''t know a whole lot about you. Want to enlighten us?"


    I nodded. "Make sense. I''m a tinker. I make things."


    "Wow, so specific. I feel enlightened," Gold Rush snarked.


    "That''s about as specific as I can get, actually. Look, the easiest way would be to give you a rundown of everything I''m packing, alright?" Seeing their nods, I continued by whipping my pistol out. "This is my relic pistol. It has no name yet. It can shoot lasers with enough force to punch through reinforced steel or only leave a bit of browning."


    "Another deception from your debut," Verdeer noted distastefully. "You seem to have a lot of secrets."


    "I do. Most of them, I''ll share with you. There are somethings that only Brickhouse gets to know about and a few more that only Hero and Metalmaru know."


    "It''s fine," Brickhouse reassured me. "Whiteout''s got a ton of stuff he doesn''t tell us either. This is DC. We''re used to it."


    "Good. Anyway, this is the Blitzshield. It can shock people, launch EMP blasts in a cone, and is also very, very durable."


    "So if you participated on Monday¡­"


    "I could have disabled everything Showbiz had and left them twitching wrecks on the ground. I did not because I was ordered not to."


    "Damn. Okay, and¡­ what''s with the knife?" Gold Rush pointed. "Are Wards allowed those?"


    "Only if you make it yourself and it''s verifiably tinkertech. Don''t worry about it. Safe to say, if I have any other option, I''m not using my emergency weapons."


    "Weapons? Plural?"


    "Ah¡­ Forget I said that?"


    "Nope. You have to tell us now."


    "Nope. Deal with it. If you ever see me draw my dagger, things will have truly gone to shit."


    "Ugh, you''re as bad as Whiteout."


    "Now, now," Verdeer said placatingly. "He can have his secrets. But remember, Hyunmu, we won''t always tell you everything either."


    I nodded. "That''s fine. I wouldn''t expect you to be open with me when I can''t with you. And mark my words. Can not. Not would not."


    "Fine, anything else?"


    I tapped the pouch on my belt. "This contains a set of pills that can do a few things, including grant me the pericognition that lets me see through invisibility, make me stronger, more durable, et cetera."


    "Huh, I see what you mean about not being able to describe your own specialization. You seem to have a bit of everything."


    "Yeah¡­ So, that''s all the stuff I''m willing to use in a normal patrol."


    "Do you actually know how to use your weapons?" Brickhouse questioned me. It was fair. I was rather heavily armed for a child.


    "Yup. I practice martial arts regularly and am confident that I could at least not embarrass myself with a gun."


    "Alright, how about a spar?"


    "Ooh! Me!" Gold Rush said, excitable as ever.


    "One on one against Gold Rush sound good to you, Hyunmu?"


    I nodded. "Sure, if she fights like how she punched Showbiz, this will be quick."


    "Ooh, you''re on, brat," she growled playfully. "I''ll have you know I box."


    "That''s not as intimidating as you think it is."


    "Gold Rush is a brute-two," Verdeer cautioned. "Her body is denser with stronger muscles, bones, and tendons than she appears at first glance to accommodate her running."


    I decided to tease her a little. "So you''re heavier? Rough."


    The room became silent and a chill went down my spine. "Don''t you know better than to comment on a lady''s weight?" she hissed.


    I did the only thing an eight year old would do. I doubled down with a shit-eating grin. "Lady? Where?"


    "Pint-sized brat."


    "Hero fangirl."


    "So what? You wish you could be as cool."


    "No, didn''t you hear me? I''m going to kill a god. I''ll be cooler."


    "You''re so weird."


    "And you''re heavy."


    "¡­ Get on the mat."


    "Should we stop this, leader?" our cervid friend asked worriedly.


    "Ehh, either this will teach Gold to stop underestimating capes based on their age or this will teach Hyunmu a lesson in humility. We''ll just make sure no one dies."


    X


    Gold Rush and I stared each other down from almost a hundred feet away. She twirled a handcuff on a finger and smirked at me. "We spar until one of us taps out or until someone can''t move anymore. Getting cuffed counts as a loss."


    "That''s fine."


    "Good. Brickhouse, call it?"


    "Sure. Three. Two. One!"


    She dashed towards me, leaving a trail of golden light with every footstep. If I had to guess, she had to be moving somewhere in the ballpark of eighty miles per hour. It was a bit slower than she''d shown the other day. Her speed still let her cross the hundred feet between us in under a second.


    I could see the triumphant grin on her face as she reached out towards me, cuff in hand.


    Unfortunately for her, a hundred feet wasn''t far enough away to be outside Oracle''s range. While I''d forgotten or overlooked some details before, here, she was the only possible target of my attention. I saw her coming the moment she started to move and my training kicked in.


    Most humans had an average reaction time to visual stimulus of approximately 0.2 seconds. Professional athletes had something closer to 0.15 seconds. I wasn''t quite an Olympian, but I wasn''t a normal person either.


    I stepped towards her and allowed my body to go through motions practiced tirelessly for months. I grabbed her outstretched wrist with my left hand even as I twisted and hip-checked her. My right elbow struck her kidney as she passed. Verdeer wasn''t lying; she was heavier than a girl her size should be, probably a good three times my weight. That didn''t matter. I didn''t need to send her flying like Team Rocket. I just needed to destabilize her center of balance. Her own speed took care of the rest.


    Her smug smirk turned into a look of shock and pain. She had time to squawk once before she tripped and started rolling ass over tea kettle. I noticed with some amusement that her golden trail broke apart the moment she lost control of her own movement.


    "That''s one point to me," I drawled. "Round two?"


    "Oww, did you have to hit me so hard?"


    "You''re a brute. And you were the one doing the moving. I just nudged you in the right direction."


    Brickhouse let out a low whistle. "Okay, so Hyunmu wasn''t kidding about the martial arts. That was really smooth."


    "Thank you," I said, giving him a smug bow with a flourish. When I rose again, a crimson pill was in m hand. I swallowed it with a cheeky grin. "You good?"


    "Yeah, I won''t be going easy on you anymore!" she shouted.


    At our leader''s call, Gold Rush charged me again. This time, she came at me a little slower, more mindful of her footwork. She tried to weave, almost like she was trying to avoid my counterattack.


    It didn''t work because I had no fancy tricks in mind. I held my hands out and braced myself. Power flooded me from the Elixir of Wrath a moment before two hundred ten pounds of teenage girl crashed into me. Her palms found my shoulders and she tried to cuff me without hurting me.


    "Wha-Hey!" I picked her up like a sack of potatoes and tossed her across the mat.


    "That''s two for me," I said, not a little smugly.


    "What the hell was that?"


    "Power pill. Well, it''s a bit more complicated than that, but," I patted my waist. "The pills I carry can have different effects. So, round three?"


    "Any chance we can get some of that?" Brickhouse looked very interested.


    "No, they loosen inhibitions and can drive you into a berserk rage. The side effects aren''t a problem for me because of my Ymelo, the anti-master thing. I''m basically self-mastering myself to not self-master myself."


    "Damn."


    "I do have something else, though you''ll have to practice using it. I''ll talk to Hero and make something¡­ after I beat Gold Rush like a drum a few more times."


    "You''re so not cute," she moaned.


    I pulled my shield from my back. "Round three? I still want to use this in a spar at least once."


    "If you don''t mind, I''d like to try," Verdeer said. "I want to know how strong you are like this."


    "Alright, but let me grow a few inches first," I said, popping a gray, metallic pill in my mouth. Mixing potions wasn''t usually a good idea, but I made sure to make sure mine were compatible with each other. All my potions needed to work together with my Oracle''s after all. Poisoning myself to death because I forgot I needed a potion to see sounded like a hilariously pathetic way to die.


    The green cervid and I squared off. Even with the extra height from the Elixir of Iron, Verdeer stood almost twice as tall as I did. That didn''t stop me though; I dashed forward and aimed a shallow jab to test him.


    He was¡­ not particularly trained. I reminded myself that Wards weren''t required to pick up a martial art beyond basic self-defense classes and that for all his intimidation factor, my antlered friend didn''t have any powers that made him a better combatant. His altered biology made him great at charging, he even had the skull padding commonly found among bighorn sheep, but his brute rating wasn''t otherwise anything impressive.


    I guided a sloppy punch away from me and kicked out his left leg, bringing him to one knee. I stepped on his knee and used an antler to pull myself up at the same time to knee him in the face.


    "Gah!"


    His hands came up automatically to protect his face, but my new shield, more manageable now that I had my elixirs active, spread his arms apart, letting me land another jab to his lower jaw. A final kick to his chest staggered him while launching me in a backflip that put twelve feet of distance between us.


    "You good or should we stop?"


    A wordless grunt followed as Verdeer lowered his head and charged. He tried to sweep me with his antlers and I blocked it with the Blitzshield. He was strong, but I could rip a small tree from the ground. His horns, as far as anyone could tell, were nearly indestructible, but that didn''t mean they were sharpened into monomolecular edges or anything. In fact, their durability made sharpening them virtually impossible.


    I skidded back a foot but otherwise remained still. Flipping my relic pistol into my hand, I loosed three shots directly to the top of his skull. He took those like a champ, the glowing bullets doing nothing to his thick skull.


    "Huh, so I can turn up the settings a bit then," I mumbled.


    He stood and shook his head. "Nah, we''re good. You''re a lot more than just mind games and secrets."


    "Thanks, you hit pretty hard too."


    "Pretty hard he says. What''s that shield made of?"


    "Neo-Petricite. Metalmaru and I made it in collaboration. It''s unique to me for now though I''m hoping I can get some of the tinkers outfitted."


    "Any chance we can get some of that?"


    "Maybe?" I tossed him the shield. "Catch."


    He hefted the cobalt-gray shield and examined the black turtle shell insignia. "Light."


    "Very. But yeah, I''d be open to making you something. Later. I don''t even have my own armor yet."


    "Fair enough."


    "Let me see," Gold Rush said. She dashed up and touched it. A moment later, her trails broke apart. "Woah, what?"


    "That''s what really makes Petricite alloys special," I explained. "Petricite has the power to cancel out powers. Not all of them, but most emissions. It''s why I''m never making one for Brickhouse. You wouldn''t be able to use it without shutting off your own power."


    "Damn. You''re immune to powers too?"


    "No. Some of them. Kind of?"


    "Tinkers are bullshit," he grumbled goodnaturedly.


    Gold Rush tried to run but found that she was limited to a normal speed while holding my shield. "Aww¡­ I wanted a fancy shield too."


    "Tough. A shield isn''t worth your powers."


    "I know¡­"


    We didn''t spar for the entire training session. After they got a good look at what I could do, we also discussed potential maneuvers and what we should do if faced with specific types of opponents. We then broke off to work on our own thing, with Gold Rush and Verdeer going off to do some balance training while Brickhouse tried to block every single bolt I fired his way. It wasn''t the best way I could spend my time, but I couldn''t deny that there was a relaxing quality to it.


    Author''s Note


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.12 Ripples

    Ripples 4.12


    2000, August 30: Washington, DC, USA


    Three hours later, I returned to my lab and worked to carve the last of the runes onto the Worldstone. Then, I dumped another fifty Mana Crystals into it to stabilize the enchantment.


    And I was done.


    Sort of.


    What I had was a pale stone tablet that wouldn''t be out of place in a museum. Hell, with the runes inscribed onto it, if I stood it up on its side, it looked kind of like the Code of Hammurabi. But, you know, white. With neater writing. And smaller. Forty-eight pounds of stone wasn''t actually that large in terms of volume.


    The runes engraved onto the Worldstone were actually on the bottom. I planned to make a relief of the greater DC metro area over the pristine topside. That, coupled with eight focusing wards buried at the edges of the metro area would allow the District Protectorate to teleport to anywhere in our jurisdiction with the help of the Wayfinder. In the event of catastrophe, we would even be able to evacuate significant portions of the populace using this method.


    More than that, Cauldron kept Doormaker and Clairvoyant to itself though they could have been used to organize large-scale evacuations and emergency responses. If this project got off the ground, I could make it the public option before Strider ever came along. Visions of a giant Worldstone, one that depicted the entire globe on its face, made me almost salivate with anticipation. The more I worked at this, the more I realized that my little project had the potential to grow beyond just saving Hero.


    But this idyllic vison depended on me being able to craft more than one Wayfinder. The Wayfinder wasn''t originally a tool in every sentinel''s arsenal. It was a weapon made for the Rookie Sentinel, a nameless protagonist who accompanied Lucian and Senna on their mission to stop the Black Mist. Lucian had initially wanted to take the Wayfinder and ditch the rookie, but the Wayfinder was inseparably linked to him and would answer to no other.


    In the future, I planned to make Wayfinders that weren''t attuned to an individual, but with Hero''s that connection was critical. Similar to the Ymelo, I wanted to include an automatic evacuation function, something that would activate when he got injured, just in case he was too bullheaded to get out when the situation called for it.


    That meant tying his soul to a weapon.


    Not every Sentinel was a mage. Lucian wasn''t. Neither was Sarah Fortune when she was deputized. For that matter, Shauna Vayne absolutely loathed magic of all sorts and went out of her way to murder anyone who even vaguely smelled like a mage¡­ including her own adoptive mother. The ability to channel mana actively wasn''t a prerequisite to wielding a relic weapon.


    A soul attuned to light, a desire to do righteous deeds, and the conviction to fight were more important. Vayne was proof that these desires did not have to be enacted in productive ways, only that they exist. A heart full of righteous conviction was what was truly important. As embarrassing as it was to admit, relic weapons worked very much on shounen anime logic: Power of friendship and a heart of justice surpassed all.


    If Shauna Vayne could be attuned to a relic weapon, Hero was a no brainer.


    The trouble was, Vayne at least knew that the soul existed. She was familiar with the idea of a magic weapon, even if she loathed them with every fiber of her being. It didn''t take her long to learn to draw mana from her soul and empower her crossbow. Hero¡­ didn''t even know for sure that souls were real, quantifiable things.


    And I had no time to teach him. I could make the Wayfinder. Then, I''d have to spend the entire time making an advanced healing draught just in case he got himself bisected.


    I did what I always did when troubled: I sat down to meditate as I wracked my brain for alternative options.


    Several hours later, I arrived at one: blood magic. I could use a different medium to bridge the gap between body and soul.


    If Hero couldn''t channel magic consciously, I would make a runic matrix that did it for him. The power would come from his own soul, but the matrix would monitor his body and teleport him to the Worldstone if it took too much damage. A drop of blood was all that was needed.


    Plan thusly made, I packed up another eight pounds of Petricite to work with at home.


    X


    2000, September 2: Washington, DC, USA


    Three days later, I looked upon my newest creation with pride. I even heard an earful from Raquel and Yasmine for being distracted the night prior during our weekly check-ins. In my defense, she had terrible taste in movies; I saw A Bug''s Life several times across both lives and it never failed to put me to sleep.


    The Wayfinder was a gun made of pristine white stone, much like my own relic pistol. The grip was made of some strange black metal that always felt warm to the touch. That''s where similarities ended. It looked a little flat, almost as though someone had taken the slide and barrel of a handgun off the stock and ground the stock into a mirror sheen. The top of the gun had a stylized compass rose embossed in gold and the black metal of the grip was engraved with countless runes so intricately carved that they almost felt like something textured by a machine for better handling.


    All that was left was to attune it to Hero.


    Unfortunately, the man was down in Tampa Bay, off fishing with the local Wards. Here I was trying to save his life and he. Was. Off. Fishing¡­


    I growled audibly, teeth clenched hard enough to hurt. I wanted to scream when I heard that. He was... a genuinely good guy. Penelope and David told me about how, during his tour of different Wards programs, he dropped by Phoenix and took the Wards to the Arizona Chinese Lantern Festival. From the few conversations I''d had about him with Jonathan, my new Wards leader made it clear that Hero''s priority was making sure us Wards got to live our lives as children. Hell, Pyro even told me once about how Hero gave him a signed copy of Back to the Future because that was a favorite sci-fi movie for both of them.


    The fishing thing wasn''t new or unusual for him. By all accounts, he just wanted to see kids smile. Everyone liked Hero because he was a genuinely good guy who wanted to help people for no other reason than to see them happy.


    It wasn''t his fault that he was out making sure the Wards were doing alright. He literally didn''t know any better. He didn''t know that the one most at risk was himself.


    "I can''t fucking believe this," I mumbled. "Is this the curse of Wildbow? May no good deed go unpunished?"


    With a frustrated sigh, I put aside my Wayfinder and picked up one of my other critical projects, the Elixir of Life.


    Assuming the Wayfinder''s automatic retreat function worked, it would drag Hero to the Worldstone in whatever condition he happened to be in, which could range from a punctured lung to "entrails hanging like spaghetti," leaving me to repair the damage the Siberian wrought. In an ideal world, his injuries would be treatable with a few health potions and a team of surgeons, but if this were an ideal world, it wouldn''t be called Earth-Bet.


    More than likely, I''d find the literal Cauldron golden boy in pieces, staining my nice floor red.


    "But¡­ what if I''m too slow? Or, what if I''m not there? What if I''m out on patrol or grabbing lunch or taking a shit? Or the meeting takes place at night as so many clandestine meetings do and he gets teleported here, only for no one to be there to help him?"


    An alarm was the obvious solution.


    In fact, even if I did nothing, any unauthorized means of entry into the building would spark a dozen different alerts. Even I had my identity confirmed three times before being allowed entry each day: once by facial recognition, a second by magnetic fob, and lastly by being asked to identify a picture from behind a wall. The inventions here weren''t the kinds of things anyone would be comfortable losing. The staff here was used to teleportation tech thanks to Warptek and while I wouldn''t call the defenses robust, countermeasures designed to reduce response time did exist.


    And they were too slow. I didn''t need the staff to respond. I needed to respond and I could potentially be all the way in Clarendon.


    The staff responding to an emergency teleport then shutting the building down for investigation would actually slow my own arrival, and that''s assuming I found a way to get here at all. A bisected Hero would have mere minutes at most until his brain started to shut down, if shock didn''t take care of that already.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Hexflash extended to any location I could perceive, but I couldn''t teleport to a video feed; I''d tried. That meant I''d need a way to treat Hero even without my presence.


    I pondered the dilemma and settled on the easiest solution: I was going to build him a fish tank and stick my Worldstone inside. If I filled it with some sort of Elixir of Life, he''d land in it as he teleported to the Worldstone and treatment could commence without my involvement.


    Fuck it, that was the plan. Operation: Fish Bowl. He could be my goldfish until he recovered.


    With that morbidly amusing thought, I got to work processing as much Water of Life as I could.


    X


    2000, September 3: Washington, DC, USA


    If I wanted to make a potion capable of healing any wound regardless of severity, a true Elixir of Life, I''d need a solid hundred Mana Crystals. Compared to the single crystal used for each health potion and two per pill, it was a truly astronomical amount.


    That I could afford it with a little less than seven hours of meditation put into stark relief just how far I''d come.


    No lie, that realization felt damn good.


    I spent all of yesterday acquiring enough crystals. I even put aside infusing the Tear to rush this.


    Now that I had enough crystals, I infused each crystal one by one into a single vial of the Water of Life. It wasn''t about quantity, but quality. A hundred bottles of the tainted Water of Life wouldn''t be worth a single pure vial. I continued, one by one, until I had a fluid so heavily saturated with mana that it glowed blue, so dense that the bottle would explode if I tried to infuse a single crystal more.


    Then I filled a bowl with health potions before stirring in the true Water of Life drop by drop. Honestly? If I had to make a mundane comparison, it felt a little like emulsifying olive oil and egg yolks to make mayo. It was a painstakingly slow process, but a full fifty minutes later, I finished.


    The liquid in the bowl was thick, almost like maple syrup, and a blend of the health potion-red and crystal-blue of the Water of Life. It glistened like the purest amethyst, the kind of rich violet that Roman emperors would have killed to have.


    But even then, the outward appearance was a mere footnote to what the Oracle''s Elixir revealed to me.


    When people asked about the elixir, I often called it pericognition and compared it to sight. While sight was the most relatable parallel, the truth was that the elixir could show me so much more. In the privacy of my own mind, I likened it more to an overlay, a hybrid of both physical and magical senses that allowed me to see magic as it was being woven. Truthfully, I counted this as the primary reason for my rapid advancement in highly complex fields like alchemy and runecraft.


    And the Elixir of Life was positively radiant to my senses. The Water of Life was mana-rich too, but not like this. From memory to healing, water to plants, the water by itself was a powerful relic of life, but one without concrete direction. It was potential, plain and simple. Mixing it with the health potions had a focusing effect, narrowing down its myriad affinities to one centered on healing and healing alone.


    My actions were almost reverent as I poured it into a vial.


    This, this was a potion that could heal absolutely every injury and malady, from a mangled spine to the most severe examples of blastoma. So long as the target breathed, it would restore them to optimal health, even reversing staving off the effects of age for a time.


    I paused.


    "I could have my eyesight back," I whispered.


    It was obvious in hindsight. Anything that could knit someone back together after being sawn in half was almost guaranteed to be powerful enough to regrow a few eyeballs. If I drank it, I could have my eyes back. I could stop being reliant on the Oracle''s Elixir. I could¡­


    "Could¡­ what?" I wondered. What exactly did I gain that the Oracle''s Elixir did not already provide? Would this make me a better tinker? A better inventor? Could I build more things if I had functional eyes? I''d gotten so good at making the Oracle''s Elixir that infusing a single crystal''s worth of mana was the work of but a single moment.


    The answer, I reluctantly admitted to myself, was no. I gained nothing. Having eyes would not make me a better craftsman. I would still end up brewing a small lake''s worth of Oracle''s so I could better sense the magic as I engraved it into my runes or infused it into my potions.


    I thought of mom. I hadn''t been outside in my civilian identity since we got to DC for the same reason we''d insisted on me being homeschooled. An Asian boy with a single mother and distinctive scars across his empty eye sockets was rather noticeable after all. Pretending to be blind just wasn''t worth the hassle.


    ''But¡­ if I''m not blind anymore¡­'' I thought. ''The Elixir of Life might not make me a better craftsman, but it might be worth it just for mom''s peace of mind¡­ Later¡­ After Hero comes Leviathan. Then I should have a few months until Elisburg. Yeah¡­ later¡­''


    Thus decided, I paid a visit Pyro''s workstation.


    "What''s up, Hyunmu?" the chubby definitely-not-Mario asked as I walked up to him.


    He was stooped over his gear, a large, twin-barreled bazooka-like jetpack. He typically wore the contraption strapped on his back with the twin barrels facing down. The barrels could each rotate over his shoulders and act as artillery. It was heavy, which was why he wore an exoskeleton helped distribute and support its weight. I had no idea if the exoskeleton was supposed to look like a mechanized pair of suspenders, but if it was truly an accident, the similarities were positively delicious.


    "I need you to build me an aquarium."


    "You¡­ What?"


    "I want an aquarium."


    "Kid, go to a pet shop."


    "It needs to be big enough for a person. Preferably about six and a half feet tall. Maybe seven."


    He finally turned from his jet-zookas and leveled me with an unimpressed stare. "I don''t like where this conversation is headed."


    "Why? A person-sized aquarium isn''t too much to ask for, right?"


    "Why can''t you bug Metalmaru about this?"


    "Because he doesn''t have welding tools to build a plexiglass container that large. And he''s in a meeting with Director Byron."


    "Of course he is." He sighed, but finally decided to humor me. "Fine. Why do you want an aquarium? Why does it need to fit a person?"


    "You know about the healing potions?"


    "Right." The dots connected. "You want to make a healing tank."


    I nodded. His approval was the real reason I was here. It wasn''t too hard to build a container for the Elixir of Life on my own but as a Ward, there were limits to new materials I could order without oversight. Any Protectorate tinker could give me permission, but Pyro just happened to be available, and the most approachable. "Yeah. I think it''d be great to have around. You know, just in case. The potions are great stopgaps, but¡­"


    "Alright, fine. You know, not everything needs to be built in-house. Like, we can just order something like this. You know that, right?"


    "Who sells aquariums this large?"


    "Dunno, that''s for someone else to figure out. I''m sure it''s going to be a special order, but whoever supplies the National Zoo should be able to manage it. Every procurement request from us gets marked for rush delivery anyway. It''ll arrive in a few days at most."


    "That''s great. Thanks, Pyro. Owe you one."


    "Sure, bud. You need anything else?"


    "Nah, I''m good. Thanks."


    As I walked back to my station, I thought about what else I wanted to do today.


    The answer was obvious: Potions.


    Leviathan would hit Naples the day after Hero''s would-be death. I wasn''t about to enter an endbringer fight. The thought of drawing near the ocean normally made me uneasy. The thought of drawing near the ocean during a Leviathan attack¡­


    The world swam around me.


    My chest felt tight. I couldn''t breathe.


    It was cold. The chill of the waves reminded me why I couldn''t.


    I couldn''t¡­


    Then the Ymelo flashed with spiritual flame and I was whole again. The wave of clarity washed away my thalassophobia like winds blowing clear the clouded sky. It was only a moment, but in that moment, I was taken back to Busan.


    There was a good reason I tried not to think about Leviathan.


    No, no I would not be attending that fight. My mom might actually die of a heart attack if I tried; she was even worse than I was.


    As it was, my combat abilities were lackluster at best. Theoretically, if I could reach the core, my Minion Dematerializer might be able to convert enough mass to mana to destabilize it, but I that was a big if. An endbringer''s body became denser layer by layer, exponentially increasing in mass, the exact thing my Dematerializer scaled off of. And even if, by some miracle, I got a hit off on the core and the core destabilized, Leviathan would be taking me with him. And likely most of Italy if not more. Behemoth''s canonical demise had not been quiet and I had no reason to believe his brother wouldn''t explode catastrophically too.


    So, potions it was. "Rubedo" would make a quiet return, contributing crates upon crates of potions for the defenders. Why had no one seen him thus far?


    Why, surely an asset like him needed to be defended at all costs. He was living a quiet, productive life away from potential dangers, thank you very much. Rest assured that he will contribute in his own way¡­


    X


    Sunday turned out to be quite productive.


    With the prospect of Hero''s impending doom looming over my head, I had to put aside a few projects and paths I wanted to explore. Now that I''d done as much as I could, I turned back to one of them, the Sunstone Talismans.


    With my constant experimentation and studying, the runic matrix had been written out days ago. I''d even tested it in my basement by engraving it onto a plywood charm, not unlike one you''d find in a Shinto temple. I drank an Elixir of Wrath then activated the talisman much as I''d done to test the Ymelo.


    The runic matrix channeled mana like an electrical circuit, activating each individual rune in the sequence I''d designed. First, the power storage that soaked up my mana like a sponge. Second to activate was the conversion rune that attuned this mana to the concepts of memory and purity. Third, the spell-weaving rune, one designed to weave a spell that would purge the target of outside influence. Lastly, a runic sequence poured that spell-laden mana back into me, all the while modulating the amount to be safe for normal humans.


    The plywood? It shattered into a thousand pieces that shot jagged splinters into my hand. I did feel a trickle of the cleansing spell enter my body though. After much swearing, a pair of tweezers, and a healing potion, I worked out what went wrong.


    If I needed an object lesson in why the material composition of my works mattered, I got one.


    The wood was not Helian Sunstone. It had no affinity for memories, nor was it built to handle the quantity of mana I was trying to process. That had greatly reduced the effects of the spell and overtaxed the fragile medium, causing it to shatter.


    Lesson learned but finally ready to craft with actual Sunstone, I got to work and knocked out four Sunstone Talismans before bed. They were one-time use items and would only grant clarity for three minutes, but they wouldn''t shatter and could be recharged by yours truly.


    One more way to be indispensable.


    Author''s Note


    The Code of Hammurabi is the oldest written codex of laws composed in the mid-1700s BC by the Babylonians. It''s got absolutely zero relevance to this fic. I just happen to like mythology and anthropology.


    There are three modes of security identification: who you are, what you have, and what you know. Two factor authentication that banks sometimes insist on these days addresses two of these by asking you to use your cell phone (what you have) alongside your password (what you know). The Madhouse is using all three: Andy''s face (who you are), the fob (what you have), and what you know (a password only Andy would be able to retrieve each day).


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.13 Ripples

    Ripples 4.13


    2000, September 4: Washington, DC, USA


    I wasn''t surprised to find myself back in the temple. If anything, it was worrying that the World Rune took this long to ignite. Would each rune following a Keystone take more effort to activate? Or perhaps, did the World Rune consider the Wayfinder incomplete because it had yet to be attuned to Hero? Maybe the Worldstone was seen likewise because it lacked a paired Wayfinder? Even without the Wayfinder, I''d built quite a bit since the activation of Glacial Augment.


    I worked with Metalmaru to develop Neo-Petricite, a material more durable than any conventional metal alloy that retained Petricite''s mana-absorbent properties. I completely revamped my Blitzpack into the Blitzshield, refining several of its more slapdash properties and even adding other features like Blitzcrank''s Power Fist. I created the Ymelo and Sunstone Talismans, making myself all but immune to emotional masters while giving myself a way to use the Elixir of Wrath safely.


    "What aren''t you telling me?" I addressed the swirling slice of infinity. "Will I plateau eventually? Or are you telling me to seek out greater challenges like a parahuman?"


    As always, silence was my answer.


    I took a deep breath and set aside my grumblings. My dissatisfaction wasn''t with Inspiration, not truly. I understood that having access to a World Rune without my very existence crumbling to dust was an immense boon. As with so many things in life, bitterness and frustration were conscious choices and I made an effort to be content.


    No matter the exact circumstances, I was here again. Once again, I had the opportunity to reach out and snag a piece of the World Rune for myself, to augment my soul in ways most people could only dream of.


    A smile broke over my face as I climbed the steps to the altar. One day, perhaps I would understand.


    That smile died as the nearest node leapt into my hands. It merged with my soul and the censer representing it lit up like a torch in the night.


    "Well¡­ fuck," I sighed even as I tried to suppress a laugh. I poked Inspiration straight in its core. "Are you sure you''re not the Rune of Cosmic Irony or something? At least my soul doesn''t feel like it''s being replaced with liquid nitrogen this time."


    If anything, I felt utterly refreshed, comforted like I''d woken up groggy but walked into the most delightful bakery run by a Michelin three-star baker. The alluring aroma of fresh bread filled my nose, filling my body with renewed vigor. If the idea of "the perfect morning" could be distilled into a singular feeling, this was it.


    There was no question as to which rune this was. "Biscuit Delivery, really?" I laughed. "I make an elixir to cure all ills and you make me the finest baker in the world. I swear there''s a joke in here somewhere."


    Was Inspiration telling me to be happy? To take each day as it came? Or was I reading too much into this?


    For all my griping, I was pretty copacetic with my new rune. Like the Dematerializer, I could activate Biscuit Delivery thrice per day, conjuring a palm-sized biscuit in my hand.


    These biscuits, called the Total Biscuits of Everlasting Will, were not only cosmically ordained to be the most delicious biscuits ever, but also contained all nutrients necessary for healthy living. I and two others could live the rest of our lives on nothing but these biscuits. Better, they were bullshit-magical and would not interfere with any normal diet. If anything, they would encourage optimal physical development, as perfect a body as genetics would allow.


    Comparatively, the knowledge of baking techniques seemed trivial. From cookies to wedding cakes, eclairs to deep-dish pizza, if it belonged in an oven at some point, I could make it. For a moment, I had an all-consuming urge to make a spear out of a baguette, but I had to throw that dream away. Beyond my supernatural skill, there were no additional magical effects.


    "Watch¡­ PR''s going to saddle me with my own cooking show by the end of the year."


    X


    2000, September 6: Washington, DC, USA


    I spent the past two days making potions in bulk. Forget about the Elixir of Life. Forget about perfectly portioned vials. I made health potions in fifty gallon drums used in sporting events. Quality could go take a hike; this was all about quantity. Filled drums were being taken out of the Madhouse to be separated into six fluid ounce bottles, which would be handed out to movers for the next Leviathan fight so they could stabilize capes before evacuating them to the medical tent.


    I also planned to make Elixirs of Iron for the brute squad, though those would need to be turned into pills so as to keep them from being spilled. Wrath wouldn''t be seeing much use. Inhibited decision-making sounded like a horrible idea amidst an endbringer fight.


    On another note, my aquarium arrived. I spent an hour and a half rigging up a sensor that would release the Elixir of Life into the water when it sensed something entering the tank. The Worldstone was placed at the center of the tank. Over it was a thin laser. When that laser was disrupted from reaching the opposite wall of the tank, it would send a signal to the container that held the elixir. In essence, it was an over-engineered mousetrap.


    After I conducted some tests using normal potions, I triple checked to make sure that a tank of water would not in fact dilute the Elixir of Life. The effect was magical; physical properties seldom had an impact, especially not on a potion this potent. The contraption was armed once again and the elixir removed, ready to be placed closer to the date.


    X


    Following lunch came my scheduled appointment with Hero.


    Hero''s station in the Madhouse was the one closest to the main entrance. Metalmaru told me he placed it there so everyone would have to walk by it in the morning and he could greet us all. That he wasn''t in DC half the time because of an emergency or celebrity dinner or whatever kind of defeated the purpose, but he was still by far the most approachable boss I''d ever had.


    It also meant he saw me coming long before I was in speaking distance.


    The man was fiddling with a large gun almost the size of a coffin, something I was more comfortable seeing attached to the top of a jeep than carried by a person. Instead of six cylindrical barrels on a rotary system like a minigun, it had a single rectangular barrel that ran the whole length and width of the cannon. The body was painted shiny chrome blue with gold accents that matched Hero''s bodysuit. Frankly, it looked almost comical, like something that might be drawn by a child who''d just seen a Gundam episode than a real gun.


    I knew better. That thing was his disintegration cannon. When fired, it would launch a laser with the properties of Eden''s version of the Stilling, destroying anything and everything in its path. So far, the only things that we knew could conclusively stop it were the two endbringers. Even they took significant damage, though only I knew it to be cosmetic at this time. If I had to guess, Hero''s understanding of the Stilling wasn''t quite complete. Or, his Shard wasn''t operating at full capacity much like Eidolon''s own.


    One more thing to think about for later.


    "Hero," I called. "Do you have some time?"


    He turned and gave me a smile. "Yeah, can you give me a few minutes to finish this up? The amplifier needs adjusting. I think I can make it .12 percent more effective if I adjust its frequency output." I nodded and leaned against a wall to wait. He reached a good stopping place after four minutes and put aside the weapon to face me. "Sorry about that, I know you said you had something you wanted to talk about. I saw your email but I guess I lost track of time. We should''ve gone for lunch again."


    "It''s fine. I ate already. I came to tell you that I finished making the Worldstone and Wayfinder." I presented him with the gun. "I want you to help me test it."


    "Didn''t you tell me that no one could use it but you?" he asked with a quirked brow. "No one else can produce mana, right?"


    "Something like that, but it''s not a hard and fast rule. I made the Control Wards, remember? The runic matrix is kind of elaborate and makes all the other calculations more complex so I don''t like making it, but it''s doable. Anyway, this is the Wayfinder."


    "And you need someone else to test it out to make sure that anyone can use it?"


    I nodded and proffered the gun to him.


    He pulled off his work gloves and held the gun in one hand before miming taking a shot. "There isn''t a trigger though. I don''t even see any seams or joints. How do you activate this?"


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    I pulled out my own relic pistol and showed him the finger placements. "Here, adjust your fingers a bit like this. Yeah, just like a normal handgun, but without a trigger so your index finger goes here instead. Then take your other hand and put your thumb out onto the compass rose insignia. Mine doesn''t have one."


    "Okay ¨C ouch!" He almost dropped the pistol and brought his now bleeding thumb to his mouth to suck.


    "Good, now that thing''s attuned to you," I said happily. Even after going through all my preparations, the big question remained: How was I going to get Hero''s blood? The answer, as with most answers, laid with my runes, the same runic matrix disguised as a compass rose. That, and simply not asking for permission. I didn''t want to scrap this plan after coming so far just because Hero didn''t like giving blood.


    Should I have thought of this before? Probably. Was it one more proof that I wasn''t the most detail-oriented person? Absolutely.


    Was I turning into Urahara? I saw nothing wrong with that. Hell, give me six months and I''d have a divine-tier fan and bucket hat to match.


    "And that means?" he leveled me with a pointed glare. "Is this thing even sanitized?"


    I let out an indignant scoff. "Of course it is. And don''t worry, I don''t need your blood anymore. I was serious about that Wayfinder being yours. It just needed to get a biological sample to start. Now, no one else will be able to use it but you, except me, but I''m kind of an exception for obvious reasons. Even better, you know how my Ymelo works, right?"


    "Right¡­"


    "Well the gun has a similar scanning function. If your body takes too much damage, it''ll automatically make a gate to the lab, evacuating you."


    "Hyunmu, I''m not happy with this. Taking other people''s blood without their permission is a big violation of their privacy," he said sternly. "You should have simply explained it before giving me the gun."


    "I''m not taking your blood. The Wayfinder is yours. I don''t want it back," I defended.


    "Even so. You should have asked."


    I did my best impression of a kicked puppy. Puppy eyes were kind of hard for me, not having any and all, but I''d be damned if I didn''t try my best. I kicked my feet dejectedly and looked down at the ground. "You made me my bodysuit so I wanted the first attuned item to be yours¡­"


    "Stop that," he snapped. "You''re not good at the pouting child act."


    "Yeah, I''m sorry. I promise not to do it in the future," I said solemnly. I was even honest, too. This was a bit of an emergency. "Will you help me test it?"


    "Promise?"


    "Promise."


    "I''m signing you up for a course on laboratory ethics anyway."


    "Wha-"


    "Consider it your punishment," he said plainly.


    "Already took it when I first signed on with the Wards."


    "Good, you get the extended remedial version then."


    "I can''t though."


    "Why not?"


    "I''m making a stockpile of potions for the endbringer fight. It''s coming up, right? Sometime this month or October?"


    He nodded slowly and ran his fingers through his blonde locks before letting out a frustrated sigh. "You shouldn''t have to worry about things like this."


    "Well, I''m the only medical tinker on record so it is my business. Trust me, brewing eight hours a day isn''t exactly my idea of a fun time either. Besides, it''s not like I''m going to the fight." I forced down the queasy shiver that ran through me at the thought. "Ain''t no amount of money the director can pay me to make me go. Anyway, help me test this so I can get back to potions?"


    "Fine, but you''re taking the course as soon as the attack is over. No excuses."


    I gave him a smug grin and a crisp salute. "Yes, sir."


    He muttered something unintelligible and likely unflattering about me under his breath. "Okay, so how does this work?"


    "Hold it in your hand like I showed you. Good. Now, focus. Imagine a stream. Of anything. It can be a well of water or a ray of light or even a spider web. Just imagine a connection between you and the Wayfinder." I smiled as the gun in his hand began to glow. Hero wasn''t a magical prodigy, but my runes were making up for his lack of familiarity. The Wayfinder was using his blood to sense his intent and drawing on his mana, all without his active input. He wasn''t an infinite mana battery like me, but his soul did produce some, had to or he wouldn''t exist in the first place.


    "Holy shit," he whispered.


    "Hey, I''m an impressionable youth or something." I snarked. I ignored the withering look he sent me. "Glowing means it''s working. Now all you have to do is to want to open a portal. Then, fire."


    "How do you fire a gun without a trig-"


    Before he could even finish, it shot out a shimmering beam that traveled two feet ahead of him before expanding into a circle, roughly eight feet in diameter. I could sense the other side. The portal led directly into the tank, mere feet from the Worldstone. A part of me was afraid that the water from the tank would spill onto Hero''s floor, but I reminded myself that the Wayfinder was a one-way street. The gun was the starting point, always.


    I was confident in my creation, but Hero insisted on taking the Worldstone out of the tank so we could run more elaborate tests. He took us both to one of the specialized labs dedicated to radiation and ensured I wasn''t poisoning myself or anything. Naturally, I wasn''t.


    After turning on more scanners and doodads than I could identify, we began by closing and reopening the portal. Hero found that with a bit of concentration, he could make the portal anywhere within a few feet of the Worldstone. Then, we tossed in simple, nonliving matter to confirm that the portal would not fluctuate or damage the things that passed through.


    Hero also managed to requisition a lab rat from somewhere, a snow-white fluffball with ruby-red eyes.


    "Her name is Lily," he said with a grin. "Want to hold her?"


    I took the rat from him, making sure to cradle her gently and let her run through my hands like a treadmill. "Sure, but¡­ how many Lilys are there?"


    "One," he said, a bit quickly.


    Looking at him suspiciously, I asked, "How many Lilys were there?"


    "It''s all in the name of science, okay?"


    "You''re not making me feel better."


    "Rat mortality is actually lower than you think, you know. We''re very careful here and most tinkertech either can''t be tested on rats, get field-tested before we''re fully ready because tinkers are still capes, or are benign enough that animal testing isn''t applicable at all."


    "¡­ Sure¡­"


    "What? Did you think we microwave rats for fun?"


    I thought about Armsmaster making a miniature power armor for a rat, "for maximum efficiency," or something, then accidentally frying it. I snorted. "Okay, fair enough. We can send Lily through, right? Then, will you believe me that this portal''s safe?"


    "It''s not that I don''t believe you," he reassured me. "It''s just good practice. Safe is always better than sorry."


    "Yeah, I get it. In you go, Lily."


    We put Lily back into the cage and pushed her through via remote-operated cart. The portal didn''t even hitch and Lily, cart and all, emerged onto the other side of the room none the worse for wear.


    "Get anything with your scanners?"


    Hero nodded excitedly, eyes dazzling like a small child''s. "Yeah, a little. Whatever this "mana" is, it''s not something I''ve ever encountered before. I can draw similarities to light, electricity, or even sound, but they all seem superficial. It''s like there''s a whole other dimension that I''m not equipped to analyze. This is awesome!"


    "Haha, yeah, it''s like that with all the other tinkers, too, right?"


    "Yup. This is why I set up the Madhouse. Tinker specializations rarely overlap and even when we make something basic like a raygun, everyone does it a little differently, applying slightly different principles or calculations that only make sense to them. It''s like a great big puzzle, you know? I can''t help but wonder what we could do if we all understood each other."


    ''And there''s the dreamer in him,'' I thought, though not unkindly. It was unfortunate that Hero''s dream would never come true. No matter how much he studied, how hard he worked, or how many tinkers he gathered in the Madhouse, he''d never understand another tinker completely. There was a significant part of tinkertech that was Shard-assisted bullshitry. Too much deviated from concrete science for his dream to be possible. ''Pity that¡­''


    "Is this the real reason you wanted me in here? To inspire you?" I teased.


    "No, I mean, it''s part of it, but testing is important, Hyunmu."


    "I know, I know, I''m only kidding. So, will you keep the pistol?"


    He mulled it over. "Yeah, you know what? I think I will. Even if it only lets me portal back here, it''ll still shave me a few hours off my flight time," he said. It wasn''t as though he could tell me about Doormaker.


    "You have to wear it in-costume. I don''t care if you stick it in a pocket and never use it, but promise me you''ll have it with you?" I demanded as sincerely as an eight year old could.


    "Alright, I promise."


    "Great, thanks, Hero. This means a lot to me."


    "Don''t mention it. Also, has Powell reached out about your first solo PR event?"


    I groaned. I''d been trying to avoid thinking about that. I received an email a few days ago and¡­ just¡­ not replied. Sure, I was playing into tinker stereotypes, but if drowning myself in legitimate work was the best way to keep him off my back, I''d take it.


    "I got the email a few days ago," I admitted reluctantly. "Why?"


    "Because he''s been riding me to give you some free time. And seeing your schedule this past week, I agree."


    I glanced down at a watch I didn''t have. "Oh, look at the time. I must be getting to that ethics course. Guess I have no room in my extremely busy schedule for a meaningless PR stunt," I drawled, tone as dry as the Sahara, and turned to walk away.


    Hero reached out and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck. "Nope. Stay."


    "But I have work to do." I didn''t whine; I expressed my displeasure professionally and courteously.


    "You do, but some time off isn''t bad either. Your hours are almost as bad as mine. And I said your ethics course can be done later."


    "Because of potions. For Leviathan."


    "Which is very important," he conceded, "but not so important that I want you doing nothing else. Two hours at a PR function won''t kill you."


    "Oh, so I can put off class but not the cameras? Methinks you''ve got your priorities mixed up," I snarked.


    "The course is a two week long seminar on laboratory protocols, bioethics, and necessary deception. You can''t spare two weeks right now. You can spare an afternoon."


    "What? The class I took was just a two hour lecture and an online test!"


    "Yeah, well, you''re playing with the big boys now and that means big boy certifications. The one offered to the Wards is a heavily watered down version, that you apparently didn''t bother listening to anyway, so you get to suffer through the whole thing this time."


    I grumbled and complained but Hero remained unmoved. He had me schedule a meeting with Powell for image management. As I understood it, Powell would give me a few options and I''d have to pick one.


    Still, I walked away knowing that Hero was as safe as I could reasonably make him. PR in comparison was a cheap price to pay.


    Author''s Note


    Fuck it. Sinful Succulence is canon to Andy''s Runeterra. Morgana ran off and opened a bakery after her sibling spat with Kayle. Atreus occasionally drops by to learn the secrets to her literally divine cupcakes. No, it''s not relevant. No, I don''t care.


    I miss the old Journals of Justice. Anyone else?


    Fun fact: I had a lab rat named Lily during my undergrad for a semester. My professor sat us down in the beginning of the year and insisted that we name the rats. We would care for them, feed them, and at the end of the semester, find homes for them as pets. If not, we would be forced to euthanize the rats ourselves.


    Yeah, she was pretty hardcore.


    It was a running joke that someone should name their rat Euthanasia. No one was brave enough.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.14 Ripples

    Ripples 4.14


    2000, September 8: Washington, DC, USA


    The biscuits were delicious. No, saying they were delicious didn''t do them justice. They were more like teatime cookies than the bready biscuits served for American breakfasts, but that didn''t make them any less buttery. There was the slightly oily goodness of perfectly browned butter, the faint hint of richness from caramelized brown sugar, and a nuttiness that I couldn''t place to any earthly treat. There was even a slight touch of bitterness from burnt edges that made the treats so much more real to me.


    This complex weave of flavors was unique to me. Hell, I found myself tasting something a little different each day as my own preferences shifted. Mom tasted something with a hint of dark chocolate and raspberries, a flavor combination she grew to love during her study abroad in Germany.


    I crammed a second of the palm-sized fuckers in my mouth like a chipmunk before I realized what I was doing. When the third materialized in my hand in a shower of blue sparks, I had to physically struggle with myself to not eat it right away. And this, this was the self-control I''d managed only days after receiving the rune.


    I always was the snacking sort, the type that could empty a bag of almonds without even knowing. It wasn''t about being hungry as much as it was keeping my mouth occupied.


    Yes, I had an oral fixation. Go fuck yourself.


    I reluctantly put it on a plate on the dining room table and got to my morning workout.


    Mom was surprisingly cool with my "magic cookie powers." She''d long since gotten used to the idea that her son wasn''t a normal tinker. She knew basically everything about my powers, all but my past life''s memories.


    Hiding new abilities like the Hexflash from the PRT was one thing; hiding it from my mom just rubbed me the wrong way. Her knowing that I had escape options even outside of my tech went a long way to ease her worries and I couldn''t justify not telling her for my own paranoid ass. More, her knowing what I could do and how I might react in an emergency might well save her life. It wasn''t like she was going to tell the PRT anyway. She could admit that they had all the resources needed to help me thrive as a tinker, but she wasn''t exactly their biggest fan. With these points in mind, obfuscation wasn''t an attractive option to me.


    I heard mom come down the stairs and glance at me. She smiled and munched on the last biscuit with as much enthusiasm as I before puttering about in the kitchen. I grinned, content with the domestic atmosphere. By the looks of it, it looked like breakfast would be a bowl of rice, cucumber kimchi, and slices of Spam.


    I was seated on the mat, legs crossed and a shroud of blue aura glowing from my small form. I made the Tear of the Goddess shortly before my kidnapping, a little more than two months ago. It varied by the day, but I''d made sure to set aside some of my daily meditations to sink mana into the Tear. After two months of this, it was finally starting to pay dividends. The quantity of mana I could channel through my body had increased greatly. Things like reinforcing my muscles or reaction times were well within my abilities. Hell, if I focused, I could even send out pulses of mana with each strike, rupturing my target from within.


    I suspected that the Tear would be full by the end of the month, or perhaps shortly into October. Deciding what I wanted to evolve my Tear into would be yet another task before me.


    Today was Friday, which meant Korean lessons. Mom gave me my assignments for the day before heading off to work. Ms. Kosker came by to act as my teacher, though she could do little else but supervise. After zipping through my Korean language coursework, I sat through a few lectures from Ms. Kosker about European history and the Treaty of Westphalia before heading off to the lab. It was a pity, she wasn''t a bad teacher, but it was pretty damn clear that she was an accountant first and foremost. History just wasn''t her subject and it made for a somewhat by-the-books experience.


    X


    I arrived at the lab nearing noon and was immediately ushered into Travis Powell''s office for that promised PR meeting. This would only be my third or fourth time meeting the man. Normally, the Wards and I dealt with one of the countless PR drones that made up his department.


    Being the head of PR for the PRT in the capitol meant he was a very, very busy individual. More often than not, it seemed he dabbled in everything from legislative affairs to media relations. Costume design and merchandising was in fact only a very small part of the ferocious beast that made up the PR department


    I respected him for his ability to juggle so many hats. Almost. He was still a dick. A competent dick, but a dick.


    I walked into his office and gave him a polite nod. The office was surprisingly plain with few garnishes that hinted at personal taste of any sort. No pictures. Not even a fake flowerpot. One of the few things that nodded towards any sort of individuality was a pen holder, a figurine of a knight on one knee, fountain pen held up in the flat of both hands as though presenting his sword to his liegelord.


    Travis Powell, head of PR, was seated with both hands firmly on the desk. He was clean-shaven with slicked back brown hair. He wore his navy suit jacket even indoors and allowed it to complement the emerald-green tie, a pop of color in an otherwise normal guise. Everything about him screamed that he was a successful man to be taken seriously, the picture of business professionalism.


    "Hello, Mr. Powell," I said. "You wanted to see me?"


    "Yes, sit, Hyunmu. You''re in an interesting position, you know," he began. "All tinkers are, especially in DC. You see, a hero''s image is a careful balancing act. Is he the sinless paragon who defends the weak and espouses justice with every breath? Or is he the reclusive inventor who seldom emerges from his lab, and only to offer life-changing insights? Or perhaps, he is the young, sincere immigrant trying to discover an identity for himself. Tell me, Hyunmu, which do you think fits you best?"


    "None of them. I don''t think I''ve ever claimed to know much about justice and it''s only my mentorship under Hero that might lead people to think this way. My identity as Rubedo is somewhat of a secret and certainly not for public ears so any contributions I''ve made so far get underplayed by necessity. I think I can make such life-changing inventions, but I''ve yet to do so as Hyunmu. And lastly, I know my identity. I''ve kept up that ridiculous accent because it plays out a convenient narrative that''s easily marketable, but Hyunmu is not me."


    "Indeed," he leaned back in his chair. "Hyunmu is not you, Andy Kim. Neither is Rubedo. In fact, ''Andy'' isn''t quite right either, is it, Yusung? Am I saying that right?"


    I nodded. It was only with that motion that I noticed his beer belly. It wasn''t really important, but so crisp and flattering was his suit and tie that I almost didn''t even consider his excessive weight. I knew that he would be image-conscious, came with the job, but the meticulousness of his dress made me wonder what else I''d missed. Looking closer, I could spot hints of white roots along his temples. He was graying but dyed his hair a rich brown. I doubt I would have noticed without the pericognition of the Oracle''s Elixir.


    "The pronunciation could use a bit of work but it''s close enough."


    "Names are funny like that, aren''t they?" he said, completely ignoring the input he asked for. "We all have them. In the case of you capes, you have more than one. You in particular happen to have more than most. And yet, names seldom encompass everything we are, do they?"


    He paused and pulled a gray coffee mug to his lips before continuing, seemingly on a tangent. "You''re wonderful, by the way. Ms. Youngston from down in Phoenix had nothing but glowing praise for you. Rubedo''s debut, yes I saw that, was perfect, with just the right amount of, what''d she call it? Right, ''youthful candor.''


    "And you''re wonderful here. You''ve played your part as the respectful, polite young man struggling with English as a second language to perfection. Really, you have potential as a child actor if you wanted."


    "Thank¡­ you?" I said, unsure of how to take it.


    "I''m not done. See, you''re right in saying that none of the three types of heroes I''ve mentioned describe you. The closest would be the third, but that''s more of an image you need to slowly evolve away from. Eventually, we want Hyunmu to grow. We want Hyunmu to develop into a confident, capable tinker, preferably with fluent English. It''s the concept of change I was going for when I designed your aesthetic.


    "You see, change as an idea is complicated for the public. A part of them wants to see their heroes remain the immortal, immutable bastions of justice and hope they were when they were children. It''s a big reason why Alexandria is so perfect for marketing, despite her drab, overly serious getup. Another part wants to see heroes grow with them, to hold their hand on the road of life, eventually passing the torch to the next generation. There is a dichotomy here.


    "That''s Hero. That''s Armsmaster, Pyro, and Glace. And that''s you. That''s why the Madhouse really exists. Hero has many years in him, hopefully many decades, but one day, he will pass. His star will wane and it will be up to you to hold up that torch. Change. Your image is all about change, Hyunmu."


    ''He really likes to hear himself talk,'' I thought, mentally rolling my eyes. That was a surprising amount of insight into my own image, I''d honestly thought he just pulled the concept for my image out of his ass all slapdash, but it was good that he had some plan for it.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    "Why the shit accent though?" I asked. "We could have done the ''changing of the guard'' theme without sticking me with a ridiculous accent."


    "You tell me," he said smugly. He didn''t correct my language surprisingly enough. "You''re not like the others, I''m told. So you tell me. Why would I saddle you with something like this?"


    I considered it. "DC is a multinational city. You think I can appeal to an untapped audience."


    "Good, that''s one reason. What else?"


    "Having an obvious immigrant embrace American culture and the PRT specifically is great branding. Bluesong comes to mind."


    "That''s a second, tied to the first. What else?"


    "To distance myself from Rubedo. I need to be as different as possible."


    "That''s a third, obvious too. What else?"


    I came up blank. "Nothing comes to mind."


    "You. You''re the reason."


    "You think I want to pretend to trip over my words?"


    "No." Instead of continuing the conversation, he dug through a drawer and placed a folder in front of me. "Public Relations and Outreach Opportunities: Hyunmu," it read. "This was complied by several of my assistants. Well, they had a dozen different ideas, but these three were what were not discounted for one reason or another. Read them. Go on. Read them and tell me what you like most."


    I obliged. The first was almost insultingly stereotypical: Go to a kindergarten and teach children how to fold paper cranes. I did my level best to not interact with kids my age, why would I willingly choose to drown myself in a tide of ankle-biters?


    The second was relatively more bearable and I suspected that they included the first to make me more agreeable to the second. If I chose this, I would visit the National Aerospace Museum and join the tour guides for a day, essentially acting as a guest guide. Apparently, my little impromptu lecture on aerodynamics during my patrol had not gone unnoticed.


    The third was equally tinker-ish. I was to join an extracurricular robotics team. Nothing I built would be competition-permissible for obvious reasons, but I would be required to make regular appearances and show off whatever robot I made in exhibition matches.


    "None of them," I sighed, "I''d rather not be involved with any of them."


    "Explain from the top."


    "The first? I hate children. I barely tolerated school back when I had to go. And if my personal opinion wasn''t enough then I don''t think I can keep up my accent in a room full of kids, especially if I have to teach them something. I just don''t have the patience to deal with something like this."


    "Yes, your accent. It''s an awfully convenient way to limit interaction with your relative age group, isn''t it?" he winked. It was then that I realized he might have thought my image through more than I gave him credit for. Perhaps he wasn''t just a racially profiling asshat. "And the second?"


    "It''s the least objectionable," I admitted. "The tour is a two hour commitment, which by itself isn''t bad. I can pass off my awkwardness as my poor grasp of English and it helps that my audience would be mature enough to follow the subject even if it''s delivered with an accent. But there''s too much of a time commitment outside of the actual tour. Getting familiar with the exhibits, meeting the local staff beforehand, and doing a meet and greet afterwards for another two hours makes this a full day affair. I can''t do that."


    "Can''t or won''t?" he quirked an eyebrow.


    "Can''t," I said firmly. "Look, Mr. Powell, I''ll work with you. I want to work with you. But I can''t take too much time away from tinkering, especially when I haven''t even made my own armor yet."


    "And what''s keeping you from making your armor?"


    "Endbringer prep. Potions. Lots of them. Seriously, ask me again about the tour thing in a month. Or hell, I''ll give a lecture on robotics in a high school if you want."


    "Fair enough, and what''s wrong with the last one?"


    "I don''t want a long-term commitment. I also think it runs counter to my image. I''m supposed to be this sincere kid who''s trying a bit of everything to discover his own specialization as a tinker, right? Sticking with robotics doesn''t play well with that theme and it wouldn''t be good to narrow my own audience."


    For the first time, I saw Travis Powell smile. "Good, good. I wasn''t sure why you''d object, but I figured you''d object to all of these. I have a note from Hero and the chief director asking me to limit your PR schedule until the endbringer passes as well. We''ve given you a load of things you could do, but I don''t think anyone''s asked you what you would like to do. So, Hyunmu, what do you think would be best for your image?"


    I shrugged. "Sorry, but I don''t really care too much. You can say it''s because I''m inexperienced or don''t know the headaches a bad image can cause, but in the end, I care about tinkering. Anything that gives me more time to tinker is good. Anything that gives me less time to tinker is bad."


    "Figures. You''re just like Armsmaster. Metalmaru too. Fine, you still need to make a public appearance of some sort however. It would be good to be able to show off a talent that isn''t tinkering. Got anything?"


    "Baking," I said automatically. Really, it was a no brainer. "Baking is just tinkering you can eat."


    "You can bake?"


    "Yup. Any chance I can just contribute a few dozen cookies to a bake sale or something?"


    He hummed to himself for a bit. "You know¡­ There is something. What do you know about high school schedules?"


    "I tested out of everything except history and world issues," I said dryly.


    "Nothing then. Okay, public schools in America really like football. Most schools align their first major social function to the start of the football season, which they call homecoming."


    "I do know what homecoming is, thank you. But that''s a dance."


    "Yes. But the week before, school clubs often hold fundraisers for their extracurricular activities. The schools have a half day, there is a bake sale, then everyone comes back for a rally around the school''s teams."


    "You want me to attend a high school rally? Why not a middle school then?"


    "Not enough exposure," he waved me off. "Normally, I wouldn''t have someone so young join a rally like this, sticks out like a sore thumb, but you won''t be alone. Two of the Arlington Wards will be there as well, Just-Ice and Brigadier."


    I thought about it. Attending one would mean a smaller time commitment since I could leave shortly after the bake sale and before the start of the rally. I could also leave much of the talking to two other Wards who are bound to be more interesting to teenagers than I. And, not a small part of myself was happy with the chance to flex my bullshit baking talents.


    "Sounds perfect," I said, "when is it?"


    "The fifteenth. Next Friday. I''ll email you the details."


    "Thanks, Mr. Powell. You were¡­" He was a lot more flexible than I expected but I wasn''t sure how to phrase it without sounding like a backhanded compliment. "¡­ reasonable," I finished lamely.


    "The PR department isn''t some unreasonable monster, Hyunmu. We exist to make sure you heroes don''t get in over your heads."


    X


    "So you''re going to bake cookies?" Yasmine said disbelievingly. "And that''s your PR shtick? Dude, that''s so lame."


    We five current and former members of the Phoenix Wards were on a video call again. Penelope must have worked something out because I could hear David fine from Albuquerque. I''d been telling them about my upcoming PR stunt.


    "It''s not lame, Jazz," Raquel chided. "I think it''s great. How come you didn''t make anything for us? Don''t you love us, Andy?"


    "I''ll mail you some cookies," I promised. "Speaking of, did you get the potions?"


    "Yes, thanks a lot," Penelope said. I saw David nod from his end. "What have you boys been up to?"


    "Endbringer prep. Potions, potions, and more potions. I''ve made enough to literally fill an oil drum. No one ever told me being a hero could be so tedious."


    "You''re doing good work. I''m sure they''ll be very grateful."


    "Yeah, I know. I''m just bitching. You, Dave?"


    It was a relief to see the half-eared man smile. He still had bags under his eyes but they were fading from last week. "It''s good," he said. We could tell how relieved he was by how much his accent shone through. "Really good. I got Josie enrolled into a good school for first grade and Director Watson even arranged a nanny for her so I can still be a hero full time. I still take mostly morning patrols after Josie goes to school though. The director''s been real understanding about that. Oh, we even found a church and she''s made a few friends there so I''m happy."


    "I''m glad," I said honestly. "No major villains? Rivals?"


    "Nah, Albuquerque is kind of quiet. Drug trafficking''s the main issue here, but all the major cartels set up cells in California and Texas. New Mexico is a small market in comparison. It''s mostly watching for handoffs to lesser gangs and local middlemen."


    "Ooh! Penny got into a fight with Shakedown again," Raquel grinned. "That guy never learns."


    "It wasn''t a big deal, Raquel."


    "Still the most interesting thing to happen to us in weeks," Jazz grumbled. "I swear, things have gotten way too quiet ever since you guys left."


    "Quiet is good, Jazz," Penny admonished.


    "Yeah, yeah, at least you get to actually do things, Miss Protectorate."


    "Are the Wards really that boring now?" I asked.


    "Yup. They stole your Control Wards by the way."


    "What? Who?"


    "They didn''t steal anything, Jazz. Stop trying to rile people up." Penelope explained, "Royalle, Oathkeeper, and Director Lyons took our Control Wards so the Protectorate teams could counter Dos Caras. He found out about them and hasn''t gotten caught out since the first time. So yeah, things are pretty quiet on our end too."


    "Oh, yeah, then I don''t mind. The wards were made to deal with strangers like him anyway. Hell, he was the stranger I made them for. Just let me know if you need more potions."


    "Don''t you need everything? I thought you couldn''t make that many crystals?"


    "I''m growing, remember? My production rate''s skyrocketed so don''t worry about it. Besides, what''s the point of being a tinker if I can''t pamper my friends?"


    "Aww, you''re sweet," she cooed, making my eight year old face flush in embarrassment.


    "Yeah, thanks, midget."


    I then had a thought that left a pit in my stomach. "Penny, you''re not going to go join an endbringer fight, are you?"


    "I mean¡­ not this one for sure. I don''t think I''m ready, but I thought about joining later¡­ maybe as search and rescue? Say, how effective would Petricite be against an endbringer?"


    "Not at all," I said flatly. "Petricite absorbs energy but the quantity of output released by an endbringer would easily overload what you''ve got. Hell, I don''t know that a full suit of armor made of Petricite would work. In fact, pretty sure it won''t."


    "Oh, damn¡­ That¡­ I guess I shouldn''t rely on it."


    "Definitely not. Same goes for you, David."


    "Don''t worry, I have no intention of attending," he promised. "If something happens to me¡­ I won''t leave Josie alone."


    I sighed with relief. Promises made, we heckled Jazz about her first date with Poundtown, bowling apparently, and settled on a movie for the night. My pick, so that was an easy one: Pok¨¦mon: The First Movie. It was released in 1998 in Earth-Aleph but the franchise never caught on in Earth-Bet. I took it upon myself to introduce them to the wonders of Pok¨¦mon, but none of the others liked it much.


    Author''s Note


    Anyone else have slices of Spam with ketchup for protein growing up? I swear it''s better than it sounds. Or maybe it''s my nostalgia goggles talking. I grew up in a poor family and my parents worked so this was one of the simplest, fastest things mom could make for me and my kid sis. I still eat Spam with rice on occasion even though I can afford better now.


    Yeah, another PR meeting. Dunno why, just came out. Funny how being a government-sanctioned hero is more about your image than punching bad guys, huh?


    Yes, the multiverse is a commonly accepted fact even as early as 2000. This isn''t an AU element; it''s canon. Professor Haywire broke the boundary between worlds in 1988. Seeing how the Simurgh was able to coopt his tech during the Madison attack in 2009, he had to have been active fairly recently for it to have not broken down. He was confirmed dead by the time of Madison, but that leaves a huge window of time between 1988 and December, 2009.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.15 Ripples

    Ripples 4.15


    2000, September 15: Arlington, VA, USA


    Sitting at my desk, I absentmindedly sketched out the alchemical formula for a more advanced healing potion I''d been playing with. For the first time in weeks, I''d foregone my morning exercise.


    There was only so much healing potion I could make without feeling a little fed up with the redundancy and I''d reached that point a week ago. I sucked it up and bore it, but Leviathan''s conspicuous absence was making me paranoid as all hell.


    After my endbringer preparations were finished, I made sure to deliver them to Director Costa-Brown personally. Since then, I''d been walking on pins and needles. My luck was terrible and this was Earth-Bet. Why would I get weeks to prepare? Surely the other shoe would drop soon, right?


    My mounting nervousness made me look up endbringer statistics only to find much of it was unavailable to me as a Ward. The data wasn''t classified per se, but I got the impression that it wasn''t something shared with the Wards on principle.


    I knew from canon that on a good day, about twenty-five percent of people died from a Leviathan fight. If I remembered right, there were dozens of names listed on the Brockton Bay memorial, though I was pretty sure less than a hundred. Assuming the nice round number of fifty confirmed deaths, that meant more or less two hundred capes had attended the battle. It was all just napkin math in the end, but it seemed reasonable.


    But that could have been a very good day. Dragon and Armsmaster had worked together to warn them ahead of time, something that hadn''t been done before.


    From what I could guess, two to three hundred attendees per battle sounded about right. I also had to account for emergency response personnel. The military would be present to coordinate evacuation efforts. The PRT would set up their own command center. Doctors and nurses would conduct triage from multiple medical tents, spread out across several favorable locations because putting all your medics in a conveniently obliterated spot was idiotic.


    All told, I ballparked the number of cape and normal attendees at anywhere between five to eight hundred total. Assuming a thirty percent casualty rate, that was two-hundred-forty potions I needed to brew, and even then, not all casualties could be saved.


    I clear overshot that number. I made enough to fill a literal oil drum, forty-two gallons. At eight fluid ounces per serving, that was six hundred seventy-two servings of healing potions. Of course, I''d also provided fifty Elixirs of Iron for the brute squad who would be tangling with Leviathan up close and personal.


    And still I felt like I hadn''t done enough.


    I was stuck in a bit of a rut of my own making. I felt that making more potions wouldn''t do much good, nor could I hope to finish a new project in time to matter, but I couldn''t bring myself to tear myself completely from the looming endbringer.


    That left me studying alchemy as known by the likes of Singed, Renata, and even some of the less kosher secrets rediscovered by the Black Rose throughout LeBlanc''s tenure as its mistress. Even discounting the most unpleasant influences, alchemy was an exceedingly broad subject and there was plenty to learn. The blend of magic and chemistry was both beautiful and harrowing in equal measure. I was finally approaching the territory of what I jokingly called "anime alchemy," with its ritual circles of transmutation, adherence to the phases of the moon and stars, and exacting measurements of mana.


    I''d gotten a small taste of it during the creation of the Elixir of Life, but that left me working backwards. In a way, I was like a university student who somehow enrolled in his senior thesis during his freshman year. If it wasn''t for the bullshit of Inspiration propping me up, there was no way I''d have succeeded at all.


    Perhaps the World Rune was sardonically correct; I was more of a baker than a true alchemist. I followed the recipe and relied on a crutch to arrive at the Elixir of Life, but the complex principles that leashed the fluctuations in mana to create the final product eluded my comprehension.


    So, here I was, fiddling with alchemical circles and formulae for potions that did more than just heal. A potion of rejuvenation that could regrow limbs or organs was my first choice, one that did not have such a heavy material cost like the Elixir of Life but in exchange could only be used to replace a singular body part.


    A potion which improved the five senses similar to Warwick''s was my second, though I found that formula somewhat tricky due to the complex interactions in the brain. In the end, I could only make a brew that would enhance a specific sense depending on the ingredient used. A falcon''s eye would grant improved vision, a rabbit''s ear improved hearing, and so on. Still very useful, but not quite what I was looking for.


    Inspiration was free. Understanding and application were far pricier commodities.


    I rose and joined my mom for breakfast, a combination of jangjorim, kimchi, and rice. As it was Friday, lessons in Korean language and history were followed European history.


    For Korean history, I was reading the biography of Admiral Yi Sunsin. Fascinating man and the true greatest admiral to ever live. Fuck Francis Drake. No, I wasn''t biased. He really is just that much of a badass. European history was an overview of the decline of the Catholic Church throughout Western Europe. Most of my lessons were handled by me in a similar manner. I presented a book to Ms. Kosker and she approved it so long as the subject was vaguely in line with the syllabus.


    After a dose of compulsory self-study, I took a break from the lab as mandated by my upcoming PR event. Or, as much of a break as I was willing to give myself.


    The night prior, I''d given mom a shopping list of everything I''d need to bake six dozen palm-sized cookies. I''d be taking two types, dark chocolate chip with a dusting of cinnamon and a walnut-pecan mix.


    I considered arriving with a basket of yakwa, traditional Korean cookies made of wheat flour and flavored with honey and ginger, but decided against it. I didn''t think they would sell very well. They''d likely just be relegated to being gimmicks and conversation starters so I stuck with twists on American classics. Besides, yakwa was supposed to be fried; I could bake them, but they wouldn''t taste quite the same and making anything less than the genuine article bugged me, even for something small like this.


    Though I''d prefer to be in the lab, it was a good chance to take a breather from worrying myself sick over Leviathan while testing the World Rune and the results were¡­ interesting.


    The moment I thought about baking, countless recipes rushed into my head. They were like a swirling sandstorm that narrowed down to a few grains as I listed off the ingredients I had available. As I reached for the flour, the perfect way to make the dough brought itself to the forefront of my mind. Little tricks and quirks typically earned through decades of experience made themselves known to me. I knew precisely how much baking soda to use, the exact ratio of brown and white sugar, the ideal temperature of butter and cinnamon. Never once did I reach for a measuring cup or scale.


    There was surprisingly no dissonance. I hadn''t known the first thing about baking before Biscuit Delivery crashed into my soul, but merging with my soul apparently meant that the sum total knowledge of the culinary arts were mine now without the slightest discomfort, at least as a baker.


    It was a strange feeling, even for me.


    When I drew upon the experience of Champions, it was abundantly clear that their skills were not my own. I knew how Yi twisted his sword just so to parry a blow, but that didn''t mean I could do it. I knew how Ahri smiled to make even the most hardheaded guardsman weak in the knees, but I definitely didn''t have her superlative grace. Singed''s knowledge was all there, but there was a level of detachment, as though I was reading his most intimate notes throughout years of doctoral study.


    Eventually, I concluded that it was the difference between an aspect of the World Rune merged with my soul and the inspiration drawn from others.


    Several hours later, I had three dozen of each flavor cooling on the table. Being the host of Inspiration must have rubbed off on me because I couldn''t stop myself from experimenting a bit. Taking one chocolate chip cookie, I focused on flooding it with mana.


    The results were simultaneously disappointing and promising.


    Mana by itself did jack all; there was nothing to bind to, whether via alchemic transmutation or through a physical matrix. It just kind of settled in the cookie before dissipating into the air.


    But then, that in itself was proof of untapped possibilities. If it could hold mana, it could hold spells. With a little effort, I felt that I could craft magic cookies much like magic potions. I''d need to come up with my own recipes, but the Biscuits of Everlasting Will seemed like good aspirational targets.


    That was an experiment for another time, yet another branch of magic I wanted to explore someday. It may actually be my first original branch of magic, or at least not one that wasn''t as heavily copied from preexisting foundations such as techmaturgy.


    X


    Washington-Lee High School was disappointingly average. I wasn''t sure what I was expecting. I heard from Powell that it was one of if not the best school in Arlington, the city of course already being one of the most educated cities in the country. A part of me expected manicured lawns and a fountain like a prep school. In the end, a public school was a public school. It sucked no matter what rank it scored on standardized tests.


    To be fair to WLHS, it had a hell of a backyard. Just southeast of the softball field was Quincy Park, bequeathed to the people of then Quincy City in 1919 by some old rich guy when he went belly-up. The school''s track and cross country teams often ran around the park, probably because running around the track field for a dozen laps got boring real fast.


    In order to not disturb the marching band rehearsing on the football field for the rally later tonight, someone had the bright idea to hold the bake sale at the park. With the addition of three Wards, it was already an event in its own right and holding it at the park would make drawing in lucky joggers easier.


    I met the two senior Wards at the tables, Just-Ice and Brigadier.


    Both were male and significantly older than me, though Brigadier was clearly in the tail end of high school while Just-Ice could be in anything from eight to tenth grade. They were talking to one Mrs. Andrews, the rail-thin PTA coordinator, while surreptitiously staring at the tables laden with sweets. The only reason I could tell who she was was thanks to the lanyard she wore around her neck.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Brigadier was dressed in a military dress uniform, though left intentionally ambiguous so as to not incite any accusations of stolen valor from overly sensitive idiots. The uniform was comprised of a navy-blue top with durable white pants and brass buttons. A white cap with a navy bill and his personal logo sat on his blonde head. Even his hair was cropped short to evoke the boot camp aesthetic.


    Just-Ice wore a far more typical hero outfit, a white bodysuit with blue accents. His shoulders had the blue lining in irregular triangles to evoke icicles. His face was mostly covered by a visor instead of a mask, though I didn''t know if it had any tinkertech. Maybe it was just meant to look like stylized ski goggles. I thought he looked a little like Frozone from the Incredibles, but that movie wouldn''t come out for another four years in Earth-Aleph.


    I could see why the two were chosen for this PR stunt. Washington-Lee High School''s colors were blue and white and its team was the Generals.


    "Here comes the last Ward," Brigadier pointed me out for Mrs. Andrews. He stepped up and offered me a firm handshake, back ramrod straight. "Hyunmu of the DC Team, right? It''s good to meet someone from across the river."


    I wondered how much of that military bearing was an act. Putting my question aside, I took his hand and shook it once as I bowed at the waist. "It is good to meet you, Brigadier. And you as well, Just-Ice. Your name is very funny," I responded in my typical faked accent. I held out a shopping bag full of cookies. "Mrs. Andrews, here are the cookies."


    "Oh, sweetheart, you shouldn''t have," she cooed, practically baby-talk. I could already tell it''d be a long two hours. She ushered the three of us to prominent places of honor behind the tables so everyone could get a chance to talk to us while browsing the wares. "Did your mom make them for you?"


    "I enjoy baking."


    "Aww, I''m sure she appreciated your help, sweetie." She then spoke to all of us. "Now, the cookies have numbered tags. The sheets in front of you have ingredient lists so you can talk about them to whoever comes by. Also remember to warn people about allergies."


    I breathed out a sigh of relief when she walked off to make a nuisance of herself somewhere else and placed my two trays down in front of me, each tagged with the numbers I''d received in a previous email.


    Curious, I began to read the sheets she handed out. One by one, I matched the goods on exhibit to the numbers and examined them to see if I could spot any really great examples of confectionary.


    There was one particular gem, a riff on a classic pound cake made with marshmallow fluff and chocolate mixed into the center and graham cracker crumble for the crust. The s''mores theme was nice, but it was the mechanical perfection that caught my attention. Everything from the baking time to the temperature was as near to perfect as something made by mortal hands could get.


    I hadn''t expected to ever associate "mechanical perfection" with baked goods before, but here I was.


    The World Rune was weird.


    Sure enough, I looked through the directory Mrs. Andrews handed us and saw that it was the contribution of Bayou Bakery, a Louisiana-style caf¨¦ and bakery near my house. There was enough skill in that cake that I didn''t think someone''s stay at home mom made it.


    The rest were about what I expected, decent enough but nothing worth mentioning. What did it say about me, I wondered, that I became a culinary snob with a single rune?


    Still, some of the gimmicks were fun. I saw shortbreads shaped like the Founders, an ¨¦clair meant to look like the Washington Monument, and miniature king cakes for some reason. Guess someone missed out on Mardi Gras.


    "Seriously, this is the twenty-first century! Who names a school after Robert Lee?" Just-Ice''s question dragged me back from my impromptu bakery critique. "Just sayin''. That''s wack."


    Brigadier rolled his eyes, obviously not the first time he''d heard this particular refrain. "It''s just a name, Ice. Deal."


    "I''m dealin'' but there''s gotta be at least one famous dude whose last name starts with an ''L'' and didn''t own slaves."


    "Luther comes to mind. I am told he is somewhat important to this country," I drawled sarcastically.


    "See? The school can be Washington-Luther High School and they wouldn''t even need to change the logo."


    "Then they''d have to change the Generals. Washington and Lee were both famous generals."


    "That''s better than catering to a slave owner," the younger boy grumbled.


    "What would their mascot be then?"


    "Lady Liberty? They''ve got the whole patriotism thing going strong here."


    "The Libertarians," I quipped. "They can say the school shouldn''t fund buses then have an excuse for missing every game."


    "Ooh, snap, lil'' dude''s got fangs."


    "Hah, yeah, hopefully the Generals do better this season."


    "Name''s still wack."


    I snatched two of my cookies and stuffed them in their mouths before the two could strike up their argument again. "No arguing. It is not seemly."


    Brigadier choked down his cookie and brushed the crumbs from his jacket. "Ahem, yeah, he''s right. Also, your mom''s am awesome baker, Hyunmu."


    "Seriously, can I get one more?"


    "You may not. And I am the only one who bakes in my house."


    "Wait, for real?"


    "de Janeiro."


    "What?"


    "Ask silly questions, receive silly answers," I nodded as I dispensed to him the wisdom of the ancients.


    "Heh. Rio de Janeiro," Brigadier chuckled.


    "Yeah, I got that. Snarky pipsqueak."


    "Only on Fridays. To answer your question, baking is like tinkering without the fancy tools. If you follow the steps, you will eventually arrive at something edible."


    We didn''t get to continue our back and forth because people started to arrive and browse the tables. One middle-aged man reached out for a cookie but I tossed the Ymelo into his hand instead.


    "Do not touch the cookies," I told him in my most serious tone. It had all the gravitas as a wet puppy yapping at an elephant, but the strange accent and mask were enough to make him stop. I spoke as frigidly as I could. "If you wish to know more about the ingredients or have concerns about allergies, I would be happy to inform you, sir."


    "Uh, right, sorry," he mumbled out before shuffling away.


    "Pretty sure we''re supposed to get them to buy stuff, not scare them away," Just-Ice sniggered.


    "Hush, you."


    Still, he was right. Lacking any other ideas, I took a few cookies from each of my trays and broke them into pieces before laying them out on another plate. On an index card, I wrote, "Free samples: chocolate chip & cinnamon, walnut & pecan."


    X


    The next few hours passed in a dull haze of irritation interspersed with self-indulgence of my own cookies. I was fairly sure I''d eaten less than I sold, but who could say?


    "If I get called ''sweetie'' one more time, I am going to turn Mrs. Andrews into a squirrel," I grumbled.


    "Can you actually?" Just-Ice asked.


    "No turning people into woodland creatures," Brigadier drawled, insistent on being the adult in the room.


    Soon after, we helped them pack up before I said my goodbyes to the VA Team. They were sticking around for the actual rally while I could skip out.


    On my way back, I thought about how the event went. As expected, I received a lot more baby-talk than I was happy with, but there was no easy fix for that.


    On the plus side, I got to learn about the different ways PRT managed its heroes'' images. Metalmaru had told me that it was important to see the different styles so I could develop my own and I felt like I better understood what he meant. Brigadier and Just-Ice represented two very different paradigms even as they participated in the same event and interacted with the same group of people.


    Brigadier was crisp and formal, military down to the core. He was polite but brisk, almost as though he was ready to snap to attention at any second. Accusations of child soldiers weren''t as prominent at the moment and the dress uniform was a far cry from actual combat gear. Basically, he could get away with it because Miss Militia blazed that trail already.


    Throughout the evening, I found out that he''d only joined as a Ward four months ago so even though he was the oldest on their team, he wasn''t the leader, Megamix was. The PRT didn''t want him to graduate until he had a better background in SOPs and other general knowledge.


    He was a vigilante for a short while before joining the Wards, but some basic context told me those weren''t fond memories. He wasn''t an ass, but he definitely had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, especially towards his leader. In that sense, having a more rigid public persona likely helped him present a heroic image.


    Just-Ice was the exact opposite. My earlier Frozone comparison was spot on. He was friendly and funny, in small doses. There were only so many ice related puns I could handle. Even here, his persona helped. He confided that he actually memorized a dozen different ice and cold puns and recycled them as appropriate. His young-ish age meant he could afford to be immature to appeal to his age group.


    I typed up some notes, dos and don''ts of public relations that I''d learned from observing my seniors. Before I knew it, I was home.


    X


    I arrived home at seven but I was exhausted despite the early hour. It seemed that I was an introvert in this life as well; social interaction drained me faster than even full-throttle training regimens.


    I gratefully ate a bowl of budae-jjigae prepared by my mom. The jjigae was something of a family specialty. It literally translated to "army stew" and was about the unhealthiest thing in common Korean cuisine. Still, my dad loved it when he was alive, saying it reminded him of his barrack days. Coast guard he might have been, but he went through basic like everyone else. The stew made mom and me feel nostalgic.


    After another movie night with my old crew, I staggered into the shower and let myself get carried away by the hot water. Something about taking time off from endbringer prep coupled with the PR stunt and the stress of worrying about Hero almost knocked me clear out. I shook myself off and got out of the shower before I could really fall asleep standing up.


    I froze, the towel still on my damp hair.


    There was someone on my bed.


    She had flawless pale skin and black hair that was somewhere between wavy and curly. It fell a bit past her shoulder, framing her naturally pretty face. Even with the Oracle''s Elixir, I couldn''t tell if she was wearing makeup at all. If I had to guess, I''d put her at around thirty years of age.


    All of that was immaterial. The perfectly tailored black suit, white dress shirt, and black tie were far more noteworthy. But if the suit sent warning bells through my head, the fedora turned them into endbringer alarms in their intensity.


    I stepped back into the bathroom and started to channel. ''Hexflash in. Minion Dematerializer to the head. No. This is Contessa. Center mass,'' I thought. ''Blow all charges to either side. No chance to dodge. No, She''ll dodge and shove a Q-tip up my nose before kicking my ass with a rolled up newspaper.''


    Just as I got ready to make the attempt anyway, she turned my way. Our eyes met through the wall because of fucking course they did. She shot me a cheeky smile and a wink before wagging a finger towards her.


    Cautiously, I dressed and walked back to my room before settling against the far corner. I didn''t want to notify mom. What was she going to do? Call the cops? She''d panic and making her panic was the worst thing I could do right now. But I also needed to give myself as much space as possible in case it came down to a fight. If it did, I''d flash out of there and hope for the best.


    "Hyunmu," she spoke, the corner of her lips upturned in a confident smirk. Her voice was silky-smooth and perfectly conveyed her mood, or at least allowed people to draw whatever conclusion she wanted them to. In my case, she was almost playful, teasing and friendly with an undercurrent of sharpened steel. I felt like a rabbit being charmed to death by a swaying cobra. "Let''s chat."


    Author''s Note


    Jangjorim is a popular Korean banchan. It''s eggs braised in soy sauce with different ingredients added depending on the house. My mom liked to braise chuck roast at the same time alongside onions, garlic, and ginger. It keeps very well in the fridge and like pizza, arguably better cold so the flavors have a chance to meld.


    Seriously though, Admiral Yi is legit the greatest admiral no one''s ever heard of. For real, Nasu did him dirty ignoring him. Like the fuck? Bonnie and Clyde got a cameo but not this badass?


    Shut up. I''m not salty.


    Budae-jjigae is kimchi-jjigae with Spam, ramen, American cheese, sausages, ramen seasoning (Shin if you''re being legit), and tteok, or Korean rice cake. It came out of the Korean War, partly when the US shipped literal tons of Spam to Korea in the name of humanitarian aid (getting rid of shit). Koreans had no fucking clue what to do with it so¡­ we just kind of dumped everything into a stew. And since it was most commonly made in barracks by combining the rations of the team, it came to be known as "army stew."


    Seriously though, it''s good shit. Super-unhealthy, but amazing. There are restaurants that specialize in just this in Korea and they''re amazing places to get drunk in.


    Heh. One of these days, he''ll stop getting caught by surprise despite having 360 degree vision.


    Or maybe not.


    In his defense, it''s Contessa.


    I don''t think I''ve ever ended an arc at this much of a cliffhanger before but needs must. See you in a month or two!


    Nah, just playing. I was going to, but decided that this conversation really needed to happen to close off Ripples.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.15.5 Eugene Lewis

    <div>


    Interlude 4.15.5 Eugene Lewis


    2000, September 15: New York, NY, USA


    I walked through the Door and emerged on a rooftop overlooking the Big Apple skyline. Alexandria and Legend were already waiting for me. I took a moment to appreciate the wind on my face as the sun began to set.


    "Alexandria, Legend," I greeted, suppressing the urge to call them by name. I always did have the most trouble separating the mask from the man beneath. "Dr. Manton''s gone rogue then?"


    "Yes," the gray-clad heroine said clinically. As chief director, Rebecca and I worked in the same city most of the time but to avoid any awkward questions, we typically arrived at any destination separately. "He had a psychotic break and stole two vials from Cauldron before fleeing. He has since been excluded from Doormaker''s network."


    Just then, Eidolon came through from a Door of his own. As usual, flight was one of the powers he''d arranged for himself.


    "Let''s get this over with," he said impatiently. "We all have better things to do."


    "We should try to talk him down first," Legend tried. "He''s a friend, not a criminal to be hunted down. We need to find him before he does anything regrettable. What caused this? Do we have any idea where he might be headed?"


    Eidolon snorted. "Does it matter? We need those vials back. What was Contessa doing in all this?"


    "Number Man thinks Dr. Manton''s breakdown was caused at least in part by his messy divorce. He''s had a strenuous relationship with his wife as she believed that his research cut into time spent with her and their daughter. He recently lost the custody hearing," Alexandria explained. "Contessa believes the doctor timed his betrayal for today. Her foresight is limited with the looming endbringer attack. It is also possible that she did not foresee this because his actions do not influence the Path in a meaningful way."


    "Whatever, do we know where he is?"


    "Yes, he is not beyond Clairvoyant''s sight."


    Legend took a step off the roof and began to hover. "Then that''s where we''re going. We''ll try to calm him down. Get the vials back and see if we can get the man some help."


    "Ever the optimist," Eidolon muttered, but allowed our friend to take the lead.


    Alexandria and I followed. I adjusted my flightpack and brushed my hand against something that wasn''t typically there: Hyunmu''s Wayfinder.


    I promised to keep it on my person so I stuck it in my utility belt, but I promptly forgot about it. He had no way of knowing of course, but while I appreciated the thought, a portal-gun was a completely redundant tool in my hands, especially with such a limited destination. Still, I figured it''d do the young man some good to be able to brag that he contributed to my kit, however minor.


    In some small way, each of my former Wards had left their marks on my costume. Armsmaster helped me design the utility belt I was wearing for optimal ergonomics. Pyrotechnical helped me adjust my focusing array for my flightpack and Glace gave me the eureka moment I needed to better manage excess heat. Not every idea made it in to the final product, but there were enough tidbits that bled through that a small fingerprint of theirs remained.


    Was this what parents felt when they hung macaroni art on the fridge?


    Thinking about the littlest Ward was a poor distraction. His ambition and desire to help made me proud to call him a Ward, but that same jaded pragmatism that drove his work ethic made me wince with regret.


    Cauldron was supposed to better the world, make sure that children like him wouldn''t have to have eyes like that.


    We were proving tonight that we couldn''t even clean our own house. Were we really good stewards of the world?


    We arrived before I could ruminate further.


    Dr. Manton was smart enough to relocate. He''d taken his daughter from his ex-wife''s flat and rented a room in an inconspicuous hotel, blending in among the thousands of visitors to the city.


    The security was a joke so we had no trouble entering without alerting anyone. Half the video cameras weren''t working and a literal child with a toy magnet could have picked the electronic lock.


    When we entered, it was to find Dr. Manton cradling a monster.


    She was vaguely feminine in shape, with bleached, bone-white fur that sprouted in patches all over her distorted form. The right half of her torso had merged with the corresponding arm, forming a mouth that stretched from her hip to her breast, jagged teeth and drool running down matted fur. The left half of her body, from her sternum to the crown of her head, had also fused, like a soda can crunched into a disc. A drooping, cat-like eye glared outward. Black growths of stone, similar in appearance to basalt, clung to her torso like an unwieldy mockery of a tiger''s stripes.


    "Abby," the doctor moaned. "Abby¡­"


    The¡­ thing groaned, a half growl and wheezing whimper.


    "Oh my God," I heard Legend whisper.


    His daughter. We knew her. Dr. Manton had been the proudest man I''d ever seen when he showed off a photo of her years ago. She was holding a trophy then, from her eighth grade science fair, with the good doctor''s arm draped over her lovingly. She wasn''t a genius like the doctor and the project was nothing special, just a hamster-wheel attached to a digital clock, but that didn''t matter to him. The smile he wore nearly split his face open from joy; his daughter was taking after him, he''d bragged.


    We''d all happily put up with the man''s doting antics then.


    As the years passed and his marriage started to fail, he''d gotten even worse, devoting all his attention on his daughter rather than a wife who didn''t love him anymore.


    Last I saw, Abby had grown to be a beautiful young woman of seventeen, with waist-length, dark-brown tresses. She took after her father, his full lips and strong brow. He was the sort of father who fretted over every little thing, anything for his baby girl. I remembered the doctor going out of his way to look for high quality nail polish because she liked to wear her nails long.


    Funny what one remembers in moments of crisis.


    She looked nothing like him now.


    "Doctor, what have you done?" I heard Alexandria whisper, a rare moment of shock for her.


    "It was supposed to work¡­" he mumbled. I didn''t think he even knew we were here. "The research¡­ been a hero¡­ better than her¡­ show her¡­"


    "Doctor," Legend tried. He placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "William, it''s me. Keith."


    "Abby¡­"


    His daughter moaned in piteous agony, halfway between a whimper and a growl; none of her organs were where they were meant to be and the Agent clearly wasn''t compensating.


    "Wil-"


    Dr. Manton whirled, slapping Legend''s hand away. "You!" he shouted. He grabbed my friend by the collar and shook him. "Fix this! Fix her!"


    "William, I-"


    "Fix her!" he wailed. "Bring her back! Abby!"


    Tears and snot streamed down the broken man''s face as he continued to shake Legend. His eyes were glassy, so wracked with grief that he wasn''t seeing anything. For all his shouting, he wasn''t truly registering my friend in front of him. Legend for his part knelt there, taking the man''s bawling with tears in his own eyes.


    That was the difference between Keith and I. He always was the most empathetic of us. I could be nice. I could be fun. But it was one thing to be with someone in the good times and a whole different matter to weep with them. Keith was always able to do that, to break his heart for what broke theirs in a completely sincere way. It was what made him the best choice as head of the Protectorate.


    Alexandria floated towards them and separated the two. "I''m sorry, doctor. There is nothing we can do."


    Dr. Manton hit her. His fists pounded against her chest even as she held him firmly by the shoulders. He bawled and swung as hard as he could until his fists began to bruise and bleed but Alexandria remained unmoved.


    "Fix her¡­" he moaned, "please¡­ Abby¡­ I''m so sorry. Dad''s so, so sorry."


    He collapsed to his knees and held Alexandria''s costume as he wept. The man had truly lost everything.


    Eidolon and I¡­ We stood there. A wave of shame flushed through me. I''d never been good at consoling others. Play with the Wards? Give them a childhood? I could do that. Tell a mother her son died fighting Behemoth? That was beyond me.


    Still, I swallowed thickly and stepped into the room.


    "Doctor," I started. I had no idea what to say. My throat was dry. Words just wouldn''t form. A thousand platitudes ran through my mind and every last one rang hollow.


    What could I say? The world knew me as the tinker who could make anything, the man with a nifty gadget for every problem, the answer to every question. Then why was it that I kept drawing blanks when I most needed a miracle?


    "¡­all your fault¡­" I heard him whisper. It sounded like he''d finally begun to register who we were. "Cauldron¡­"


    "Doctor," Alexandria began. "William-"


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "Your fault¡­ It''s all Cauldron''s fault¡­"


    "We need to move Abby." She turned to do just that. Gently but firmly, she pried the doctor''s fingers from her costume and lifted Abby into her arms. "Door, Cauldron HQ."


    The all too familiar portal appeared against the wall.


    "No, you can''t take her!" He grasped at her cape and pulled desperately, a feather straining against a hurricane.


    "If there is any hope of stabilizing her, we need to get her to Contessa."


    "Contessa, yes. She has the Path. She saw this! She could have stopped it!" I saw his grief turn to unbridled rage, the kind of white, all-consuming fury that blinded the brightest of men. "This is her fault! You can''t have her! You can''t take Abby!"


    His flailing became desperate before some shred of his normal brilliance entered his eyes. He let go of Alexandria''s cape and reached into a coat pocket, withdrawing a familiar vial.


    "Abby, daddy will protect you," he promised no one.


    He brought the vial to his lips.


    "Alex!" I shouted, too late as the doctor collapsed to his knees.


    "Aaaaahhhhh!" he screamed out in agony as the Agent reached out.


    Then, the world became a kaleidoscope of stars.


    A waltz of constellations filled my vision as two entities swam through the cosmic sea. They were hauntingly beautiful. Seeing them again was almost a religious experience, albeit an omen of Armageddon.


    The four of us had hit the ground without realizing.


    I staggered to my knees and readied my blaster. I felt for the man but quashed my emotions and locked them in a box for later. There was no telling what his power would be. Would he mutate like Abby? Be driven insane as the Agent capitalized on his instability? Or would it stabilize his mind like mine restored my body?


    I didn''t know and so I waited, praying for the best but prepared for the worst.


    "All your fault," I heard him mutter under his breath and my heart sank.


    The rest of us were still down, clutching their heads to banish the trigger-vision. Still on my knees, I reached out a hand towards him. "Doctor, can you hear me? It''s Eugene."


    "You took Abby from me!"


    He let out a wordless shout and lunged for me.


    I tossed myself backwards and upwards, engaging my flightpack with the UI over my eyes. I had no idea what kind of power he received. A striker ability could kill me dead before I had a chance to reason with him.


    "Doctor! Get yourself together," I yelled, trying to reason with him. In the back of my mind, I scolded myself. Screaming at a man undergoing a mental break probably wasn''t the right way to handle this, but I had no fucking clue what I was doing.


    My blaster snapped to my hand and I readied the stun setting.


    "Shut up! Bring Abby back!"


    "Please, we have to get her help," I tried to reason with him but it was futile.


    Then, something appeared in front of him. It was like a monochrome Abby, a nude young woman clad only in black and white stripes. She jumped, running along the air as if it were solid ground.


    I fired before I consciously registered the master projection. I was on target, perfect center mass, but the stunning bolt splashed off her sternum harmlessly. Desperately, I tried to maneuver in the cramped hotel room. It was only the flight assist system that kept me alive through the fog of the trigger-vision.


    A hail of lasers from Legend similarly splashed against her without doing any damage.


    "William, you''ve got to turn it off," he pleaded. "We want to help you!"


    "Shut up! This is all Cauldron''s fault! I never should have joined. I''ll end it all!"


    "Enough," Eidolon declared. A sphere of black that visibly distorted the space around it collided with the zebra-striped projection, popping both out of existence. "This has gone on long enough."


    He was about to say something else, but the projection was back and looming behind him. The doctor didn''t need to summon it directly in front of him.


    "Behi-"


    I tried to warn him but I wasn''t fast enough. Not-Abby''s nails were sharpened into claws and already lunging for my friend''s back.


    Then, a gray blur shoved Eidolon out of the way.


    "Ahhh!" The strongest brute collapsed to the floor shrieking in agony as rivets of red ran down her cheek.


    Dr. Manton''s projection had gouged out Alexandria''s eye. Somehow. A woman who regularly wrestled endbringers suddenly found herself on the back foot. It caught everyone by surprise, so much so that the projection paused in confusion. Not even the doctor had expected this. The implications were massive. Legend was by our downed teammate''s side in a flash.


    Eidolon wasted no time in taking the obvious route. A nearby lamp tore itself form the wall and streaked towards the doctor. When in doubt, take out the master.


    The projection whirled and popped like a soap bubble before teleporting to the doctor, shielding him with her body. She then grabbed the bedframe and swung it like a club, ripping through the hotel walls with contemptuous ease. I noted belatedly that she could grant her durability, likely by touch. The doctor jumped onto the bed and they were making their escape out the window.


    Seeing no other choice, I flew after them and holstered my handheld blaster before equipping the cannon I used every endbringer fight. Things had escalated enough and I couldn''t imagine the damage the doctor could cause with a power like that. Behind me, I could see Eidolon give chase.


    He soon caught up with me.


    "Where''s Manton?" he spoke, voice carried by the miniature comms unit installed into each of our outfits.


    "He took a corner there," I pointed. "What are you using?"


    "General gravity, black hole, and telekinesis, thought they''d be versatile enough," he grunted, voice tinged with frustration. "It''ll take a few minutes to swap one out."


    We flew after the doctor. Down below, I could see people start to take notice. Eidolon and I were easily identifiable, though I didn''t know how well they could see Dr. Manton with the bedframe in the way.


    "We''re drawing too much attention," I told him. "We need to end this, fast."


    "I know."


    Just ahead, I saw the doctor and his projection race into the sky. He made sure to run towards the setting sun, making him harder for Eidolon to aim at. My mask''s scanning software compensated for the excessive glare and I fired off a shot towards the projection. My disintegration ray should be strong enough to pop the projection; it drew energy from different dimensions and fired a hyper-dense wave along photon channels. Its output wasn''t too far off Eidolon''s best.


    Should. It didn''t.


    My trademark golden laser lanced out but Not-Abby slashed it apart with a wave of her hand as if it were a solid object.


    "Thought you wanted to end it fast?" my green-clad teammate snarked. "Doesn''t that thing go any higher?"


    "It''s at what I use for endbringers."


    "Shit. Run distraction? I can pop it, but the black hole is slow."


    "Got it."


    With a bit of effort, I managed to outpace them and circled around to cut off their escape. I didn''t know if Not-Abby could run faster, she seemed to selectively ignore physics at will, but she shouldn''t be able to influence her master directly, which meant he was still feeling the inertia of flight.


    A Manton limit, coined by the very man I needed to stop.


    I toned down my cannon''s power in favor of volume and let loose a salvo of stunning bolts towards the pair. I hoped that like most masters, the projection would take care of itself if the master was unconscious. So long as I could tag the doctor, the power wasn''t relevant.


    A moment later, the sky was flooded with blue-white lasers that covered the clouds. Clearly, Legend was done looking after Alexandria. I hoped that meant good news.


    The lasers fell like rain, forcing the doctor to descend. Just when I thought he wouldn''t be able to avoid or block them all, his projection dropped the bed.


    He began to fall but before he could get far, she tore the bedsheet from the bedframe and swirled it around the doctor, hiding him from view. I never thought I would see the day the Founders were stymied by a bedsheet, but here we were. Legend and my lasers bounced off and she carried the cocooned doctor through a building wall, disappearing into a skyscraper.


    The doctor knew our abilities. Seeing that he couldn''t outfly us, he was choosing to hide from my friend''s superhuman vision. How willing he was to put bystanders at risk remained to be seen.


    I descended into the Abby-sized hole. She''d left a clear path of destruction into the heart of the building but had been smart enough to make detours and winding turns, making sure to avoid line of sight and forcing us to slow.


    The three of us followed her into what had been an office kitchenette to find a person missing an arm. Legend stayed behind, his power much less useful in close quarters. Six floors and the odd corpse later, we''d lost them.


    Not for the first time, I lambasted myself for prioritizing offense over utility. My scanners were designed to make me superhumanly accurate, an "aim-bot" that tracked the disturbances in wavelengths caused by objects as they moved through the atmosphere. It was designed for use in the open to track Leviathan. A much smaller target in the building wasn''t ideal.


    "Anything?" Eidolon asked.


    "No, either there''re too many obstacles in the building or she''s somehow made herself invisible to my scanner," I said bitterly. I had an anti-personnel scanner back at the lab, too! It was a collaboration project between me and Bluesong that used a combination of infrared and sonic vibrations to trace a person no matter the distance. I just never considered that the good doctor would lose his shit like this.


    "Sixteen seconds until my power swaps out. I think I found one that lets me focus on heartbeats."


    I nodded. It''d help, but who knew how many people there were in the building? That was the big problem with Eidolon. His Agent seemingly had access to every power, but he couldn''t just pick and choose what he wanted. He likened it to trying to guide a drunk elephant. Doable, but precision wasn''t exactly an option.


    Before we could propose a solution, I felt my body grow cold. The world began to teeter and say as I tried to right myself.


    "Hero!" I heard Eidolon shout. He reached out for something behind me.


    I felt myself go slack. Looking down, I saw a pale hand emerging from my stomach. Turning, I saw her. Abby''s deep brown eyes were a sinister yellow. With a predatory grin, she slashed her hand to the side, tearing out through the left side of my torso.


    ''Are those what my ribs look like?'' I found myself thinking nonsense. My arms twitched, trying to bring my cannon to bear with strength I no longer had.


    Then the pain came. If the shock was cold, the wave of burning agony brought my mind back into focus. I heard Eidolon shout something but I couldn''t make sense of it one way or the other.


    ''He can''t attack because of me.'' I had time to realize that and commanded my legs to move but my spine was rent to shreds.


    "Fire," I mouthed with what faculties I could control.


    My eyes were fluttering, the pain too much to ignore. I still managed to engage my flightpack to its maximum output with the visor''s UI, launching myself forward and off her hand. Belatedly, I felt my left arm go numb and realized that she as holding me by the shoulder as well.


    ''I''m going to die,'' I thought. ''It''s cold¡­ Cauldron¡­ There was so much to do¡­''


    My vision faded to black. Then there was a flash, a halo of pale white light that beckoned me home.


    Author''s Note


    I actually wrote this interlude at the same time as 4.8.5 but decided to publish them separately. One reason was that it was getting long. The other because I felt like having Eugene''s perspective earlier on would be good for the story.


    So, we know very little about the Siberian Incident. We know that Dr. Manton stole two vials, gave one to his daughter, then drank the other when her trigger failed horribly. Though we don''t know conclusively if she survived or not, suffice to say she didn''t make it. I glossed over the incident in the Inspired Inventor omakes, but I figured it deserved a more flushed out sequence of events here.


    We also know nothing about his daughter so I made up a lot of things. Most of it is based on descriptions of the Siberian, assuming that she is of course a proportional analog rather than his idealized image of her. The Siberian has waist-length hair and long nails and appears to be a young woman at most in her early twenties. I settled on Abby/Abigail as a name¡­ just because, really. I like the name, had a friend named Abby.


    Fun fact: Elephants can get drunk. They sometimes seek out fermented/rotting marula fruits. Scientists claimed in 2006 that they can''t get drunk from this because the amount of ethanol is too small compared to an elephant''s mass, but this might not be true. Humans are somewhat unique in that we process ethanol very quickly. Elephants do not. It''s very possible that eating enough overripe marula fruit can give an elephant a buzz.


    No one''s quite sure about the amount, but I choose to believe that alcoholic elephants are a thing that naturally occurs in the wild.


    This has been Fabled Web''s animal facts.


    I agree that the conclusion was rather anti-climactic, but that was kind of the point. No dramatics, just a reasonably competent villain who plays to her strengths.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 4.16 Ripples

    Ripples 4.16


    2000, September 15: Arlington, VA, USA


    I stood in the corner of my room like a scared puppy as the Boogeyman of Earth-Bet sat on my bed like she owned it. It was my first time seeing the legendary thinker in the flesh and I was¡­ disappointed?


    Truth be told, I wasn''t sure what I was expecting. She was beautiful, but not in the same way movie stars and K-pop idols were. She was the kind of pretty that could fade into the crowd, be one part of an appealing background.


    I didn''t doubt that it was an image she cultivated meticulously. Easy enough to overlook, but oh so dangerous once you knew what you were looking at.


    Then, as if to challenge those very thoughts, she stretched like a cat and lounged back against my favorite pillow as if to say, "It''s my pillow now and there''s nothing you can do about it." It wasn''t exactly a subtle power play, but she was clearly done being subtle.


    I scowled at her, my irritation overriding my survival instincts for a moment. It gave me the presence of mind to at least stand up straight. If I was about to die, I may as well die staring her down.


    "Oh, quit the melodramatics, Hyunmu," she drawled. "Or, do you prefer Andy? Yusung?"


    "Yusung," I replied.


    She nodded magnanimously, like a queen deigning to learn the name of a useful servant.


    I took a deep breath. ''Focus,'' I chided myself. ''Think. Why is she here? What does she want?''


    She smiled at me, an almost playful smile, as if to tell me that I could take my time.


    Just our brief interaction thus far told me much about her and my current predicament.


    I was helpless. It was a sobering realization, but it was true. There was no way around it and deluding myself wouldn''t help now. If she wanted me dead, I would be dead. If she wanted me chained to a lab in some undisclosed alternate earth, I would be.


    ''But you''re not,'' a voice inside whispered.


    And that was the rub. She didn''t want either of those things for me. If she did, she would have no reason to visit me like this. She could just as easily have taken me in my most vulnerable moment and that''d have been that. The fact that she was willing to have a conversation with me at all proved that she wanted something more.


    Contessa nodded subtly, that same maddening smile dancing on her lips.


    ''She can read me like an open book. Is this because the Path is fully focused on me?''


    No, the exact details didn''t matter. Putting on airs would do me no good here. The time for false bravado and delusions of grandeur was long behind me. The fact that she was here and I was free implied she meant what she said: She wanted to talk.


    And that¡­ that meant something big had happened.


    I knew since the lawsuit against Rubedo''s healing potions that I was on Cauldron''s radar. Me moving out here meant I''d be at the heart of their power. I''d made peace with that. I knew I was being used and seeing how we had the same ultimate goal, I went with the flow, using them in turn.


    But now, she''d chosen to strip the curtains bare.


    Something massive had changed, big enough that the Path no longer called for granting me the illusion of freedom. Big enough to warrant this conversation.


    Realization struck me like a bolt from the blue. Perhaps, my situation wasn''t as hopeless as I''d assumed¡­ Perhaps, I wasn''t completely helpless here¡­


    "Hero," we spoke in the same breath.


    She removed her fedora and twirled it on a finger in lazy arcs. "And now we are at the crux of the matter. Hero is alive, currently doing his best impression of the world''s most awkward goldfish."


    Despite my current predicament, hearing of his survival was a weight off my shoulders. "That''s good."


    "Indeed."


    "You''re welcome," I said as the details of our dynamic solidified in my mind. "He''s really important, you know."


    "I know. Although the question remains: How do you know?"


    "Limited precognition. I had a vision of what might happen without my intervention."


    "We''ll have to talk about that."


    "Vaguely depreciating value," I shrugged. "The dream was a one-time thing. Information about someone''s powers is likely to be consistent, but events are already changing."


    "You changed things by making sure Hero survives."


    "You''re welcome. Seriously, I don''t think you understand how important he is."


    "Enlighten me. Just how much do you know?"


    "Rebecca. Keith. David. Kurt. Eva." I pointed at her. "Fortuna."


    "You don''t know Hero''s name?"


    "No. The vision was more like reading a book or watching a play. I know a lot, but not everything."


    "Thank you. That clears up quite a bit."


    I sighed. "Is this the part where you torture me for information?"


    "That depends." She tossed her hat with a flick of her wrist. It flew in a perfect arc and alighted gently on my head. "That depends on you, Yusung. You know what Cauldron stands for."


    "I do."


    "You represent a tricky new player, an unforeseen variable. So, what do you stand for?"


    I said the first thing that came to mind. "Inspiration." At her puzzled glance, one I wasn''t sure was true, I continued. "I stand for Inspiration. It''s the closest thing to a name you''ll find regarding my power. I want to create, to better the world. And yes, to kill Scion. Or Zion. Or the Warrior. Whichever name you prefer."


    "We have the same goal."


    "We do."


    We stared each other down, Contessa and I. It wasn''t awkward; awkward wasn''t the right word. Nor was the atmosphere quite as threatening as before.


    In a way, this was my worst nightmare. There was a reason she was called the boogeyman and a visit from her usually meant you weren''t waking up tomorrow. But, the worst had not happened. I wasn''t a rabbit about to be devoured by a cobra. We weren''t equals here, I had no delusions about that, but nor was our dynamic completely one-sided.


    I had something more valuable than any singular nugget of information: I''d proven I could refine the Path, bypass restrictions imposed upon her by Eden. In my own limited way, saving Hero proved I could contest a god and that made me valuable. That made my agency valuable.


    With that in mind, I spoke.


    "You''re short-sighted," I began cautiously. "It''s not your fault, but you think killing Scion will save humanity. You think that if the Warrior vanishes, we can rebuild, no matter how bad the damage, no matter how many earths are lost. So long as some spark of humanity remains, we can rise anew."


    "Oh?" it was a single syllable, but there was danger there, a warning. I''d effectively told her that her entire life was meaningless. Path or no, there was no way she wouldn''t be offended.


    "It''s not your fault," I repeated, "you''re working off incomplete information."


    "Enlighten me."


    "The Shards, the fragments of entities you call Agents, do you know what they want? What the purpose of the Cycle truly is? Why they visited and extinguished so many worlds, so many species?"


    "No, only that the Cycle will culminate in the end of humanity," she admitted.


    "Immortality. You can laugh, but that''s what it boils down to in the end. It sounds like a bad fantasy novel, but at the end of the day, the entities are no different than some medieval alchemist who couldn''t tell the ass end of a fish. They want immortality.


    "Somewhere along the line, they discovered that the universe will end. Not this dimension, all dimensions as they know it. No transfer of energy is truly perfect, some will always be lost into the surroundings. And eventually, all energy in the universe will just¡­ cool down¡­ and the universe will end. Geeks like me call it the heat death. The entities seek to solve that, to exist forever.


    "That''s it. That''s all they want, to exist. And in turn, to grow infinitely as they devour countless worlds and each other. Funny, isn''t it?"


    "And you think killing the Warrior will not end the Cycle." She reached the logical conclusion. "There is a third entity."


    I shrugged. "Kind of? But not really the issue. The problem is that the Cycle is like a boulder rolling down the hill. You can kill the idiots who shoved it, but the boulder''s still going to crash."


    "How do we end the Cycle?"


    "We kill the Warrior, then the Thinker''s exigency condition. She''ll emerge as an endbringer called the Simurgh, a naked woman with many wings. At the start, she''ll just be another endbringer, though one with a focus on thinker, master, and tinker powers. If you kill Scion, you''ll put her in charge of the Shard network. She''ll then activate contingencies, trying to gather as much data via human suffering until another entity can arrive and end the Cycle, resulting in the destruction of humanity. More importantly, killing Scion will damage the network, enabling broken triggers."


    "Broken triggers?"


    "Yeah, they''re¡­ They''re what happens when a Shard takes over the parahuman completely. They lack a Manton limit because they''re no longer human. The Shard has no interest in keeping the parahuman alive or limiting its power. And, if a broken trigger happens to also be the second trigger, they become titans, pseudo-endbringers that stand as tall as skyscrapers.


    "My point¡­ My point is that the Path can only take you so far." I sighed. I really didn''t want to be the one who told the strongest thinker in the world she wasn''t smart enough, but¡­ I was literally the only person who could, the only person who had a shot at averting the shitstorm that was Ward. "There are too many blindspots. Endbringers. Eidolon. Triggers. Metaphysics¡­"


    "You."


    That brought me up short. "Me?"


    "Yes. And no. You exist on the Path. And yet, you act outside of it with knowledge that should be impossible. Every time I see you on the Path, you become more powerful. Your creations seem to have fewer limits. I can see you, but not the source of your power."


    ''She can''t see the World Rune,'' I realized. She could see me, but not Inspiration. It made sense in hindsight. If an infinite source of mana wasn''t metaphysical nonsense, what was?


    "Why tell me this?"


    She shrugged. "Consider it my ''thank you'' for saving Hero. I told you; I want to talk. Lay our cards on the table. What you''ve told me so far. It''s only proven the Path right."


    "And what''s the Path you''re running now?"


    "Path to making Yusung trust and cooperate with me."


    "That''s¡­ That''s fucked." I let out a frustrated sigh.


    The Path was, infuriatingly, correct. I''d trust her a lot less if she fed me some bullshit and it''d clearly decided that the easiest way to take advantage of my psychological profile was to speak truthfully. Reciprocity: Truth for truth. That she was running a Path just to soothe my insecurities annoyed me like nothing else, but that she was honest about her manipulations actually helped put my mind at ease.


    I could second guess her motives. She could be lying. But¡­ But that way laid madness. I''d get nothing for my paranoia except an ever-deepening spiral of fear and desperation.


    Contessa, everything she did, from the way she dressed to the way she lounged on my favorite pillow, said and did just enough, just enough to allow me to slowly unclench my fist. It wasn''t enough, not fully, but it was a start. Knowing I had nothing else, leaving me no choice but to accept her outstretched hand in friendship, I was made to let go of my paranoia.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    In a single sentence, she''d thoroughly checkmated me.


    "Fucking thinkers," I cursed.


    "Oh? Are you any different, Mister ''I want to kill God?''" she asked with a teasing lilt.


    "It''s not as fun when it happens to me."


    "I wouldn''t know."


    "Bitch."


    "Brat."


    We shared a moment of solidarity and no matter how manufactured, it gave me the chance to take a breath.


    "So what now?"


    "Now you tell me everything, starting with how we can kill Scion."


    "We can''t," I admitted freely, "not as we are."


    "But you know how."


    "I do. Scion is just a pi?ata. You pop the human-sized balloon and it''ll create a portal to the Warrior''s real body, a body the size of a planet. You need to blow that to kingdom come."


    "And who can pop the pi?ata?"


    I held out a hand and started to tick my fingers down. "Sting. Stilling. High Priest. Harvest assuming she has the right powers. Inspiration."


    "They are?"


    "Sting hasn''t been distributed yet. It''s a Shard that entities use in combat against one another. Stilling is what I call Hero''s Shard. It was Eden''s equivalent to Scion''s golden beams. High Priest is Eidolon''s Shard. Harvest is Glaistig Uaine. Inspiration¡­ is me."


    "So you''ve said. You can kill Scion?"


    "No, not right now. Later, in the same way that Hero might one day have the potential to kill Scion."


    "What do you need?"


    "Not a clue. I''ll let you know when I get there. You said Hero''s alive, right?"


    She nodded, going with the change in topic. "Yes. Alexandria lost an eye. Manton escaped by bisecting Hero. Was that supposed to happen?"


    "Yeah. Hero was supposed to die without me, but yeah. What exactly happened to his daughter?"


    "Abby. You don''t have her name. She expired during the fighting."


    "That''s¡­" I wished I could say I cared, but¡­ I didn''t, not really. The Siberian was an avatar of his daughter. I knew that in my head but his daughter wasn''t really a person to me as much as she was some nebulous plot point. Insignificant. Irrelevant.


    "You don''t care. And it bothers you that you don''t care."


    "Can you stop Pathing me? You won. I''m on your side," I scowled.


    And, surprisingly, she did. Or, I thought she did.


    She flopped back to the bed and placed her hands behind her head, the picture of relaxation. For once, she didn''t seem to mind that her perfectly tailored suit was getting wrinkled. It was the first crease that seemed out of place on her otherwise immaculate outfit. It was a small thing, ultimately meaningless, but the impeccable poise and control I''d begun to associate with her was gone. She wasn''t Contessa, but Fortuna.


    Or she was once again Pathing the best way to put me at ease.


    ''No,'' I told myself, ''no more senseless spirals.''


    "Don''t you have a million better things to do than relax on my bed?"


    "They''ll keep going without me for another two hours and thirteen minutes," she said with the kind of smug surety only found in thinkers. "It''s nice, you know, to shut it off, to be Fortuna again, to talk without the Path guiding me."


    "But it is guiding you."


    "Perhaps. We''re still in the car, but I''ve taken my hands off the steering wheel. It''ll follow the road for now. That''s as much as you''re going to get from me I''m afraid."


    Sighing, I acquiesced. "Fine. Whatever. Do you crash Eva''s bed when you want to relax or am I just lucky?"


    "I don''t relax, especially not around her. I respect her about as much as I respect me, really. Which is to say, not at all. I know we''re monsters, Yusung. Your paranoia wasn''t misplaced. I know too much of what the doctor''s done to respect her. Alexandria too."


    "Not the rest?"


    "Number Man needs no explanations. Eidolon is a single-minded hero, for good and for ill. Hero and Legend¡­ They are Cauldron''s moral conscience, our heart."


    "Then why do you keep insisting on ignoring their misgivings? Why hide so much from them?"


    "Why do you?" she scoffed, throwing the question back at me. "You know the answer to that. Sometimes, you have to put aside what the heart wants for the greater good. Keith and Eugene, they''re not soft, the opposite, really. Too hard in some ways. Too principled."


    I raised a single brow. "Eugene?"


    "What did you think his name was?"


    "If I had to guess? Arthur. Maybe Clark."


    "Sorry to disappoint."


    "Not important. That''s hardly the only thing I didn''t know. I feel like I know enough to know I don''t know anything, you know?" I processed what I said and laughed. "Shit. Can barely talk."


    "You think you''re the only one who feels like a Dunning-Kruger stereotype? Join the club."


    "Club Sisyphus?"


    "That implies we did anything to deserve it."


    "Fair."


    We shared a quiet chuckle. I never thought I''d ever relate to Fortuna of all people, but the end of the world made for strange bedfellows. I spun my swivel chair around so the back faced her and sat, leaning forward against the backrest.


    "Thank you," I said. I was surprised to find that I was sincere. The chance to lay everything bare was worth more than I thought I knew. "Thank you for arranging this."


    "I needed this too. Not just because you can seemingly refine the Path. It''s¡­ good to be Fortuna again." She looked at me intently. "Will you help me?"


    "Join Cauldron?"


    "Yes. Tell me all you know so I can better refine the Path. In exchange, I will provide you with more opportunities to grow. You''ll have a say in the running of this world."


    It was tempting. More importantly, there was only ever one answer. "Yes. But-"


    "I never placed your mother at risk, Yusung."


    "Not the point."


    "You know that she''ll never stop worrying for you. I''m told that''s what mothers do."


    "You''ll actively keep her away from threats and protect her to the best of your ability."


    "She can''t be my priority."


    "That''s not what I said."


    "Very well. She will be a consideration on the Path. She will not be the only consideration, but I will endeavor to keep her safe."


    "Then yes, I will join you. But your question, it was the wrong one."


    "Oh?"


    "You asked if I could kill Scion. That''s far-reaching. Too far in fact."


    "And what is the right question?"


    "Your Path is muddled. That''s why Hero died and you couldn''t prevent it, right?"


    She nodded. I saw her eyes widen. "You know where Leviathan will be."


    "Tomorrow." I glanced at the clock and corrected myself. "Today. Leviathan hits Naples, Italy. I wasn''t sure about the date, but I know it''s the day after Hero''s death."


    "Can we kill it?" she asked, all business again. Contessa was back.


    "No. And until we can, we shouldn''t even try. Cornering an endbringer just makes it stop sandbagging. Focus on minimizing loss of life because all the damage you do to it is superficial. You can behead it and it won''t matter."


    "So what will?"


    "The core. An endbringer is a puppet made of layered crystals that get denser towards the core. If you can breach the layers and hit the core, it will destabilize, turning into a bomb that can wipe out a mid-sized country. Until you can do that and take the collateral damage elsewhere, it''s not worth even trying."


    "Then we let this one go."


    "It sucks, but yeah. The next big event I know about happens sometime in January next year. A man named Jamie Rinke will trigger, becoming the greatest biokinetic alive."


    I proceeded to tell her about Ellisburg. I told her about how he enacted the plot of a horror movie over the course of a week before killing all three thousand people in a single day of hostile takeover. I told her about his creations to the best of my knowledge. Lastly, I told her how he would trigger after being fired from his job at a bank.


    "Nilbog, that''s his cape name, ultimately turns Ellisburg into his personal kingdom and the PRT quarantines the whole place, fences and everything. As long as he''s left alone, he''s pretty much happy to remain in his own fantasy world. You let him live in the hopes of having more cannon fodder for the final battle," I finished.


    "And?"


    "And what?"


    "And was he useful in the final battle?"


    I thought about it. Khepri had mastered trillions of people across countless worlds. Ellisburg had a population of three thousand, give or take a few hundred. "Not really. You''re talking about little goblins with bone spears and acid against Scion. He was a distraction, but only in the sense that his army was a novelty, nothing more."


    "So why are you telling me this? Do you want me to keep him from triggering?"


    "If I said yes, would you? Like I said, the only reason he triggered was because he lacked the support structure after he got fired from his job. Keeping the bank solvent enough to not need to lay people off would probably take the Number Man what? Five minutes? If that? He could save three thousand lives with minimal effort."


    "You''re testing my willingness to offer you concessions."


    "Partially. I also want to know how the Path changes if I offer you actionable intel like this. As much as I want to say you should save Ellisburg, I''m not crazy enough to think they outweigh all of Earth-Bet. In the end, I''m not going to ask you to devote the Path to Victory to getting Rinke some friends if there are better ways it can be used."


    "If he was able to distract Scion, even for a millisecond, I''m not willing to prevent his trigger. You may have knowledge on how Scion can be killed, but I will not gamble everything on you."


    I sighed. It was pointless to argue. Worse, she was right. Were I in her shoes, I doubt I''d think any differently. Was I already falling down Cauldron''s slippery slope? Would I sacrifice three thousand people to buy a single second against Scion?


    Yes. Yes, I would. It wasn''t even a question. If it came down to it, three thousand was nothing. But the truth of my own callousness disquieted me further.


    I looked around for anything to distract me and saw the clock again. We''d been talking for a while and it was now past midnight.


    ''I could use the snack.'' I just wanted something to chew on while I mulled things over.


    Shrugging, I popped a Total Biscuit of Everlasting Will into my hand. If it could provide me "everlasting will," would it give me the resolve needed to make terrible sacrifices?


    No, I knew the answer to that. The biscuits were powerful creations of magic, but they didn''t harden your resolve. They just gave you the daily sustenance needed to carry on. And tasted amazing. That was important too.


    Then I saw Contessa move.


    She withdrew two somethings from her suit pocket and tossed them with inhuman precision. One bounced against the wall, off the ceiling fan just so, and down the back of my shirt.


    I realized then that she threw two rubber balls.


    Startling a little, I fumbled for the ball in my shirt and accidentally tossed the biscuit into the air. The second ball, tossed with an impossibly precise spin and bounced off the desk and closet, knocked the biscuit by the edge and back towards her.


    Dainty fingers caught the biscuit like a miniature Frisbee.


    "Mmm, always wanted to try one of these. Pistachio and wildflower honey. Delicious," she said with that infuriatingly smug smirk. "More."


    "I only have three per day."


    "One for you, one for your mother, and one for me. Perfect."


    "Oh, fuck off," I grumbled. Still, I made my second biscuit and shoved it into my mouth before the bitch could decide she wanted that one too.


    "You''ll have to tell me just what the limits of your power are one day."


    "Not today."


    "Not today," she agreed easily, dropping not a single crumb onto my sheets. And then, the moment of levity was gone. "Let''s compromise, Yusung. You don''t want to become a second Doctor Mother, and rightly so. There are plenty of people in Cauldron who have no trouble making hard decisions, who have cast their morality by the wayside. I''m one of them. So, don''t. Don''t become another me. You know much. How can you use what you know to save lives while improving our chances against Scion?"


    I chewed my delicious treat for a long moment. ''Rinke could trigger, but he is one of the greatest biokinetics in the setting. Is using him as cannon fodder against Scion really the best we can do? No¡­ That''s not right. Rinke could make goblins in the shape of Eden just like Leet did. There''s no reason why we can''t play on Scion''s neuroses and that wouldn''t require Ellisburg being written off.''


    And then I had it. Amy manipulated Taylor''s Shard, "jailbroke" it until Queen Administrator took over. ''Could¡­ Could Nilbog do something similar? If Nilbog could be made mentally stable, or at least controlled, could he be used to ameliorate the worst mutations of a Case-53?''


    Maybe I was grasping at straws, I was desperate to find a way to make him useful without throwing away the entire town, but¡­ why wouldn''t it work? As far as I understood it, a Case-53''s Shard enforced mutated shapes onto their hosts and that form would be their new standard for "healthy." My own healing potion wouldn''t turn them back into humans, but Nilbog''s Shard had to have dealt with other Shards before. He had to have dealt with other triggers in Ellisburg.


    After all, his little horror movie rampage was a textbook scenario for new triggers. Yet, he''d assimilated them all without any struggle that I knew of, making them loyal to him and turning them into his goblins. He''s never done it with a Case-53, but he had a better shot than most. And even if Nilbog couldn''t reverse their mutations, he should be able to stabilize the worst cases.


    If he could be kept loyal, we could leave him at the head of an organized force of parahumans instead of his ragtag horde of goblins. They would be made to love him, but that love would be returned. Nor would it be absolute control; Dot was able to develop into her own personhood from her interactions with Amy and if a Case-53 wouldn''t have any memories anyway¡­ Didn''t they deserve good health, family, and love?


    "This is so fucked up," I groaned.


    "You have an idea."


    "Can''t you pluck it from my head?" I snarked.


    "I could, but it''s good for you to voice it."


    "Fine. Any chance you''ll stop making Case-53s?"


    "No, for the same reason I won''t prevent Nilbog''s trigger. Any small chance is better than nothing. We also noticed early on that Scion does not like to look at Case-53s, perhaps because they are avatars of Eden''s broken Shards."


    "Right. You keep the majority of them in Cauldron bases to redirect his attention elsewhere. Almost forgot about that. Do Legend and Hero even know what kinds of monsters you are?"


    "No. All they know is that some triggers result in wild mutations and destroy the host''s memories. We made sure to not brand those we''ve released into the wild as it were. As far as the PRT is concerned, a Case-53 refers to amnesiac capes with gross mutations."


    "You were going to use Manton as an excuse to release more, branding them with the Cauldron symbol."


    She nodded. "I saw that if I let him take the vials, he would incite more triggers, though the immediate aftermath of his theft was hidden from me. By leaving our own brand, I wanted to promote the idea that Manton had gone insane and was responsible for inciting a large number of Case-53s, leaving clues about our identity in some twisted attempt to expose and destroy us."


    "It helps that he''s actually insane."


    "Quite."


    "This is so fucked up," I repeated.


    "So make it less ''fucked.'' Tell me, what is your plan?"


    "Recruit Nilbog," I told her. "His name is Jamie Rinke. Knowing he works at a bank, it''ll take Number Man moments to find him. He can keep tabs on Rinke until he''s fired. You''ll know when he triggers because Ellisburg will fall off the Path for a few days. Go there as soon as your Path clears. Offer him a place to call his own. Social-fu his psyche until he''s loyal to you then take him to a Cauldron base."


    "You want him to work with the Case-53s."


    "I do. I want him to see if he can stabilize their worst mutations if not outright turn them back into humans. He loves them, his creations, and they''ll love him in turn. Except this time, if he can truly fix some of them, they''ll have a real reason for their loyalty besides Shard fuckery."


    "And with him sane, we''ll have a far better organized army." I nodded. "That is acceptable. Congratulations, Yusung, I will save Ellisburg."


    "And all it cost me was the Case-53s."


    "They were already made and lacked both memories and identities. You''ve orchestrated a Path that could give them both."


    Strangely, hearing that did make me feel a little better. "Thanks."


    Contessa rose and spoke. "I''ll have Alexandria arrange matters in your favor. The Elixir of Life, Wayfinder, and Worldstone. You made them because you were terrified of Leviathan. You made them in the hopes of protecting the primary male role model in your life in response to the death of your father. Agreed?"


    I sighed. "Agreed."


    "Good. You''ll be expected to attend the next Cauldron meeting following Naples. I''ll start the evacuations to minimize the loss of life there."


    "I want Doormaker access."


    "Granted."


    "And safety for my mom."


    "Already Pathed." She made for the closet. "Door, Cauldron base."


    "So that''s it then. I''m a member of Cauldron now."


    "Indeed. Oh, Andy?"


    "What?"


    She nodded at me with a mischievous smile before stepping through the Door. "Keep the hat. It looks good on you."


    Author''s Note


    AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


    Okay, I''m done. This chapter¡­ It got a bit long but I couldn''t even find a good place to break it apart because it''s just one long conversation.


    As promised, I''ll go over my thoughts on Contessa in Informational. Yes, her personality is massively AU, but I don''t consider it too bad. After all, we see very little of Fortuna, not Contessa, and she is absolutely the kind of social chameleon who would tailor herself to achieve whatever outcome she wants.


    I know the decision to not kill Nilbog is going to be pretty controversial, especially what I''m doing to the Case-53s, but that was the best possible solution Andy could come up with. He''s officially a member of Cauldron. Contessa has, literally and metaphorically, shared her hat with him.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.1 Scattered

    Scattered 5.1


    2000, September 16: Washington, DC, USA


    I couldn''t sleep. My heart began to pound relentlessly the moment she left.


    I survived Contessa. I survived Contessa.


    Seriously, who could say that? How many people in the world could say that they shared cookies with the Eye of Abaddon?


    I didn''t know if I wanted to dance around with joy or cry in a corner. Either way, sleep eluded me.


    At four, I finally gave up on trying to catch some Zs and began to meditate. An hour later, I placed my last Total Biscuit of Everlasting Will onto a plate for mom and scribbled a note beneath. I put on a domino mask and the fedora Fortuna left me and stood in my living room.


    "Door, back alley of Quigley''s," I called. True to Fortuna''s promise, a portal winked into existence before me, revealing the back alley of the restaurant where Hero and I first had our chat. I could teleport directly to the lab, but it wouldn''t do to bypass the security without authorization.


    ''Although¡­ Making Rebecca cover for me without knowing how I suddenly have Doormaker access would be pretty funny,'' I thought with a chuckle.


    I walked the few blocks to the Madhouse. Thankfully, the Biscuit was more than enough to keep me alert and energized. I mindlessly went through the security checkpoints and got to the shared lab.


    It was utterly empty save one person: Armsmaster. Collin "what the fuck is sleep" Wallis. He was barely dressed. He wore his armor''s undersuit, though it was pulled down to his waist. Beneath that was an Inspector Gadget t-shirt. Oddly appropriate. Like me, a classic domino mask was the only homage he paid to the unwritten rules.


    "Hyunmu," he glanced up from his work then nodded curtly, bringing attention to his beard. Even despite the early hour, it was combed and tapered to perfection. It even had a subtle shine to it from whatever beard oil he used.


    "Armsmaster," I greeted back. "Good morning. Are you always here at five?"


    "I am. Clinical studies suggest that the human brain is most alert immediately after exiting the natural sleep cycle. As such, I endeavor to make use of this time as productively as possible."


    "Agreed. I''m most alert in the mornings as well, though I usually work out and meditate."


    "Why are you here?"


    I let out a small snort. From anyone else, that would have implied that he didn''t want to see me. The more I talked with him, the more I could see just how he got the rep he did in canon. "I wanted to change things up a bit. Variety is the spice of life and all that. Anyways, happy tinkering," I waved.


    "Likewise." Social niceties finished, he turned back to his work.


    It seemed some things never changed. He could be observant when it suited him, but when it concerned anything outside his work, his interest dropped rapidly, such as just how I managed to get to the lab this early. He likely made his own assumptions and didn''t care enough to inquire further. As far as he was concerned, I was permitted to be here and the hour was irrelevant.


    I headed deeper into the Madhouse, passing by the different workstations. Finally, I arrived at my little corner and sighed, grateful that no one else was here. Armsmaster had no reason to be in my workspace and so missed the man-sized aquarium filled with a liquid that glowed in varying shades of subtle purples. More important than the weird lava lamp was what was in it: Hero. Awake.


    He let out a string of bubbles when he saw me approach.


    I couldn''t help myself. I waggled my eyebrows and tipped my fedora in a jaunty wave. "Yo, boss-man, fancy seeing you here." I made a show of looking down. "Feeling chilly?"


    His glub-glubbing turned a little more frantic as he tried to cover himself the best he could. The Elixir of Life cured all ills and injuries, but it didn''t repair clothes. One hand waved angrily while the other tried to keep his bait and tackle from view.


    "You know that I already know what everyone looks like naked, right?" More angry garbling. I rolled my eyes. "Fine, fine, not a morning person. I get it."


    I turned on my computer and skimmed through last night''s footage. Sure enough, I saw him dunking into the tank via Wayfinder. The crude contraption in the tank triggered and mixed the water with the Elixir of Life, turning it a violet hue. "You''re welcome, by the way."


    "Glub."


    I flipped a switch and the tank began to drain. "Say, how upset would you be if I market some of this stuff as Hero''s bathwater? If the internet''s taught me anything, it''s that there''s bound to be some idiot out there with more money than brain cells."


    "No. Don''t you fucking dare," he growled. "Andy, what the hell?"


    "Hyunmu, Eugene," I grinned. I sighed at the complete deadpan on his face. "Alright, fine. We don''t have time for the long answer though. Go fix your costume and get yourself kitted out in your spare gear. And if you have any big guns you''ve been keeping on a shelf somewhere, go ahead and dust them off too. You''re going to need everything you''ve got today."


    "What?"


    "Leviathan hits Naples sometime today," I told him. I watched his face pale and tapped my dandy new hat. "Like I said, no time for the long answer. Short answer is that the lady of dandy hats and I had a chat. I''ll see you and Rebecca at the next Illuminati meeting after you deal with Naples. Seriously, Eugene, you don''t have time. Go."


    He looked at me then towards his workstation. "I¡­ We''ll talk about this."


    I opened the aquarium door and waved him off.


    I was about to turn back to my computer, I had much to do, but then I heard metal footsteps approaching my workstation. ''Oh¡­ Oh no¡­''


    "Identify yourself, degenerate," came Armsmaster''s bark.


    "Stand down, Armsmaster," Hero tried to calm him down. "I''m Her-"


    "Unlikely. Hero has shown no inclination towards exhibitionism."


    "I''m not an exhibitionist!"


    "You are a pervert and thief. You are charged with trespassing, indecency, grand larceny, and intent to expose yourself to a minor. You will be brought into custody immediately. Surrender."


    "Your name is Collin. See? I''m Hero!"


    "I must instigate master-stranger protocols. Regardless, come with me or you will be subdued."


    "Colli-Argghh!" I heard him yell as Armsmaster activated his taser. He must have done something else because the lab''s security systems began to activate.


    "Ah, shit," I sighed. I looked around for anything that would help me diffuse this situation and found a post-it note on my desk lamp that I hadn''t noticed before. "Oh, great. Thanks, Fortuna." Flipping on the lab-wide intercoms, I spoke. "Stand down, Armsmaster. There is no cause for alarm. Code Mike-Charlie-Foxtrot-Lima-Yankee-Delta-Mike-Charlie-One-Two. Wait, seriously? The code to cancel MS procedures is McFly-DMC-12? Fuck. I blame Zero Day for this nonsense."


    I walked over and stuffed another healing potion in Hero''s mouth.


    "This is highly irregular."


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "It is, Armsmaster. Come on, let me show you last night''s footage."


    "If he has not been mastered, there are serious allegations to consider, not least of which would include exposing himself before a minor."


    "You are jumping to conclusions without having all the available information," I pointed out. "That''s not like you. I promise there is a reason our glorious leader looks like a drowned rat."


    He made a pinched face then nodded curtly. "Very well. I insist that he not leave my sight."


    We acquiesced and Hero ran to his locker to get dressed. The two of them reconvened in my workstation a few minutes later.


    I played the video. Really, it was just ten seconds long. Hero teleported into my aquarium missing everything from the waist down. The elixir mixed into the water. He began to heal. End clip.


    I used the Oracle''s Elixir to read from the post-it note in the trash bin. "Last night, Hero and the Founders engaged in a covert operation against an extremely dangerous cape called the Siberian. In preparation for this, and as a proof of concept against future S-class threats, I was tasked with making a sort of healing tank. I did not expect to need it, but it was good that I finished."


    "Why was no one else in the lab informed?" Before I could answer, he received a phone call. "Armsmaster speaking. Chief Director Costa-Brown. Yes, ma''am. I''ll be right there, ma''am, ETA one minute."


    I sighed as Armsmaster left. No doubt, that was more of Fortuna''s meddling.


    "Hyunmu, what''s going on?"


    "Didn''t you see the video? You ran into William. He went cray-cray and you discovered a newfound love for skinny-dipping."


    "Since when are you a part of Cauldron?"


    "Since yesterday. The better question is how long I knew of Cauldron''s existence. And really, you need to go see to your armor. I wasn''t lying about Leviathan."


    "I¡­ We''ll talk alter."


    "We will," I promised.


    He left and I leaned back into my chair. It was barely six in the morning and I already felt like going to bed. For all my cavalier snark, that was absolutely exhausting. Funny, but exhausting.


    Still, I knew what this meant. I was done. Finished. Rebecca had my potions. The heroes were forewarned of Leviathan. The Italian government was doing its best to prepare without giving the game away. Short of going to Naples myself and committing creative suicide, I''d done all I could and it was out of my hands.


    I was free, finally free to turn to my own projects, at least for a time.


    "Okay¡­ Priorities, Yusung," I muttered to myself. I opened a notepad and began to brainstorm. "The next attack should be sometime this February. British Columbia if nothing else changes and since the bird-bitch isn''t active yet, High Priest shouldn''t change anything¡­ Okay, but¡­ where in British Columbia?"


    I swore and cursed Wildbow. British Columbia wasn''t a city; it was a whole goddamn province, the fourth largest one in Canada at that. At the very least, I knew it wasn''t Vancouver. If Behemoth wrecked Vancouver, Dragon wouldn''t have made it her HQ. That left¡­ the rest of the fuck-massive province. And since Behemoth tended to gravitate towards infrastructure and energy sources, I couldn''t even narrow down by population density. He could target everything from roads to the electrical grid and I wouldn''t have any way of knowing until it was too late.


    "Fuck it," I swore. I jotted down what details I could but dismissed the idea of the Worldstone network. It was hard enough making a network to cover major cities. And honestly, the one following February was just as bad. I knew Leviathan would hit somewhere in India in July, but India was an entire subcontinent. Even if I could narrow down the area, getting the Indian government to cooperate would be a giant hurdle in itself. No, the Worldstone network would have to begin with the US, maybe Canada once I had a proof of concept up and running.


    "Okay, table that for now. I have a long time before the network becomes a priority. What else?"


    I stayed like that for hours, scribbling down idea after idea. In the end, I''d run out of excuses; it was time to focus on my eyes and armor. If nothing else, I''d spent so long infusing mana into the Tear of the Goddess that it was nearly ready. Thanks to Glacial Augment, I had knowledge of how to make True Ice efficiently as well as an incredible building material in Neo-Petricite.


    It wouldn''t be exact, but I wanted to make an armor based off Winter''s Approach, tossing in my own brand of enchantments here and there.


    The drawing I ended up with was rough. It was a set of plate armor with four blue crystals, one on each shoulder, chest, and back. I planned for each of these to be made of True Ice, anchors for my enchantments. The neck and shoulders were trimmed with fur, though I had no idea where I''d find a dead polar bear. All told, the armor looked largely like the one from the game, though I stuck to my color theme of gray, black, and cobalt-blue.


    Similarly, I planned to make my eyes out of True Ice.


    There was one major benefit to True Ice as an enchanting material: It was still. Which as to say, it embodied the concept of cold, of stillness. It was a material formed alongside the Freljord, ancient beyond mortal understanding. And, like much of the Freljord, it was one of the hardiest, most stubborn things around. It loathed change and once formed into something, it would retain that shape through the ages, enchantments included.


    Avarosa''s bow was a good example of this. Thousands of years after its creation, it loosed arrows as surely as the day it was first made.


    Grinning, I got to work. Finally, it was time for me.


    X


    I was shaken from my work at three in the afternoon. A long, low siren rang out throughout the lab. I''d never heard it before, but I knew what it meant: Leviathan. Endbringer sirens didn''t ring throughout every city in the world, but they did ring in every Protectorate and PRT office. From there, the PRT would send out emergency messages and provide logistical support to coordinate the response from independents and villains.


    I put down my work, a large block of Neo-Petricite I was fashioning, and rushed to the lab entrance.


    I saw Hero, Bluesong, and Armsmaster rush out. Hero''s armor worried me. I knew that his prime kit was wrecked last night so he must be using a spare he kept in reserve.


    ''Hopefully, he''ll stick to search and rescue,'' I thought. ''Would be a real pity if he goes and offs himself right after I saved his ass.''


    Seeing nothing else I could do, I returned back to my project. The Tear wasn''t ready for enchanting, but I could make the plates easily enough.


    X


    2000, September 23: Washington, DC, USA


    When Behemoth hit Lyon in April, I was finishing up my physical therapy sessions and figuring out what kind of Ward I wanted to be. I paid very little attention to the mood of the city as a whole. And when Leviathan hit Kyushu before that, I was a little busy trying not to drown.


    All that to say, I''d never been quite so cognizant of the environment immediately following an endbringer battle and it was¡­ It was depressing.


    Everywhere I went, it felt like the entire city was on edge, as though all of DC was in mourning. Some residents even hung black flags or shirts from their windows followed by the Italian flag, something about showing solidarity. It had only been eight years since Behemoth''s first appearance at Marun Fields and the world had yet to truly grow numb to every tragedy.


    Heroes and villains from all around the world remained in Naples, helping with humanitarian. Hero and Bluesong were among them. Armsmaster himself had only returned three days ago after doing all he knew how to do.


    Despite the absence of our illustrious leader, not a single villain tested the waters. Even Stage Crew and other comics were silent, as though they could sense the mood.


    This, I realized, was how the endbringer truce truly came to be. No one signed it into law. There were no formal declarations or grand gestures. There was no council of heroes and villains that shook on it. The endbringer truce became a universally accepted part of cape life because that was just how oppressive those attacks were. Really, it was a polite way of describing the depressing state of affairs than any concrete agreement.


    So, the whole week passed in subdued silence. Hero and Bluesong remained in Naples, building water purifiers, organizing humanitarian aid, and helping the Italian government with whatever else they needed.


    I spent the week refining my armor''s designs and infusing every drop of mana I could into the Tear of the Goddess. The armor was a surprisingly complicated piece of tech for something that looked like it could have come out of a fantasy novel. After all, if I was going to make myself armor, I was going to do it right; the World Rune would allow nothing less.


    That meant I had to consider every minute detail, separating the armor into different layers to optimize each enchantment before bringing it all together to form a greater whole. I spent three days just deciding on the exact fabric and weave I wanted for the undersuit, straight down to the molecular structure of each fiber.


    After all, Petricite didn''t exactly hold enchantments well on its own. The outer layer could be Petricite, but if I wanted it to channel my mana properly, the interior needed to be something else. Bit by bit, I drew on Jayce''s memories and worked out the network of mana-conductive fabrics and wires I''d need.


    That brought a smile to my face. I loved how everything I built was being used as the foundation for something else. This was Inspiration, to build on the backs of giants.


    And then, a week after Naples, things had finally begun to quiet down and the cloud of melancholy had begun to lift from the city.


    It was time.


    I glanced at the post-it note taped to my closet door. "Clothes picked out. Best first impression. -F," it read.


    Sure enough, when I opened the closet, I found several articles of clothing I definitely didn''t own. It seemed Fortuna was going all-in on the "Contessa''s new prot¨¦g¨¦" angle. The stylishly slim black suit, pressed white shirt, and embroidered charcoal-gray tie could lead to no other conclusion. Everything about the outfit screamed pricey and given my age and height, I knew she had to have it custom-made. Just running my fingers through the fabric made me wince at the imagined price tag.


    "Door, Cauldron HQ."


    Author''s Note


    I wanted to start this arc on a more humorous note. Don''t like dick jokes? Tough. Andy''s a smug little shit, but he''s just spent a night with Fortuna. He''s allowed to be a smug little shit.


    Also, I''ve clearly found the secret to dealing with endbringer fights: Make them someone else''s problem.


    Yes. Yes I did end the first chapter on a cliffhanger. Really, if I included the Cauldron meeting, this would be too long. I guess I don''t feel as bad about cliffhangers since I post daily and it''s not like I''m locking it behind a paywall. So, allow me to be a little bit smug:


    MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.2 Scattered

    Scattered 5.2


    2000, September 23: Unnamed, Ivory Coast


    I stepped through the portal.


    Fluorescent lights illuminated the hall. The walls were painted an eggshell-white, almost insulting in its inoffensiveness. The hall I found myself in looked like it belonged in a hospital. One thing I noticed was how immaculately clean this whole place was. There wasn''t a single smudge nor the slightest stain of dirt. If I were a poetic man, I''d say it was in contrast to Cauldron''s many, many sins, perhaps some insightful comment about the banality of evil, but I wasn''t.


    "Thank you, Doormaker, Clairvoyant," I nodded as the portal closed behind me. It never hurt to be nice, especially to people who saw your every breath. "Custodian? Are you there?"


    I felt something brush my shoulder and fix my fedora just so. "Thank you, Custodian. My name is Hyunmu, the newest member of Cauldron. Can you point me to the meeting room?"


    I felt something gently tugging me by the sleeve and allowed myself to be led through the winding maze of corridors, each as pristinely white as the last. Finally, Custodian released the hardened air of her power and left me standing before a pair of office doors. The varnished wood was as pristine as the rest of the hall, completely unassuming. If I didn''t know better, I''d never guess that the biggest conspiracy across countless earths was headquartered here.


    I could see behind them easily enough. Everyone was there. A dark-skinned woman in a lab coat who could only be Doctor Mother was flipping through a list of dossiers, each populated with names, psych profiles, and driving motives and ambitions. It seemed Cauldron was ready to distribute its newest batch of powers.


    To her right, a man in his late twenties with professionally cropped blonde hair and a clean-shaven face looked through a report on the most recent endbringer casualties. He could only be Kurt Wynn, formerly Harbinger of the Slaughterhouse and currently known as the Number Man. The casualty report he was skimming was incredibly detailed. There were things I''d expect, like the number of dead capes, but his report also included the cost of injuries and damaged infrastructure, down to the last cent and euro with a ninety-eight percent confidence and a two percent margin of error.


    Fucking ridiculous.


    To the maybe-not-a-doctor''s left was the iconic flying brick herself. She had a laptop open in front of her and was typing out an email to the US president in her capacity as the chief director. I skimmed it. It was mostly meaningless platitudes about how she''d pursue the national interest. I smiled a little at the pace she was typing. I could see the keyboard and the reinforced springs that made up its many keys. The speed she was typing at required nothing less. Not quite tinkertech, but not exactly available on the market.


    The rest of the Founders sat to the left of Alexandria. Legend, Eidolon, and Hero looked just about dead in their chairs; they lacked Alexandria''s chrono-static stamina and they''d all been floating around Naples for a week of nearly nonstop humanitarian aid.


    I saw Hero glance worriedly at the chair next to Contessa. My chair.


    Contessa, even after our last sorta-friendly chat, I didn''t dare think of her as Fortuna here, sat sipping from a cup of black coffee. She sat to the right of Number Man and across from Hero. As always, she was the picture of understated confidence.


    I breathed in deeply. "Well, Yusung, congratu-fucking-lations, you''re one of the people who rule the world. Now get in there and un-fuck Earth-Bet."


    With that less than stellar pep talk, I turned the handles and pulled the doors wide. I could imagine what Contessa wanted with her outfit choice. For all their posturing, capes weren''t immune to the magic of a good first impression, perhaps even more susceptible than most. So, I did my best.


    I strutted. I marched up to my chair like I owned the place.


    I plopped down into my chair, raised slightly so the table didn''t swallow me completely, and tucked my bangs behind my ear. I removed my fedora and twirled it on one finger before placing it right next to Contessa''s.


    "Hello everyone, marvelous day we''re having, eh?" I said with a cheeky grin and savored the way they stared at me. I may or may not have practiced my thinker-smug grin in the mirror, all for this one moment.


    Legend, Eidolon, Number Man, and Doctor Mother looked at me like the Matrix had begun to unravel, like I was the last piece of a puzzle they''d been working on for years, only to find that the final piece didn''t fit into the hole they''d made.


    To her credit, the only sign of Alexandria''s surprise was a minute twitch of her eyebrow, one I''d never have noticed if I wasn''t specifically looking for it. Her lips twitched upward into what could, maybe, be considered a smile.


    The real gold was Hero. After all, he knew me best. He had built up an image of who Andy Kim was over the past few months. And though his image of me shattered irreparably last week, he had bigger things on his mind until now. He''d shelved any concerns regarding me as something to address after Leviathan. Now that Leviathan had been pushed back, the giant conundrum that was my existence came crashing back down on him.


    Like Alexandria, he knew of my relationship with Contessa, at least the bare bones of it, but the intentional similarities we were playing up made his brain blue screen like an old Windows. He gaped like a goldfish.


    Then the comparison made me giggle and the illusion we crafted began to crack.


    Number Man recovered first. Initial surprise over, our resident sociopath seemed to accept my presence like a sea otter bobbing with the waves. "Your tie is crooked two-point-six degrees to the left," he drawled.


    I rolled my eyes and flipped him off. "Everyone''s a critic."


    "Quite."


    Alexandria interrupted our verbal spar. "Perhaps we should begin by introducing our newest member?"


    I nodded. "Andy Yusung Kim. Hyunmu of the DC Wards. Formerly Rubedo of the Phoenix Wards. Nice to meet you all. As for why I''m here, I had a one-time vision of the future, including the death of Scion. Or Zion, or the Warrior if you prefer to go by the entity''s self-designation. Said vision could be best compared to a book or play, a what-if series of events that might have happened if I did not exist. I don''t know everything, but I know enough to refine Contessa''s Path for more favorable outcomes. As such, I will be working with her primarily as her prot¨¦g¨¦ and advisor."


    "What the hell? What vision?" Eidolon started. For the most powerful parahuman in the world, he looked shockingly unremarkable. He had a bit of a gut that, sitting down, his cloak failed to fully hide. "What did you change?"


    "For starters, Dave, Hero was supposed to die a week ago during the Siberian Incident."


    "How do you-"


    "I didn''t tell him," Contessa cut him off with a shrug. "He knew my real name as well."


    The room fell silent to process that information. Contessa''s name wasn''t a secret because it could be taken advantage of, but because she wasn''t even from Earth-Bet in the first place. The name "Fortuna" was a completely meaningless designation for most. Knowing it made absolutely zero difference. One could argue that "Fortuna" ceased to exist long ago and "Contessa" was all that remained.


    And because of this, it was a name that just wasn''t used. Ever.


    "I also knew that Leviathan would hit Naples and arranged matters with Contessa to evacuate as many people as feasible without raising too much attention. Oh, and just to get this out of the way," I began to point at each person. "Eva. Kurt. Keith. David. Eugene. Rebecca. Fortuna. William left, but his designation is now the Siberian. I''m also aware of other auxiliary members of Cauldron such as Doormaker, Clairvoyant, Custodian, and Slug. And again, I''m Andy."


    More silence. It was Legend who spoke first this time.


    "Then let me start by saying thank you," he said. "Hero is a dear friend and I don''t know what we would do without him."


    "I do. Trust me, it''s not pretty."


    "Be that as it may, Cauldron isn''t a place for young-"


    "No," I cut him off. "None of that, Legend. I appreciate it. Truly, I do, but you''re not doing yourself any favors. Get this through your head. I''m not a child. Mentally, I mean. I know what I look like, but I was already an adult trapped in a child''s body long before the Red Sands Incident. I know how Eidolon dies. I know how Alexandria dies. I knew how Hero was supposed to die. I know how to kill an endbringer. I know how to kill Scion. Frankly, you need me."


    "This isn''t a daycare-" Eidolon started again.


    "No, this is the Illuminati. This is the place where we decide the course of the world and damn millions to their deaths for the single fragment, a cinder of a cinder of a cinder''s worth of hope of being able to break the Cycle. If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, this is where we make the cobblestones."


    "Contessa-"


    "Didn''t tell him anything," she said, interrupting the trump-ten yet again. "I picked out his outfit, but that is all. The fact of the matter is that I am blind during trigger events and endbringer fights. Yusung provides valuable insights that I can use to refine the Path."


    "Can you see endbringers?" Alexandria asked, all business. I shouldn''t have been surprised that she was so readily accepting of my presence. She always was the poster-girl for the "greater good" school of moral fuckups.


    "Some. Like I said, it was a one-time vision. Next one will be Behemoth in February, somewhere in British Columbia. Leviathan will hit the following July, somewhere in India. After that, my information gets murky as the future gets changed around. Endbringer attacks aren''t the vital information you think they are anyway."


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Oh?"


    "No, what you really need to know is the true nature of the Cycle, the purpose of the Shards, different ways of killing Scion, and potential ideas for how to remove Eden''s failsafe."


    "Failsafe?" Doctor Mother asked. She was a middle-aged, dusky-skinned woman with a lab coat, though I had no clue just what she was a doctor of. Last I checked, "geocide and war crimes" wasn''t an available major.


    "Yup. Sorry to break it to you, but there will be a third endbringer called the Simurgh. Nine feet tall naked lady with ivory-white skin and dozens of wings sprouting from her body in no particular pattern. Hauntingly beautiful, but in an uncanny valley sort of way. In my vision, she appeared over Lausanne, Switzerland in December of 2002. She''s the least immediately destructive, but also the most dangerous endbringer by far."


    "Powers?"


    "Shaker, tinker, thinker, master. She''s going to be the most powerful precog in the world and will use her telekinetic abilities to treat humans like Rube Goldberg machines, setting up dominos months or even years in advance. Worst of all, she''ll be able to access every tinker Shard in the network within her immediate vicinity."


    "And how do we beat her?"


    "Sleeper. You locked her in Sleeper''s storm, but even that''s a delaying tactic in my opinion. Still, she might not show up in the same place or at the same time anymore." I shrugged. "Like I said, the future''s changed. It''s not worth hypothesizing about at the moment."


    "Then your information is unreliable."


    "Some of it, but others, such as the capabilities of powerful capes and different synergies, are not. Ultimately, I had several crisis-points, points at which I could alter the course of events, and I had to choose when I wanted to act. I decided that saving Hero was worth losing some future knowledge."


    "Why?" Hero asked. He startled, as if he hadn''t expected himself to speak. "Not that I''m not grateful to be alive, but¡­ Why me?"


    I smiled wanly. "The PR answer is that you''re a major male role model in my life and I wanted to make sure my idol was safe. Admittedly, that''s at least partly true. You''re one of the few good things in this world, a real light in the dark type, but the real answer is that you have the Stilling."


    "Excuse me?"


    "Stilling, that''s the name of your Shard. You know how Scion has his golden beams? Well, those beams dismantle things on a subatomic level, literally causing particles to ''go still.'' Those beams are one of the few things that can seriously injure an entity and you have them because you won the Shard lottery. You drank Eden''s version of Scion''s beams."


    "I¡­"


    I gave him a moment. I could understand his shock. I''d effectively told him that he could one day make tech that could rival our greatest enemy. He''d hoped, as had everyone else, but it was only now that they had full confirmation of his importance.


    "Yeah, heavy is the crown and all that. And that''s why you need to live, no matter what. You matter, more than practically anyone else. It was a freak accident that William had his meltdown immediately prior to an endbringer attack, but that kept Contessa from acting against him, and therefore from saving you. I decided the Stilling was worth it, even if it means I have to take a bigger role in things going forward."


    "And what role will you be taking going forward?" Number Man asked. He peered at me with a hawkish gaze that made me want to squirm. I wondered what sorts of numbers he was seeing from me.


    "He will be my prot¨¦g¨¦," Contessa spoke. "His primary job will be to reinforce and refine the Path with the ultimate aim of making Cauldron''s position as strong as possible when we inevitably confront Scion. In the meantime, he will also work to develop his power and act as auxiliary support for our operations."


    "Lovely, there are two of them," Eidolon muttered. Still, he seemed resigned to my presence if not outright welcoming.


    "Even had you not brought him here, you would have continued to work with him," Alexandria pointed out.


    Contessa nodded. "Indeed. This is courtesy, a way to tell you that we have a new member, nothing more."


    "Very well then. Let us move on with the meeting. Number Man?"


    And surprisingly, they did. Hero and Legend obviously had reservations, but they acquiesced all the same, one more proof that they were too reliant on the Path.


    Number Man gathered the report in front of him and spoke. "Of the roughly two million people in the metro area of Naples, Italy, one hundred twenty thousand people were evacuated before Leviathan made landfall. Initial evacuations did not involve the Italian national government. Contessa arranged for accidents, pipe breaks, gas leaks, and other minor emergency drills that subtly relocated coastal neighborhoods without raising excessive alarm with the goal of making organized evacuation efforts smoother by relieving potential areas of congestion. She then raised a more general evacuation warning in crucial residential areas to further streamline upcoming emergency response. She also repositioned the undersea warning network made by Bluesong around the Mediterranean.


    "Six hours before landfall, the Italian government was made aware of the imminent attack and began to gather humanitarian aid and military resources. Military regiments were repositioned to best use the window of time provided. They also alerted select allies with the possibility but did not sound a global alarm because the source of the information remained untested.


    "Two hours before landfall, Leviathan entered the Mediterranean. A general evacuation order was issued to the people of Naples and the surrounding coastline at this time. The initial domino effects arranged by Contessa previously relieved the congestion typical of general evacuation orders, allowing the remaining people to either leave the city or head to a shelter.


    "By the end of the battle, eight thousand two hundred forty-eight people died, all of them when a shelter was breached during the battle. An additional one hundred seventy-eight people were killed over the last week through a variety of sources ranging from lack of readily available medication to general looting and mayhem. Damage reports are still coming in, but most have been quantified. I estimate that two billion euros worth of damages have been done to the city, with an additional eight hundred million euros of damages spread out across various other coastal settlements.


    "This is officially the least destructive endbringer battle we''ve had to date," Number Man finished his report, tone still strictly clinical. I could see Legend and Hero sit up a little straighter at the news. "However, there may be some unforeseen side effects of the battle. Namely, rumors are already spreading that someone was able to predict an endbringer attack. Immense pressure is being placed on the Italian government to reveal this new thinker, information they naturally lack. Nonetheless, there is mounting resentment among the residents of Naples who were not able to evacuate the city completely and numbers predict that the city will become a cape hotzone in the near future."


    I sighed. Of fucking course. I should have expected it. Even for Contessa, there weren''t many ways for her to move everyone in the city in less than a day, and no way of doing so without Leviathan potentially changing targets. The Simurgh wasn''t active yet, but that didn''t mean Leviathan had no agency of his own. I knew this. I specifically asked her to minimize the loss of life and she''d done so. But I failed to account for how the people remaining behind would feel.


    Numbers meant jack shit. From the perspective of those forced to take shelter, their government failed them. The Italian government had vital information and cherry-picked who would be evacuated and who would be forced to remain. I could imagine what they were thinking. Weren''t they Italians too? Weren''t they citizens too? Didn''t they deserve to know?


    A lower statistic must have felt like cold comfort, a slap in the face compared to the abandonment they must have felt. Not everyone would feel this way of course, but a large enough minority would that they could cause some problems down the line.


    "Fucking Earth-Bet," I swore under my breath. Even when I did something praiseworthy, it seemed like Murphy would find a way to fuck me over. I did my best to clamp down on the frustration.


    Contessa continued the report from there. "I followed up on the situation when my Path cleared. I identified forty-nine new triggers. The three most numerous categories are master, mover, and brute, presumably in accordance with their desire for control over their situation, escape, and survival respectively. Our theory on trigger trends does seem to hold some weight.


    "I''ve made arrangements for most to join various heroic or independent organizations to stabilize the region, though it''s worth noting that almost half of all heroically aligned capes, both new triggers and those native to Naples prior to this, will leave Italy altogether. Their disillusionment with their government is not something I can fix without distorting the Path too far."


    "That''s acceptable," Alexandria nodded. "Will those who remain cause problems for the Custodes?"


    "Yes. Fifty-seven percent of heroic capes will remain in Naples and the surrounding area. Many will form power blocs of their own, though a few will sign up with the Custodes. We should be able to capitalize on their declining popularity to pursue our own political agenda."


    Alexandria nodded in agreement even as I rolled my eyes. I wished I could handwave away all the problems and moral quandaries that came with running a global conspiracy, but I couldn''t. Of course they''d seize more power with every opportunity given. Truthfully, I couldn''t say that I''d do any different.


    Then it was Alexandria''s turn.


    "Three hundred twenty-nine capes participated in the defense of Naples. Casualties were likewise minimal among parahumans thanks to Rubedo''s contribution." She gave me a minute nod. "Sixty-three capes were lost, a nineteen percent casualty rate. Leftover potions were distributed to the local disaster response teams as per his wishes."


    I let out a breath I didn''t know I was holding. Hearing that was like a weight of my back. I finally knew for a fact, had concrete proof in the numbers, that I''d done it. I mattered. I''d made a difference. It wasn''t large. Leviathan casualty rates typically hovered somewhere around thirty percent, but that eleven percent difference was a difference of thirty people, thirty lives I''d saved.


    So absorbed in my own relief was I that I almost didn''t hear her continue.


    "As stated, the Italian government is unaware of where the warning came from. However, certain parties strongly suspect the United States and Watchdog because we were the ones to respond first to their call for aid. We should discuss how to leverage this information."


    Eidolon let out an annoyed sigh. "Alright, fine. Great endbringer fight. Fewer deaths. Are we done with the casualty reports? None of this affects how we do things."


    "Yes," she replied. "We can move on to what we should do going forward to maximize our influence in Europe."


    "Fine, let''s just get on with it."


    The meeting continued, though most of what was discussed was just rehashing what they were already doing. They would step up sale of Cauldron vials, carefully curating conflict in major cities to incite new triggers.


    As it turned out, Cauldron did not exclusively sell to those with heroic intentions such as Battery, Triumph, and Gallant. Their, our, general policy was to sell the vials to prop up whichever side was losing at the time.


    It was like a pendulum. When the heroes threatened to stabilize a city, Cauldron would drop a few vials in the hands of prospective villains or call in a favor to have a gang relocate from elsewhere. When circumstances threatened to destabilize the status quo too far in the other direction, such as immediately following an endbringer attack, vials would go to those who were lawful-good, or at least more neutral, to ensure that society did not collapse entirely.


    Just knowing I was now part of this made me a little queasy inside and I resolved to get my hands on those dossiers Doctor Mother was flipping through earlier. If nothing else, I could hopefully provide a moderating influence. Curating conflict didn''t mean the vials had to go to indiscriminate murderers and rapists after all.


    The Blasphemies could not be directed nor predicted. I knew they would commit regicide in the Netherlands, but that was a decade in the future so I had little to contribute there. The consensus was to have them and powerful tinkers across Europe monitored, just in case the creation of a fourth Blasphemy began. I suspected that they were independent agents controlled by the Shard network, but I had no great insight into what their precise aims were.


    Lastly, I proposed that we watch for endbringer worship as a growing movement. Originally, the attack on Naples saw a surge of people disillusioned with the system. They saw the endbringers as heralds of change, God''s agents sent to punish the corrupt world. Sure, most were the sorts of religious nutjobs that knew nothing of their own religion, but there were also plenty of people who took advantage of said idiots to gain power.


    Author''s Note


    I keep thinking that meetings are long and annoying to write. Then I remember that I did this to myself and have no one else to bitch at. So, have an animal fact:


    Cats have barbed penises. They also do not meow in the wild. Kittens pick up the habit in the same way that babies do in a form of operant conditioning because they realize sooner or later that humans like it when they meow. They condition themselves to be cuter for you, but in turn condition you to feed and pamper them.


    EDIT: Yes, I suck at math. Yes, I mistook Custodian''s gender. Both have been fixed. Custodian is now female as canon.


    Population size of Naples metro area: 2.1 million


    Contessa''s initial evacuation dominos: 120 thousand


    Civilian deaths during the endbringer fight: 8,248


    Civilian deaths following the endbringer fight: 178


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.3 Scattered

    Scattered 5.3


    2000, September 23: Unnamed, Ivory Coast


    The meeting was over, but Contessa, Doctor Mother, Alexandria, and I remained in the meeting room. The rest of the Founders were off back to their cities, no doubt to catch up on whatever they''d missed while they were in Naples. The Number Man must have seen something in the numbers surrounding Contessa because he took one look and decided he wanted no part of this conversation.


    "Andy," Alexandria nodded.


    "Becky," I greeted back with a cheeky grin. If she wanted to drop the formalities, I''d return the favor.


    "You wanted to tell us something. Something you couldn''t say in front of the others."


    "Yeah. Hero and Legend are too kind. Eidolon is too callous, and maybe even unstable. And Number Man¡­ actually, I wouldn''t have minded him being here. He''s a sociopath, but a competent one."


    "He is broadly uninterested in anything beyond the numbers that define the global economy," Contessa said from my right. "He will participate if requested, but he considers morality to be a social construct and the nature of powers to be too abstract to be worth serious investigation."


    "The nature of powers?" Doctor Mother questioned. "And you think the rest should be excluded from this information?"


    I nodded. "I''ll send Contessa a full writeup of just what entities, powers, and all that are. Knowing won''t change too much, but it might inform how you mix your vials going forward."


    "That doesn''t sound like something to hide."


    "It''s not on its own. Long conversation, better had after you read the brief. There are two things that really need to be said in the immediate. First, Eidolon. The man needs therapy."


    "I assure you that in spite of his personal issues, he is an effective agent-"


    "He''s also responsible for the endbringers."


    That shut her up.


    "Explain," Alexandria demanded.


    "Well, okay. I don''t know that he''s responsible for the endbringers, but I do know that during the final battle in my vision, Eidolon gets killed by Scion laughably easily. Lots of things happen, but they have a conversation. Scion tells him, ''You needed worthy opponents,'' and that realization horrifies him. It paralyzes him to know that he is responsible for the greatest tragedies in our world and he shuts down. He does nothing as Scion kills him. That''s how the supposed greatest hero dies, like a fucking chump."


    "Scion could have been lying."


    "True, which is why I said I don''t know for sure. However, I do know that his Shard is the High Priest. Think of it as the right hand of Eden, her COO. It was, is, responsible for managing Eden''s entire Shard network and has the highest authority available to Shards, only overridden by the entities themselves. That''s why Eidolon can seemingly access any power in the world; because he can."


    "You are accusing Eidolon of making endbringers, of working against us."


    I shook my head. "No, no I''m not. He''s a lot of things, but he''s not evil. In the end, he''s just a deeply flawed man trying to live up to an impossible ideal. He''s trying to hold up the sky but he''s no Atlas."


    "Explain."


    "Long story short, in my vision, you won. Kind of. Scion died, but so did Eidolon. The Simurgh, Eden''s contingency, acted at that point with two driving directives: First, she was to preserve the Cycle as mandated by Eden. Second, she was to provide Eidolon worthy opponents. But of course, Eidolon was dead via Scion, so she cloned him."


    "That¡­" The doctor trailed off. Unlike Alexandria or Contessa, she was far from unreadable. Compared to those two, she may as well have been shouting her emotions from the rooftops.


    "Ridiculous? I know. But if you need to check the validity of my words, note that Contessa hasn''t shot me yet."


    "Fine¡­ Proceed."


    "I''m not saying Eidolon is a traitor to mankind or anything. In fact, he''s arguably the most dedicated hero alive, though that''s not a good thing in his case. I''m saying that he''s banked so much of his identity into being a hero that when he lacks a worthy opponent, he feels like he loses a piece of himself.


    "It could be that with the gradual decline of his powers, he''s looking for something like a catalyst to help him become as strong as he once was. It could be that he needs to feel like he matters and has a savior complex a mile wide. Or maybe he''s looking for a way to train himself for the big fight against Scion. I don''t know; I''m not a psychologist. I''m not qualified to tell you exactly how to untangle the shitshow that''s his subconscious mind. I''m just here to tell you you''ve got a problem."


    The room as silent as they processed that information. "Contessa?" the doctor spoke.


    "Accurate as far as I am aware. The model I have of Eidolon is not fully reliable as you are aware, but what Hyunmu said is in line with his psychological profile. I am inclined to believe him as I did not provide him any information concerning Eidolon."


    I shot her a grateful nod.


    "So the endbringers will stop if we can get him some therapy¡­"


    "No, I hate to be the one to pop that bubble, but we don''t know that the endbringers will stop. They could be like bullets, a fire and forget sort of deal. We shouldn''t assume that they can be recalled if Eidolon gets ''in tune with his Shard,''" I said, putting finger-quotes around the last.


    "But we need him to become more self-aware. Otherwise, he''ll die against Scion without achieving anything," Alexandria voiced my thoughts.


    "True, but that''s not all. In my vision, Scion kills Behemoth in New Delhi sometime after 2011. Complicated series of events, but just know that Behemoth dies. We can''t replicate it so the exact scenario doesn''t matter right now. Then Khonsu appears six months later. Roughly nine months after that, the twins, Tohu and Bohu, show up."


    "Six endbringers¡­"


    I decided then that as funny as it was to see the usually unflappable woman shocked by something, anything that could surprise her wasn''t a good thing.


    "Twenty," I corrected grimly. "I have concrete information about six. Eidolon needs therapy, not because I think he can rein in Behemoth and Leviathan, but because I''m terrified he might activate more endbringers. Who knows? If we hurry, we might be able to un-fuck his head enough to prevent the Simurgh''s activation, though I''m personally doubtful on that front."


    "Contessa, what are our chances of eliminating Eidolon?" Alexandria asked.


    I paused, then sent her a wry grin. "You stone-cold bitch. Are you seriously planning to just kill him off?"


    "Yes." The look on her face was so completely at peace with the idea that it almost made me wonder why I hadn''t suggested it myself. "You said you saw my death. Was that true?"


    "Yup. You die in that timeline."


    "Good. If I ever threaten the world, I expect you and Contessa to be my executioners."


    I sighed. I looked behind the mask and saw not a shred of hesitation, only determined steel. She was a bitch, but at least she was dedicated. "Sometimes, I forget that Eidolon''s not the only idiot who doesn''t know how to take off her mask."


    "The word you''re looking for is ''pragmatic,''" she drawled.


    "Well, one of us has to be the moral center here. Besides, killing him off just isn''t a good idea."


    "Oh?"


    "For one, we don''t know if the High Priest Shard wouldn''t just jump to another host, one we have even less control over. Shards do that by the way, find new hosts once their current ones die. While Eden''s Shards are slowly losing power, we don''t actually know if it''s incapable of jumping. Hell, it might be that we end up with multiple buds of the High Priest; that''d really suck."


    "Noted."


    "Two, he''s still the best bet we have of actually taking Scion in single combat. Hero will be able to¡­ eventually. But that eventuality might never come if we don''t nurture that potential." I didn''t mention my own growth. Perhaps Contessa would, but I thought it''d be best to not mention the true nature of my own powers yet.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    "Very well, have it your way. I''ll see about getting him some therapy."


    "Can you?" I asked. "I mean, can you get him good therapy. You know, something that''ll actually make him a better person, give him some perspective, and help him understand and develop his identity as a person rather than a hero."


    "You don''t have much faith in psychologists, do you?"


    "I have realistic expectations. It takes years to change a person, whether it''s anger management or an addiction. And I can''t imagine it''ll be easy getting him to actually attend a few sessions. Hell, without you and Contessa, it would have been a challenge just finding a psychologist with the right clearance and temperament. Shopping for a psychologist isn''t like shopping for a car."


    "But you do have me. I''ll arrange for it on the Path," Contessa said.


    "Fine, I''ll leave that up to you two."


    "What''s the second thing you wanted to talk about?" Doctor Mother asked. She sounded calm but there was a slight sheen of sweat over her brow. Finding out that our greatest asset could also doom us before Scion ever got the chance wasn''t easy.


    "Christine Mathers."


    "I take it that name is supposed to mean something?"


    "No, not anymore. Or at least, not at the moment. But it might in the future and I want to get it out of the way."


    "She''s one of our prospective capes. I picked her out because she is easy to control," Alexandria said. Then to Contessa, "I take it you didn''t tell him her name?"


    "No."


    She turned back to me with a respectful nod. "One more reason to accept your visions. What is it about her that''s so special? She''s just one more vial candidate."


    "Right. I don''t know exactly when or how she ends up a Cauldron cape, but she does and she eventually ends up leading the Fallen. Seeing how Naples was supposed to be what caused their big surge, I want to decide on what to do with her right now. Otherwise, she might get her vial before I can talk you out of it.


    "The main deal with her is that she''s Contessa-proof. Or, as close to it as someone not named ''Eidolon'' can get. Consider her a ''soft'' blindspot. The vial she receives makes her a memetic hazard, letting her share and control the senses of anyone who perceives her. See her? She can look through your eyes or make you hallucinate. Hear her voice? She can hear what you hear or whisper in your ears. Touch her? She can feel what you feel or make you experience excruciating pain. The worst part is that her power works through power-enhanced senses too. An empath would find that she can influence their feelings for example."


    "And since she cannot be perceived, her power makes her a blindspot."


    "Kind of? Contessa could Path her, but in my visions, she really hated doing it for some reason. Let''s call her a soft blindspot."


    "So we save the bottle for someone more loyal."


    I nodded. She was quick on the uptake. "Yeah. I figure that if Contessa can model Eidolon, she can also model a hypothetical scenario in which she and the doc prepare a bottle for Christine Mathers, a scenario without my involvement."


    "You want to distribute it to someone who will be more useful, perhaps one more directly tied to Cauldron and not released into the wild."


    "Honestly? I''d settle for sane and not willing to start an apocalypse cult, but yes, that sounds nice. You need to make sure that this person is both highly competent and unconditionally loyal, then silo them into a branch that doesn''t require thinker oversight. Ultimately, we need to be certain that they will work towards our interests even without anyone checking in on them. Then we need to keep in touch through a dedicated intermediary to further compartmentalize information." I turned to Contessa. "Can this be done? If not, we should just destroy the bottle."


    "Path to crafting the formula you are referring to: One thousand nine hundred twelve steps. Path to acquiring a suitable host for the bottle: Nine hundred thousand eight hundred ninety-seven steps. The latter will take some time, approximately two months to identify said host and another year to instill appropriate loyalties before they receive the vial."


    I nodded. I wasn''t satisfied completely, but I''d settle. Without Mama Mathers, the Fallen shouldn''t be able to get off the ground. Valefor wouldn''t join the Fallen either.


    Whoever Contessa chose, I could be certain that they would be unfailingly loyal to us. We could then have them carry out clandestine missions on our behalf, anything that requires some public exposure yet also benefits from information security. Off the top of my head, this person could slowly dismantle Heartbreaker''s empire or run an organization in another part of the globe.


    Truth be told, it wasn''t just about gaining a useful asset. There was a small but significant part of me that wanted to insist on the destruction of the vial. That same part of me wanted to use Cauldron assets to go track down Christine Mathers, to go murder both her and her son.


    I glanced at Contessa. She sent me a subtle nod.


    I could. I could end them. Elijah Mathers already triggered. He was one of the youngest to ever do so. Hell, thinking about it, that was probably what Alexandria meant by "easy to control." Elijah was the perfect leverage against her. Or he would have been had she not received the most inconvenient power possible.


    I couldn''t. No matter how much I loathed masters, I was a hero. My entire mission was to make the world a better place. Yes, there was an argument to be made that killing Christine and Elijah Mathers would improve the world, but I didn''t buy it. If I wanted my words to carry moral weight, I couldn''t use Cauldron to enforce my own prejudices.


    I swallowed and breathed deep.


    "Elijah Mathers is a cape," I said. Alexandria nodded. She''d already known, figures. "Was that what you meant by ''easy to control?''"


    "Yes. Every mother wants what is best for her son. I see no reason to not leverage that. Unless you know differently?"


    "Again, Christine''s the kind of woman who will join the Fallen in America, eventually becoming the head of a family dedicated to the Simurgh. She isn''t exactly the most stable woman around."


    "Are you saying she is unfit to be a mother?"


    "Probably, though it''s not like I have any idea of what their daily routine is like. At the very least, she was a true believer in the righteousness of the endbringers and considered herself a divinely ordained messenger. She made a believer out of her son too. Either turn her from that, or monitor her until she does something stupid then take Elijah away."


    "What are Elijah''s powers?"


    "Are you testing me?"


    "Yes. By your own admission, your vision is losing reliability each passing day as our present timeline strays from the one you saw. I want to know if you have enough of a background to advise on this matter. The vial is one thing; the boy is another."


    I rolled my eyes at the frank admission. It stung a bit, but she was right. "Without my interference, Elijah would have one day take on the name of Valefor, a lieutenant in the Mathers branch of the Fallen. He was responsible for murder, kidnapping, and sexual slavery. Oh, that was a thing. The Fallen kidnapped Wards and female capes to start their own breeding program and used Mama Mathers'' power to evade retaliation.


    "As for his powers, I consider him one of the more dangerous masters. He can hypnotize and control anyone he makes eye contact with. He can control them immediately or implant suggestions that trigger when certain conditions are met. In my vision, he used his power to cover his tracks so most people believed that he did not kill. His targets can be awakened from the hypnosis with something as simple as a slap, but he doesn''t seem to have any concrete limit in the number of people he can control.


    "Standard procedures against masters are effective. Technology, not looking into his eyes, a shock bracelet that goes off every few seconds, that sort of deal. Anything else?"


    "That was thorough."


    "What can I say? I hate him," I admitted with a sigh. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "A part of me wants to insist on offing him for what he''ll become."


    "I''ve gathered. You''re nowhere near as unreadable as Contessa and your agitation is noteworthy. Should I mandate increased therapy for you as well as Eidolon?"


    "Don''t bother, it''s being handled. Besides, I''m not blind to my faults. After today, I intend to step away from the Mathers case. Make him a Ward. Find him decent foster care. Or get Christine some therapy of her own and make her a productive member of society. I don''t care, but if he does grow up to be a monster, please know that I''m going to kill him."


    The others nodded as if an eight year old declaring his intent to murder someone was routine.


    "Agreeable," the doctor said. "Was this everything?"


    I thought about it. "That''s everything I need to tell you for the moment, but I do want something."


    "Oh?"


    "This world is devoid of human life, right?"


    "No. There are several humans employed by us. We relocated them here for logistical purposes. Believe it or not, we do need a support staff, even with Custodian."


    "I meant besides us."


    "Then yes, there are no humans. There are several species of primates that may eventually become human-like, but at the moment, none possess the required combination of intelligence and social structure."


    "Then I want a garden. One of the reasons my material production rate is so slow is because I don''t want to introduce foreign species of plants into Earth-Bet. Dream Blossoms, Petricite trees, that sort of thing. I want to make a garden on this world so I don''t have to worry about any potential ecological damage. There are also half a dozen potions recipes I want to work on that I currently lack the materials to perfect."


    "Oh?"


    "Yup. I''m close to perfecting an Elixir of Rejuvenation that''ll regrow lost limbs. I''ve also been working on one that turns people to stone temporarily, another one that''s a more concentrated version of the Dream Blossom Censer''s mist, and a few more. How do you feel about gene splicing?"


    "We make Case-53s."


    "Point. Because I think I can give people permanent powers, assuming I have an operating room and some magic herbs and whatnot. You know, Singed, but without the vivisection."


    "No, I don''t, but that sounds promising nonetheless. You can have Ukraine," Alexandria said.


    I snorted. There was a joke about Putin in there somewhere. "Why Ukraine?"


    "It contains some of the most fertile soil in the world and the climate is perfect for growing a wide array of plant life. Will you require additional staff?"


    "Probably, but not immediately. I want to make an entire magical forest then eventually build robots to help me look after it. I''ll send you a list of things I need for that. I also want wood from the oldest tree in the multiverse that you can find. Older the better, but it must still be living."


    "Acceptable. We can have Clairvoyant look into it. Just don''t forget the report on power dynamics."


    "Heh, homework?"


    "You are eight."


    "Fine, but get Powell to lay off my armor design. Deal?"


    "Deal."


    Author''s Note


    There. A look at what Andy''s doing with Contessa in the background. The reason I didn''t include scenes like the first of this chapter is because they kind of drag on a bit. Obviously, there''s a lot more to talk about, but I doubt you want a third chapter of meetings so just assume a lot of this is happening in the background.


    Also, Cauldron is sketchy as fuck. Go figure. And yes, Mama Mathers is a Cauldron cape. Yes, Elijah was why she accepted a vial. Yes, that means the Fallen were on Cauldron''s radar since their inception. Yes, that makes everything about the Fallen and Cauldron that much worse.


    And yes, Andy really, really hates masters.


    Mollisols is the riches type of soil on earth. It covers only 7 percent of ice-free land and is the black, loamy stuff that fertilizer tries to mimic. It is found in several parts of the world, but Chernozem, Ukraine''s particular brand of black soil, is the richest and most fertile of them all.


    Historically, this is why Ukraine is called "Europe''s breadbasket." Alexandria didn''t just hand out Ukraine to Andy so I could make a joke about Russia.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.4 Scattered

    Scattered 5.4


    2000, October 19: Washington, DC, USA


    I roused myself at the same time as always just as the first light of dawn peaked past the Potomac. It wasn''t long before I graduated from the martial arts katas I''d started with. Over the course of months, I''d engraved every last movement into my mind and body until they became a part of my instinctive reaction. I could now confidently say that I was no longer a Shojin acolyte and though I wasn''t much better, I at least wouldn''t feel like an embarrassment if I were to demonstrate before them.


    "Door, training ground," I said with a smile.


    That was a new change. I wasn''t firing off ki blasts like Goku or anything, but I was stronger and faster than any normal martial artist had any right to be. It had gotten to the point where I could no longer practice in my living room for fear of punching a hole through the couch or knocking over the TV. So, I made alternate arrangements.


    A portal swirled in front of me, leading me to Cauldron''s earth.


    I swallowed down a gasp of wonder. The Salar de Uyuni took my breath away each time I saw it. It was the "flattest place on earth," and also the largest salt flat in the world at more than three thousand nine hundred square miles. A thin layer of water turned the whole place into the world''s largest mirror.


    On Earth-Aleph, the Bolivian government and UNESCO considered it a world heritage site and access meant going through all the hoops of tourism that implied. On Earth-Bet, it was rendered all but inaccessible thanks to the constant warring between cartels and the Bolivian government. Last I heard, some colors-based shaker kept transmuting salt to pure cocaine. Because they were both white¡­ Powers were such bullshit¡­


    Here? Here it was as pristine as mother nature left it.


    I had to admit, it was the perfect place to practice some magic kenpo. Something about the wide, flat land and the seemingly infinite reflection of the cloudless skies above made me feel weightless. It captured the imagination and opened the heart in a way I couldn''t quite explain. There were many such breathtaking vistas across Ionia, but I was glad to find that Earth wasn''t devoid of them either.


    "Thank you, Doormaker, Clairvoyant," I told them. I promised I''d do something nice for them sometime. Did they accept cupcakes?


    I took a few deep breaths to center myself and got to work. I wore only a pair of pants and relished in the feel of the water beneath my feet and the wind caressing my back.


    I called and the World Rune answered.


    From deep within my soul, the well of power I''d become so familiar with began to bubble and rise like a mountain spring. Magic, real magic. There was a small part of me that relished in it even more than I relished in the many enchantments that were at my disposal. The enchantments and creations I made were infused with mana, yes, but they weren''t me. As much as I treasured the creation process, there was something about being personally powerful that satisfied me on a primal level. Here was a power that couldn''t be taken away or sabotaged; here was a power that was all mine.


    I allowed the mana to flood my muscles and held it for a minute, luxuriating in the experience. Here in the Salar de Uyuni, I could forget about it all. Forget about Scion and his suicidal depression that threatened to consume countless earths. Forget about Cauldron and its thousand and one plans. Forget about all the lives that danced on a blade''s edge, all waiting to be tipped one way or the other by the ripples of my actions. Forget even about my next project and the husk of Winter''s Approach that sat in my workstation, waiting for the Tear of the Goddess to give it life.


    Here and now, in this moment, I was completely free of responsibilities and burdens.


    Then, with a slow exhale, I began to dance. It started slowly, each step barely disturbing the mirror beneath my feet. The goal wasn''t a "perfect strike." There was no such thing outside of shitty xianxia novels and kung fu movies. If anything, the flowing, circular motions that sent gentle ripples throughout the salt pan would be detrimental in an actual fight. No, the goal was instead to "embrace the world within," as Hui Ning, the Eye of the Dragon, once put it.


    I was enthralled by the motion of mana within me. It flowed like waves, a mirror within reflecting the motions of my body. Here, in this moment, my mind was perfectly clear. My world shrank to just me, the dance, and this natural wonder that was my stage.


    It too was Inspiration, albeit in a whole new way.


    My footsteps quickened. Several minutes later, the circles made by my hands and feet gradually tightened until gentle swirls turned into spiraling strikes. At the end of every strike, the mana within me burst forth in a small corona of blue.


    Even as I sped up and turned the dance into a flurry of punches and kicks, the air around me cooled considerably. It wasn''t long before my every breath misted the air. After all, I was an Iceborn now. Glacial Augment didn''t make me Anivia, or even Ashe, but it did give me the possibility and one day, I swore I''d make that possibility into reality.


    But right now, I''d probably have a hard time freezing a cup of water mid-combat.


    X


    I shrugged as I tossed a towel over my shoulders. Power would come with time. It was a mantra I''d been repeating to myself for months. If nothing else, I had my armor to look forward to, one that would greatly amplify my budding ice affinity.


    After my shower, I sat in the living room, legs crossed in meditation. Two variants of meditation seemed a little excessive at first glance, but it was necessary. The first was to train my body to accept the flow of mana and to enhance my ice affinity. This stationary meditation was so I could dump as much mana as possible into the Tear of the Goddess hanging from my neck.


    At the rate I was going, the Tear would be as full as I could make it by the end of the month. I couldn''t wait. Winter''s Approach just wasn''t complete without it.


    An hour later, I heard my mom step into the living room. "Good morning, son."


    "Morning, mother," I said from my seat on the floor.


    I saw her kneel and wrap her arms around me. "Happy birthday."


    "Yeah, I''m taking the day off like you asked."


    "No lab?"


    "No lab."


    "Good. You could use a break. What do you want for breakfast?"


    I shrugged. "Some Spam and eggs?"


    "Haha, are you afraid people will say you''re not Namjoon''s son?"


    "What? There''s nothing wrong with Spam for breakfast."


    "Fine, fine. What do you want to do today?"


    "You know¡­ I don''t know, mom. I was just going to laze around."


    "Do you want to go to a museum with me? We''ve been here for months but we haven''t done much sightseeing."


    "Don''t you have work?"


    "It''s my son''s birthday. I took the day off," she said with a smile. "There is also a play at the Kennedy Center that''s free tonight. Or maybe visit the National Cathedral? I know you go to church occasionally."


    I realized then that she''d planned this. What did it say about me as a son that my mom needed to write up an itinerary just to spend time with her son?


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "That sounds great, mom. I haven''t been to the Museum of Natural History so let''s go there," I said.


    "Didn''t you say you needed dinosaur bones to make something? I thought you''ve visited already."


    "Fossilized lizard eggs of any variation to make my Ymelo. Metalmaru just had someone get it for me though so I''ve never been."


    "Alright, then we''ll go today."


    After breakfast, I summoned a Biscuit and handed it to mom before heading to my room to prepare for the day. There, a second Biscuit materialized in my hand. It promptly flew out the window, only for a portal to appear in midair and intercept it. I felt a chiding smack on the back of my head.


    Turning around, I found a post-it note on my desk and a pine box leaning against the side that I had not noticed before. The box was completely unadorned and less than three feet long, completely unobtrusive. She probably left it there while I was in my training ground.


    I sighed when I saw what was inside. Somewhere out there was a very panicked priest. The note read:


    Happy birthday, Andy.


    You mentioned how the "spiritual weight" of something could affect its worth as a crafting ingredient. I don''t understand, but I''m sure my gift will be of some worth. I had the Path look for the most conveniently acquired Korean relic. Use it to make something. Or not, I suppose it doesn''t matter. I''m not going to bother Pathing this further.


    -C


    PS: Stop trying to waste food.


    I recognized the "sword." How could I not? My father was a student of Korean history and this one was particularly famous. The Seven-Branched Sword was a ceremonial sword sent by the king of the Korean kingdom of Baekje to a Japanese "king of Wa" as a sign of peace and cooperation. It was made entirely of iron and engraved in script that was inlaid in gold. Six prongs sprouted from the spine of the sword and together with the tip of the blade, they formed the "seven branches."


    It was¡­ completely useless as a weapon. There were some ancient weapons with branches and hooks built in to catch and break an opponent''s swords, but this one was clearly not meant to see combat. The blade was only slightly longer than two feet, with the tang of the sword extending another three or four inches. The tang wasn''t even attached to a hilt to hold it with.


    Historically, the sword was tangible proof of Japan''s semi-mythical Empress Jing¨±, not that I knew much else beyond that. The inscriptions on the sword didn''t say much. One side was the king of Baekje bragging about how the sword was made with wrought iron that was "folded a hundred times," which wasn''t actually good for steel, but whatever. The other was a letter denoting how the king of Baekje presented this sword as a sign of peace and best wishes to the king of Wa, probably some minor kingdom or territory during Empress Jing¨±''s time.


    In other words, the sword wasn''t significant because a great general wielded it or because some god blessed it. The sword was significant because it was a sign of peace and cooperation between two ancient kingdoms. It was a sword of peace and kingship, of goodwill rather than promised bloodshed.


    It was proof that, at one point in time, Japan and Korea didn''t hate each other.


    And Contessa stole it for me on a whim¡­


    "Fucking Contessa," I groaned. She was like a cat that brought home a dead pigeon. Even when she did something nice, she was a headache.


    I stuffed the pine box in the back of my closet and decided I''d worry about it another time. I could return it to whichever shrine Japan kept it in, but a part of me wanted to make something out of it. Or maybe I enjoyed the idea of having a priceless relic. No ideas immediately sprang to mind, but I could surely use a "sword of peace" or a "sword of kings" for something.


    It''d be insensitive to just return it¡­ right?


    X


    Today was quite nice, all things considered. Truthfully, I''d rather have spent it in my lab, but I could admit that I enjoyed this bout of normalcy in my life.


    And it truly was a normal day. Because I''d spent so little time out of the house, no one here knew me as "that poor blind kid." My glass eyes could easily be hidden with a pair of shades and so long as I didn''t tap my way around with a stick, no one could tell otherwise.


    It was a novel experience.


    Following a tour of the Museum of Natural History, mom and I had lunch at Old Ebbitt Grill, a DC landmark that claimed to be Washington''s oldest saloon. Apparently, it was founded in 1856 and used to be a boarding house that housed several presidents, congressmen, and other important figures. The old boarding house burned down or something and the restaurant changed locales a few times throughout the century and a half, but it was still an institution.


    The food¡­ was alright. Mom, still used to a Korean palette, thought their crab cake was a bit too over-seasoned. My burger was good, though I personally felt we were paying more for the ambiance than the food.


    After mom''s foray into American cuisine, the two of us headed home, where I regaled her with all the things I could now make. All, that is, save the Elixir of Life. I didn''t want to explain to her that yes, I could regrow my eyes but no, I didn''t want to.


    My mom snapped her fingers. "I forgot! We didn''t pick up a cake!"


    I laughed. "Mom, I can bake better."


    "You shouldn''t have to cook on your birthday."


    "Even if I like to cook?"


    "When did my son grow up so much?"


    "Yeah, I''m pretty great," I sniffed, shooting her a smug grin. I ducked a dope-slap with a laugh. "Do we have baking supplies?"


    "No, I don''t think so. Let''s go shopping for groceries while we''re at it."


    "Alright, yeah, that sounds cool."


    The deal with groceries in the Kim household was that shopping was a whole process. There were several nearby supermarkets including Giant, Safeway, and Costco, but mom almost exclusively shopped at H-Mart. In Annandale. Nowhere else could she get her supply of kimchi, Pacific mackerel, raw pork belly, or other uncommon ingredients. If it wasn''t for my job in DC, she would have insisted we move closer to the Korean community there.


    All told, it took twenty-five minutes to drive to Annandale. There, we stopped by at a place called Breeze Bakery and Caf¨¦ for a small cup of green tea and sweet red bean bingsu, a type of Korean shaved ice modernized with condensed milk, diced fruit, and jellies. By the time we returned home, it was nearing five in the afternoon.


    The two of us ended up making a matcha cheesecake with whipped dark chocolate cream, honey, and unsweetened cocoa powder for a hint of bitterness. Having my mom as an assistant while I baked was unexpectedly enjoyable, as was watching her polish off three slices with relish. We''d get around to dinner¡­ probably... Or not¡­


    "This is perfect, Yusung," she said as she licked the fork.


    "Glad you liked it, mom. I wanted to try making something that wasn''t too sweet."


    "Hehe, you''re going to make a girl very happy in a few years."


    ''Yeah, maybe when I''m done fading a god,'' I thought with a snort. "Maybe in like ten years."


    "You''re not going to date until you''re nineteen?"


    "Nah, I''m too different. I worry about tinkertech, being a hero, and making potions for disaster relief, mom. If I have to listen to some girl prattle on about how she forgot to do her math homework, I think I''d break up with her right then and there, no matter how cute she is."


    "That''s a pity. You know, that Alice girl was very pretty," she said with a teasing grin.


    "Who, the girl you were giving violin lessons to?"


    "Yes, I still feel bad for the way we disappeared."


    "We couldn''t help it."


    "I know. I thought she had a lot of potential."


    "Really? You only taught her for one lesson. And I was there. Were we hearing the same girl?"


    Mom flicked my ear in irritation. "Don''t laugh, Yusung, she wasn''t that bad. Everyone starts out knowing nothing. It''s your willingness to learn that determines how far you go."


    "Fine, fine. But yeah, I''m sure we could have been friends if we stuck around in Phoenix."


    "What about you? Are you enjoying your music lessons?"


    "Yes, mother," I drawled and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course we''d get onto the subject of my education; as if we weren''t Asian enough already.


    "Really? Which do you like better? Piano or saxophone?"


    "They both have their place, I think. Sax for the sound, but piano for the versatility. I like the improvisation that you can do with a sax but I think the piano fits in with any style of music."


    "Good. I''m glad. Sometimes, it feels like I have nothing to teach you."


    "Nah, I''m still garbage at music," I joked.


    I could change that if I built myself an etwahl. After all, every invention crafted by my hands came with Inspiration-backed knowledge of its operation. I could become a great musician overnight, but¡­ the look of joy on my mother''s face as she talked about different music styles and how she learned to incorporate one instrument or another into her repertoire made me decide against it. My lessons in Korean and music were some of the few ways we could bond.


    I smiled. Sometimes, perfect wasn''t needed.


    Author''s Note


    Did I just dedicate a chapter to pure fluff? Yes. Yes I did and I regret nothing. Short chapter, mostly because all my energy went into writing 5.4.5.


    I thought about what I might use Doormaker for and honestly? I''d probably be a tourist, seeing all the natural wonders of the world with no one else to breathe down my neck. And yes, according to the interaction between the Horns of the Dragon and the Eye of the Dragon cards, the Eye is named Hui Ning.


    October 19 isn''t any special day to me personally; I literally just settled on a random date for Andy''s birthday. It was also a little funny to think about what Contessa might get him. I could imagine her dedicating a single step on the Path to gift ideas, then opening a Door somewhere before returning two seconds later and calling it a day. Who knows if anything will come of this¡­


    Old Ebbitt''s a real place and I recommend going there at least once if you''re ever in DC. I can''t say it''s the best food in town, but it is a very historic place to be. And the food really is quite good. Great oysters and such. I took my sis and her fianc¨¦ there when they came to visit.


    Breeze Bakery and Caf¨¦ is also a real place and a personal favorite of mine. I highly recommend the green tea bingsu.


    Anyone else''s Asian parents did that when you were kids? Try to set you up with random people you meet even when you were nine? Not serious, but it was a running joke when I was a kid. Then it became more serious when I hit twenty-eight and never been on a date. Like shit, some people just don''t like other people, mom¡­


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.4.5 Fortuna

    Interlude 5.4.5: Fortuna


    2001, January 16: Washington, DC, USA


    I stepped into the lab just as Yusung left the lockers. No one else was around and wouldn''t be for another six minutes and thirteen seconds.


    The now nine year old wore his newly made costume, Winter''s Approach, he''d called it. At his side, the Ymelo hovered, glowing a soothing blue.


    Two spikes of True Ice jutted out from his cobalt-gray pauldrons, though not long enough to actually be a hindrance. A gleaming blue sapphire rested prominently in the center of the breastplate, shining like an unblinking eye. These three gems drew the eye in more ways than the physical. They seemed to draw in all heat around them, whispering promises of a coming chill that would blacken flesh and scatter armies.


    Looking at them stirred something in me, flickering embers of memories of long ago when I was a girl called Fortuna, when all I needed to worry about was the coming harvest and the frigid nights.


    How na?ve I''d been.


    I put on a smile for the not-quite-boy. "Yusung."


    "Fortuna," he greeted me back. He made a conscious choice to call me that. "Humanizing me," he''d called it. A flash of blue and my favorite cookie appeared. "Biscuit?"


    I bit into it with a grateful nod. Honey and flax with a hint of cassava mixed into the dough. The nutty flavor of the cassava took me back to my hometown on what could have been the Ivory Coast; we used to grow the root vegetable as our primary food crop.


    Once, in a bout of curiosity, I tried to find my earth''s cassavas on Earth-Bet. I failed, not because the Path was unable, but because thousands of years of agricultural development had rendered the cassava of Earth-Bet nearly unrecognizable to the one I remembered. I could have arranged the dominos for a genetically engineered retrograde version, but that was where I stopped the Path; there were other demands on my time.


    I savored the familiar flavors. It never ceased to amaze me how his power seemed to give me the exact flavor I craved in the moment, even when I was so absorbed in the Path that I didn''t know myself.


    I shook my head to free myself from the sudden onset of nostalgia. There was too much to do. No time for Fortuna, only Contessa.


    "How was your therapy?"


    "Well enough. I''m getting better," he said tiredly. As expected, his body showed zero signs of exhaustion; all of the fatigue was mental, and entirely self-afflicted.


    He''d added these sessions in the past few months, though not for any need to talk out his problems. No, Leviathan''s emergence in Naples reminded him of his own trigger, and his thalassophobia. It reminded him of his weakness so he sought to kill that part of himself.


    He liked to think of himself as the most reasonable of us, but he was just as broken in his own way.


    His idea of therapy was to force himself into the Olympic-sized pool on PRT premises alongside a wave maker and hardlight simulator for as long as he could. He''d begin with natural tropical storms, typhoons, and hurricanes then work up to recordings of past Leviathan attacks. No fighting. No gear. Just the constant fear of drowning and the bright pulse of his Ymelo. Every time his mind neared a panic attack, his Ymelo would blaze, calming him and reminding him of everything he fought for.


    Exposure therapy, in arguably the least healthy way possible.


    I chomped down the rest of my biscuit with more force than strictly necessary. Even with tinkertech, even for someone like Yusung, there were only so many times a person''s mind could be treated like a slinky. He was lucky I had a Path running to make his sessions more effective. One nudge here, another there. With Rebecca and Eugene''s interference, we''d distracted him with a number of projects and activities to space out his sessions perfectly, giving his mind time to recover.


    ''Or,'' I thought, ''there is no luck involved. He knows I''m Pathing him and he''s abusing it for all it''s worth. It''d explain his willingness to let himself be interrupted.''


    It was an interesting experience, having someone who so thoroughly understood my power and was therefore willing to exploit my actions on the assumption that I would not act against his interests. Was it a form of trust? Or was I the one being manipulated for a change?


    What a curious man Yusung was.


    "The Ymelo shines less and less as the months go by. You are now able to remain in the environment without a panic attack for sixteen minutes and twelve seconds."


    He rolled his eyes. "Of course you''d know that."


    I didn''t, my power told me to say so, but that was fine. Expressing interest in a friend''s life is natural, or so I''d been led to believe. "Ellisburg went dark three days ago."


    And suddenly he was all business. It was in the subtle tensing of his muscles and the clenching of his teeth. "What do you need?"


    "One Elixir of Sorcery, one Petricite Elixir, and the Dream Blossom Censer. A box of apple strudels. Oh, and two large pretzels. They should be baked as close to traditionally Bavarian as you can manage."


    "Making your breakfast I take it?"


    "Quite."


    "Fine, whatever. When do you want it all?"


    "I''ll come pick them up at five-forty-five tomorrow. The Path is clearing around Ellisburg and I''ll be able to make my move then."


    "Too early," he grumbled.


    "Deal. I know you''re up earlier."


    "Tch, unreasonable woman."


    "Door, Headquarters," I said, tossing a parting wave behind me.


    X


    2001, January 17: Washington, DC, USA


    Wednesday morning found me strolling through a Doorway into Yusung''s living room. His mother was still asleep and would be for another fifty-four minutes. I walked into his kitchen and helped myself to a glass of tea and a wafer-thin cookie from the jar on the center of his island.


    The daily Biscuit did mean I didn''t need to eat, but good food was one of the few vices I allowed myself.


    "Seriously?" he glared chidingly as I took my tithe.


    "Path to munchies," I told him what my power advised. "You know I could get much worse."


    He grumbled but didn''t protest further. I wasn''t sure what he found funny about that, but he was always a strange one. The two of us sat at his island, waiting for the strudels and pretzels to finish, though only I nibbled.


    "So, what''s the plan?"


    "I''m going to use the Dream Blossom Censer to put most of the town to sleep."


    "You don''t think it''ll work on Rinke?"


    "It will, but I eventually need him awake."


    "Hence the Petricite Elixir."


    "Hence the Petricite Elixir."


    "Why the food?"


    "Rinke''s father was Dutch, but his mother was Bavarian. I want to remind him of her."


    "And will cooking do that?"


    "If presented in a certain light, yes."


    He nodded. He''d been rather insistent on the "hearts and minds" approach with Rinke. I allowed it; it wasn''t detrimental overall. I polished off my snack and held out my hands. He gave me two vials, one a crystal blue and the other a shimmering silver.


    "Need me for anything else?"


    I shook my head. "Nothing related to Ellisburg. But you should check on Babylon this weekend. Your little grove of Petricite trees is growing fast."


    "Thanks, will do."


    X


    I stood on the roof of Ellisburg Village Town Hall, roughly the geographic center of the small town. Was "Village Town" redundant? Yes, but it was an unfortunate carryover from back when Ellisburg was an actual village.


    It was five-fifty now, but I could see one or two people already out and about. I could remain here for another hour without being noticed, the value of a sleepy, small town with a subculture of "mind your own business." The box of strudels, pretzels, and potions sat at my feet, their aroma tickling my nose.


    I cradled the Censer in the crook of one arm and popped the lid off the Elixir of Sorcery. It went down smoothly, tasting like blueberries, but with an indescribable aftertaste that clung to my tongue. A moment later, my body felt electrified as mana ran through me. It was not a feeling I was entirely unaccustomed to.


    I initially stole Yusung''s Biscuit to lighten the mood. I then continued to demand one a day for their nutritional and noctis properties, but it didn''t take me long to realize that they did more than keep my body in peak physical condition: They promoted magical growth.


    It wasn''t much. It was as though there was a cave in my soul being filled with mana, drop by drop. Over thousands of years, it might one day become a calming underground lake, but as it was now, it was barely a puddle. I could not stir it into action the way Yusung could, nor could my Path seem to figure out how.


    I had found another limitation to the Path: It could not manipulate metaphysical energies and ideas. I wondered, not for the first time, if Yusung knew that already.


    And that was why, for all the utility of his health potions, to me, the Elixir of Sorcery was the single most valuable elixir he ever made. It was liquid mana, distilled in such a way as to not conflict with the body of the drinker. Instead, it sat in the body, acting as an internal reservoir of mana. The quantity wasn''t much on its own, but Yusung never meant for it to be used in a vacuum.


    No, the Elixir of Sorcery''s primary benefit was not an internal reservoir, it was control. With it, for only an hour, I could manipulate any of his inventions, even if they were not attuned to me.


    I took the Censer in hand and focused, willing it to react. The elixir took care of the rest. Fragrant smoke billowed from flowers so intricately carved that the runic matrix beneath was virtually impossible to distinguish. One could get lost trailing a single stalk, only to find they''d made their way all the way around the vessel, outlining runes, petals, and leaves they''d never noticed before.


    I held the staff and willed the smoke to travel far, as far as it could reach with my limited mana without being blown away. It consumed the fire station and library first, then the bank Rinke worked at, then his house, and finally the rest of town. Half an hour later, I gingerly lowered the staff and examined my handiwork.


    The people of Ellisburg would rouse themselves in a few hours, sleeping the best sleep they''d ever had. A few would miss a business meeting here or there, forget to let out their chickens for the day, but no permanent harm would follow. My business would be concluded by then.


    I walked down South Main Street and allowed myself a brief minute to admire the picturesque, small-town ambiance. It had snowed the night prior and a thin layer of white covered the lawns and trees. The early morning sunlight scattered beautifully on the frozen crystals that dusted the lawns.


    Soon enough, I reached Rinke''s house. It was a two-story affair made predominantly of red brick and mortar. Not small, but it was clear the house was getting on in years, possibly around when the town was first founded, not that I''d bother deviating from the Path to find out.


    The house''s security hadn''t been updated in decades; it sported a tumbler lock that could be undone by a determined child and a paperclip. The lock delayed me for exactly one point two-six seconds. I leaned the Censer against a coat rack, hung my trademark fedora on one of the nubs, and proceeded inside.


    The interior of Rinke''s house was a mess, as I knew it would be. It boasted an old, Victorian-style fireplace with wrought iron grates. Above it sat a family picture: Hans and Anna Rinke seated on a loveseat with young Jamie on his mother''s lap, thumb conspicuously in his mouth.


    Hans was a factory man who got a job straight out of high school and worked in a plant in Watertown up north. Anna went to vocational school to become a nurse. That she made more money than him, was busier than him, always bothered the man. Four years after young Jamie''s birth, he walked out and never returned.


    I was no expert in child psychology, at least not when the Path was focused elsewhere, but I knew I wouldn''t find any other pictures of Hans in the house. The only reason the picture above the fireplace was permitted to remain was because every time Rinke thought about scrapping it, he''d remember how his mother used to stare wistfully at the family they once had.


    I felt something stir in my chest, empathy, Yusung called it, and I allowed it to bubble up and simmer. It was useful to the Path.


    Tragedies often were.


    I headed to the kitchen and set the oven to preheat before picking up an alarm clock and giving myself forty-five minutes. I then allowed the Path to guide me to the basement. Judging by the fingerprints dotting the walls and railing, it had recently been cleaned, though by tiny, inhuman hands.


    There was nothing to be concerned about. The Censer''s smoke could lull any human to sleep through spiritual forces I couldn''t understand. And for all their changes, Rinke''s goblins were indeed human. Their souls at any rate.


    At the moment, only one was in the house, the rest hunting for small game, pets, or other creatures. They were all knocked out like the rest.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I stepped past a tiny, furry goblin-thing. She had short, pale-yellow fur speckled with crimson dots and wasn''t much larger than a human head. She wore a shoddy dress made using an old pillowcase and slept on a pile of pillows, snuggled cutely into a ball. Presumably, this was Polka the First, Rinke''s favorite minion. Killing her off would make a point, though I refrained.


    This was Yusung''s show after all.


    Instead, I picked up Rinke''s sweater and used it to tuck her in, wrapping it around her head gently until the fabric folded over her ears. She clung to the familiar scent of her maker and pulled it close, muffling her own ears.


    Rinke was passed out over a workbench, hands buried to his elbows in the cadaver of a boy not much older than Yusung. Ronald Wulf was an opportunistic kill, one Rinke himself had not planned. His goblins were tasked with acquiring biomass without being seen and they did, from any source available.


    Whatever he was going to turn young Ronald into, he hadn''t gotten the chance before the mystical smoke rolled in.


    Jamie Rinke was a chubby, potbellied man with brown hair and utterly average features, neither handsome nor repulsive. He was dressed in a button-down shirt, though long since speckled in the innards of his victims. I knew that he had yet to even change out of his clothes since his trigger.


    My body felt the impulse to gag at the smell but the Path suppressed it. Instead, I left the alarm clock on a shelf by his head, tilted so it would tip over when it went off, landing on his hand. The combination of the vibration and noise would wake him without rousing Polka.


    Then came breakfast. Specifically, a breakfast meant to remind him of the single mother who worked two shifts to make sure her son had all he needed throughout his childhood. She had been the most important stabilizing influence in his life and though her death to breast cancer did not cause his trigger, the downward spiral his life had taken could be traced directly to it.


    That was the thing few realized: Triggers were seldom just one thing. In truth, it was almost always merely the straw that broke the camel''s back.


    Jamie Rinke had already begun to backslide into a childlike mentality. He was a volatile creature, full of neuroses like land mines. Loneliness. Lack of support. Need to belong. Desire for old, familiar comforts. A paradoxical longing for childhood games and the desire for authority, even if that authority figure was himself. Anyone else trying to navigate this minefield would blow off their feet in minutes.


    I was not anyone else. He had his three day''s grace but now, now the Path saw all.


    The best way to break him from his narcissistic spiral was to remind him of his mother, of the nurse who dedicated her life to helping others. She worked double shifts to keep a young Jamie in a good school. Even when she lay bedridden from breast cancer, she never stopped encouraging him to be better, to help others.


    So, I planned to exploit those treasured memories mercilessly. Rather than try to forcibly drag his psyche from his reminiscing, I intended to play on his passions, on dreams long forgotten.


    After all, everyone wanted to belong.


    The first step to all of this was cleaning. Not exactly glamorous, but his mother insisted on a neat kitchen. I didn''t have the time to make it spotless of course, but I moved from place to place, adjusting everything just as the Path told me Anna Rinke used to have them.


    I then tossed the strudels and pretzels into the oven to warm. To pair with them, four links of weisswurst were retrieved from the fridge and tossed onto a pan. In another saucepan went five cups of water and four eggs to soft-boil.


    Exactly twenty minutes and eight seconds later, I was done. Two sausages and eggs joined a pretzel and strudel on each plate. A slightly warmed cup of sweet mustard was set in the middle. The plates themselves were taken from the top shelf, his grandmother''s favorite. Two cups of extra-pulpy orange juice joined the setup, all the better to hide the elixir within.


    I didn''t have to wait long. The alarm rang and was accompanied shortly after by several curses. I allowed myself a smile and set down a kettle of coffee for the table as well. That bit of banal annoyance would help set the tone for this interaction.


    I heard him climb the stairs.


    "Good morning, Jamie," I spoke, a warmth I could never mimic without the Path lacing my voice. There was even a slight accent, just like Anna. I leaned against one wall with a friendly smile.


    "M-Mother?" he stammered, still shaking off the dregs of sleep.


    "I''m afraid not, but I figured this would be something new for the both of us. Please, take a seat."


    I could hear the moment his attention sharpened. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"


    "My name is Contessa, Jamie, and I just want to talk with you."


    "Polka-" he started to shout, but I shushed him.


    One hand on my hip. Leaned forward twelve degrees. A finger on my lip. Bangs tucked behind one ear. Breathe harshly through my front teeth. "Shhh! Do you want to wake her?" I glared. "I spent a lot of effort preparing this, Jamie. You may as well join me for breakfast. I promise she''ll wake up in a few hours with the best sleep she''s ever had."


    He glanced at me warily. If I did nothing in the next four seconds, he''d figure out how idiotic this all was. Of course he wanted his minion awake. I was relying on the sheer unpredictability of my actions. If I did nothing, that wariness would turn to aggressive indignation. He''d lunge for me, attempting to make any sort of skin contact. Were I walking another Path, I would have let him try, only to trip him, scoop out an eyeball with a spoon, and gag him with the dishrag before leveling more than a few unsubtle threats.


    Instead, I turned and took a seat. "I wasn''t lying, you know. I did go to the trouble of making us breakfast. Do you mind if we at least enjoy that before we get to the threats and posturing?"


    Everything I did was designed to invoke memories of Anna, from the food to the way I lectured, down to the way I asked rhetorical questions. This wouldn''t work on a more experienced cape. Everything I did would scream "Thinker!" But on Jamie Rinke, cape for less than four days? On a man who was at the most fragile, loneliest point in his life?


    This worked like a charm.


    The gore caking the biokinetic''s hands sloughed off, leaving him completely clean. He took a seat but stared at me warily. I smiled disarmingly and began cutting the weisswurst. Popping a piece of the veal sausage in my mouth, I said, "You really should try some, Jamie. It''s quite good."


    "Right, what''s it laced with?"


    "Nothing. A friend of mine baked the strudels and pretzels. They''re amazing."


    "I don''t believe you." He reached out and switched the plates around.


    I shrugged and tore a piece from what used to be his pretzel before dipping it in the jar of sweet mustard in the middle. "Suit yourself. Mmm, your mother had excellent taste. Bavarian?"


    He nodded cautiously and took a bite of the sausage. I could see the lines in his face smooth out a little as the familiar flavors lulled his senses. The soft-boiled egg, with a sprinkle of salt, pepper, and paprika for flavor, went next. Then, he reached for the glass of orange juice, heavy on pulp just as Anna Rinke liked it.


    I would have smirked in triumph if it wouldn''t have compromised the Path. For the next hour, the king was a peasant.


    "Polka?"


    "She''s fine," I promised reassuringly, though with that slight crease to my brow that hinted at impatience. "She''ll wake up when we''re done, completely refreshed and having had the best sleep of her short life. I told you, I just wanted to talk."


    "Then why drug her?"


    "You made her. She''s protective of you and I felt that she would be too¡­ passionate in your defense. She''s young, right? Not even three days old? I didn''t think she''d be experienced enough to handle a stranger well."


    "She wouldn''t hurt anyone."


    "I''m sure she wouldn''t," I said placatingly. "Just in case. You understand. I didn''t want to have to defend myself and turn this into a fight."


    He snorted and turned back to his food. "What do you want? Who are you?"


    "Like I said, my name is Contessa. As for what I want¡­ I need your help," I said after a noticeable pause, as though admitting it stung. All the better to sound sincere. He wasn''t quite a child, but he wanted what every child wanted. Or really, what everyone wanted: He wanted to feel needed.


    I set down my fork and looked at him with the same doe eyes as his mother. By forcibly drawing so many parallels between myself and Anna, I was redirecting his childhood fantasies. No amount of social manipulation would make him see me with the same idolized, rose-tinted glasses he saw her with. But I didn''t need him to idolize me. I just needed him to see me as a friend, a kindred spirit, even if no such camaraderie would ever exist.


    "I need your help, Jamie," I said again. "As you can see, I''m a very powerful thinker."


    "You want to recruit me."


    "Of course. You''re not a stupid man. I don''t think subtly manipulating you would work, so, I''m not even going to try. No kidnapping. No threats. No "accidents" that push you towards what I want. All I want is a conversation. Then I''ll leave the decision to you."


    He reached out for my hand, and I let him, meeting him in the middle. Hands clasped over the table, we could have been a pair of lovers having a heartfelt conversation.


    His eyes widened in surprise. "My power-"


    "Will come back after this conversation. If I erased your power, you wouldn''t be able to help me," I spoke softly. I turned his hand and rubbed his palm gently with my thumb. I withdrew my hand and reached for my fork again. All the better to reinforce the image of normalcy. "Eat, please. You wouldn''t want to waste food, would you?"


    The two of us ate in relative silence. He was understandably a little stiff, but he made his own stumbling efforts to try and probe me for information. Between vaguely appreciative comments about the food, he asked questions about me, my organization, and how I managed to find him so quickly.


    I answered as honestly as I could, whitewashing as little of it as possible. He''d be one of our most senior pawns; a certain degree of transparency made him more useful.


    Between bites, I also explained to him the unwritten rules and just why what he was planning to do to Ellisburg was so unforgivable. A few missing people? Fine, a trigger event gone wrong. Three thousand? A different matter.


    The Nilbog Yusung knew would have scoffed and spat at the very notion that the US government could threaten him. This wasn''t that Nilbog. This was Jamie Rinke, still with the mind of a mostly functional adult, yet to have built a kingdom of monsters. The lack of an army combined with my sudden presence here and the fact that Ellisburg was in Legend''s backyard made him far less confident in his own abilities, and therefore far more malleable.


    Bit by bit, word by word, I was shaping him using one of the most powerful and subtle tools in my arsenal: social mimicry.


    It was prolonged social isolation and rejection that caused his trigger and the same isolation would have caused his backslide into a childlike mindset. Humans wanted, no, needed to belong, and Rinke was no different. And to belong, he would shape himself, his behavior, and even his thoughts and biases, all without his conscious knowledge.


    To a man who knew very little of capes, there were only two worth noting in Ellisburg, I represented everything glamorous about cape-dom. I was a cape who had it made: I was clearly well-dressed, well-informed, powerful, and good looking. I headed an organization that could track him to this obscure location mere days after his trigger, before the local sheriff had even begun to investigate the missing persons.


    I looked like hyper-competent.


    Most of all, I reminded him of the single most important person in his life, a person he could no longer reach.


    I placed myself before him as someone to be admired. And therefore, I was someone to be mimicked.


    There were no master powers involved, but that was what made the Path so dangerous, so insidious. Everyone practiced social mimicry of some sort, from cults and friend groups to schools and armies. It wouldn''t be an exaggeration to say that this single phenomenon defined human relationships.


    And with the Path, I was the best there could be. In the span of one meal, one conversation, I''d affirmed in his subconscious mind that I was worthy of his attention and admiration. I was someone he wanted as a friend.


    I put my fork down just as Rinke ate the last of his food. "That was great," he said with far less hostility than when he''d started.


    "I''m glad you liked it. I''ll let my friend know you appreciated his cooking."


    "Yeah, so, another world, huh? Why me? You saw Polka. I just¡­"


    "You just made yourself some friends. You were lonely," I voiced his unspoken admission. He stiffened; no one liked having their weaknesses thrown in their face. I smiled, eyes morose. "And that''s okay. I was seven when everyone in my village died. Now, only one person alive calls me by the name my mother gave me.


    "I¡­ I''m sorry¡­"


    He looked down, unable to see the smirk that flickered across my face. His was the expression of a man slapped with some perspective. At least he still had a home.


    "Don''t be. It was a long time ago, but trust me when I say I do understand. I am not a perfect person, Jamie. I have done horrible things in the name of peace. I suppose I am here to absolve myself of even a little bit of that blame."


    "The heroes¡­"


    "Cannot be everywhere. Two weeks ago, I was in Namibia. I murdered eighteen men and six women, all responsible for running a camp to train child parahumans. They would systematically torture children in an attempt to make them trigger. Sometimes, they would torture brothers and sisters while their siblings watched, all to see if sympathetic trauma could cause what is called a cluster trigger."


    "That¡­"


    "I killed them all," I said firmly, voice hard. For a moment, I allowed the boogeyman to shine through. "I killed them all and burned the camp to ashes. There are many parts of the world where heroes don''t exist. For all the grandiose promises of the Founders, the Protectorate cannot be everywhere. They want to, but they are few and not every criminal can be locked away with a pair of handcuffs.


    "And that is Earth-Bet. What of other worlds? Worlds where the strongest capes are not morally good? That is Cauldron. Cauldron is the witch''s brew, the poison no one wants, but we all need. No hero visits the witch because he has other options."


    Rinke looked more shaken now. He was starting to get a glimpse of the enormity of what I represented. "Where¡­ Where do I fit into all this? Cauldron is¡­ some kind of¡­ multidimensional police?"


    "Not police, we''re not that nice. Think of us as an antivirus, the kind that cleans up your computer. You can take the program, put it into a different computer, and let it clean that up too."


    "I can''t fight."


    "You probably could," I hummed. "I don''t doubt that you can create bigger, stronger friends than little Polka. But that''s not why I''m here. Tell me, Jamie, what do you know about Case-53s?"


    "They are monstrous capes. No one''s sure if they''re mutations or mini-endbringers or what. None of them remember anything except how to speak the local language."


    It was almost funny. "Mini-endbringers," as if anyone in Ellisburg had a clue. Then again, perhaps I shouldn''t have been surprised at the biases of a small town. This was hardly the first echo chamber I''d encountered. Instead, I said, "No, they''re not miniature endbringers."


    "Then what are they?"


    "Lost. They''re lost. No one in Cauldron knows where they come from either, but we do know that they''re human despite it all. One of our ongoing projects is to find them a home, maybe even a cure."


    "That''s what you want me for. You think my power can make them human again?"


    "There''s a chance. And if not, I think your power might be one part of the cure, a part of the puzzle. At the very least, you should be able to curb some of the worst mutations."


    "I don''t know¡­" He looked away, feeling a little awkward at the earnestness behind my gaze.


    "I do," I said insistently. "Your mother was a nurse, right? You can be something similar. There is a girl whose bones seep through her skin, creating a form of armor. At least, that''s what we think it''s supposed to do. Instead, all the sections are wrong, like pieces of a puzzle that don''t quite fit. She can''t walk ten paces without falling over and we feed her through a straw. Best we can tell, she''s not even twenty years old. Doesn''t that sound like the kind of case you can help with?"


    "I¡­ maybe¡­"


    "I''m not asking you to get involved in the harsher side of Cauldron''s business. I''m asking you to give them a home. And ultimately, to give them the chance to choose their own path. Isn''t that a good way to use your power?"


    I leaned back and gave him his space. His brows were furrowed in thought. "What¡­ What do I get out of this?" he said after a minute of silence. And I knew I had him.


    "Whatever you want."


    "I want my mother back."


    I chuckled ruefully. "Okay, perhaps not that. But I can give you the next best thing: Purpose. Resources. Companions. A home."


    "I can have that on my own," he said mulishly. "I can make more like Polka. Leave town. Start my own place somewhere."


    "You could, but then what?"


    "I just want to be left alone."


    I reached across the table and took his hand. "I don''t think that. In fact, thinker''s promise, I know you don''t want that. Powers are oftentimes an expression of our innermost desires. A power that makes companions? No, you don''t want to be alone. I think it''s quite the opposite. I think that you want people who will stand beside you, people you can trust to have your back.


    "And, to be clear, I think your creations can do that one day. One day, Polka is going to grow up, figuring out her own likes and dislikes. But that day is a long time coming and that won''t change the dynamic between you two, will it? You will always be her creator, her king. And you know what the problem with being a king is? Kings are lonely. Is that truly the kind of life you want?"


    I stood and took slow steps towards the door, where my fedora and Yusung''s Censer were placed. "We draw in Case-53s from all across the multiverse. You can be a father and teacher to them all. You can be the petty king of a petty kingdom, forever alone atop your throne, or you can make a difference in the lives of others, reach out to them as I''ve reached out to you." I gave him a bittersweet smile. "Who knows? When you give of yourself, you may find that the world is not so dark after all."


    With my piece said, I placed the fedora back on my head in a jaunty slant and twirled the staff to draw his eye. At two revolutions, my other hand withdrew a business card and flung it through the air. It spun like a throwing star until it landed perfectly in his surprised fingers.


    "I won''t force you, but I think you''ve got some soul-searching to do," I said with a final wink. "Door, Cauldron HQ."


    Doctor Mother knew to expect his call in a mere fourteen hours.


    Author''s Note


    I did say we''d be jumping quite a bit this arc. This is yet one more of those stepping stones.


    Fortuna is becoming a person!


    And still so fucking hard to write¡­ I honestly don''t think I can do her justice. Maybe an author better than me will put her into better focus, but her perspective is especially difficult to write because of the mental gymnastics I need to do to keep the influence of the Path straight. In the end, even when she''s trying to be a decent human being, she''s still a massively manipulative cunt. Go figure.


    I decided that Contessa is in her mid-late twenties at the moment. Think twenty-six or twenty-seven. Scion became a hero in 1982, so I''m going to say Contessa was six or seven when Eden crash-landed in her village.


    Also, I didn''t expect this fic to rely so heavily on food-induced plot, but I ain''t complaining.


    The trouble with time skips in stories with a tinker MC is that it''d be unreasonable for Andy to not have made anything at all. And yet, when I introduce new things like the Elixir of Sorcery, it can seem as though it''s coming out of the blue. I tried to preempt that a bit with Winter''s Approach since he was already working on it in the previous chapter, but yeah¡­ There isn''t really a way to fully avoid new reveals like this.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.5 Scattered

    Scattered 5.5


    2001, June 1: Dnipro, Ukraine


    I stood at the top of a hill, looking down over a sea of white and red. They were my Petricite grove and this was the Garden of Babylon, named for the Hanging Gardens, one of the Seven Wonders.


    Why Babylon?


    I felt Eden was a little too uncreative. Besides, I was Christian, whatever the state of my soul at the moment. Calling it "Eden" felt a little¡­ pretentious.


    The Petricite trees were planted in spacious rows. At first glance, it seemed as though there was too much space. The trees were already nearing three stories tall, but there was enough space between them to fit almost an entire city block.


    That was no accident. These trees the size of houses were saplings. They were positively tiny compared to the skyscraper-sized behemoths native to Demacia. Though to be fair, Demacian Petricite had almost a full millennium to reach their full height.


    As it was, Petricite trees grew slowly, but I cheated somewhat by converting not redwood pinecones, but small saplings. By bypassing the germination process altogether, I could plant them while they were already partially grown. I then dug wells and irrigation channels filled with the Water of Life. The waters of the Blessed Isles would promote their growth. It was where Maokai was from after all.


    Between each tree was a plot of some foreign flower or fruit, ranging from some of the tamer plants from the Kumungu Jungle to the Veraza azaleas bred by their namesake family in Zaun''s cultivars. There were even a few puffcaps, their green and purple heads iconic to any fan of the game. Each were carefully cultivated by a mix of Hero''s drones, trustworthy Case-53s, and humans who had been vetted for the purpose.


    As far as the humans went, it was a simple matter to visit a primitive earth and offer a village free reign over incredibly rich land, free of predators or enemies. I shouldn''t have been surprised to find out that half of them thought of us Cauldron executives as either mortal avatars of gods or divine messengers.


    It honestly made me deeply uncomfortable. There was a small part of me that reveled in the awe and worship, but¡­ but it all rang hollow. I did not have their best interests in mind. In the end, I was exploiting them as glorified gardeners. True, their lives were better for it and my influence was a net positive, but they were a means to an end, not some chosen followers of the "god of life and harvest" or whatever other bullshit title they called me when I wasn''t around.


    The part of me that wanted to be praised and exalted? I wanted that as an inventor and creator. I wanted people to know how awesome my inventions were. I wanted them to stand awestruck as I punched a hole through Scion''s chest, pioneered interstellar travel, or figured out how to raise the dead, not because I introduced them to the wonders of Home Depot''s gardening section.


    I put all of that out of mind with the ease of long practice. In the end, Babylon bettered some lives and got me a sustainable supply of Petricite that I didn''t need to convert myself. I''d just have to live with the moral discomfort.


    I turned around and headed back into the compound at the top of the hill. It was connected to the rest of Cauldron in the same way everything else was: Doormaker. Cauldron HQ''s floorplan looked like a winding maze, or perhaps some kind of dismembered kraken carcass that had been scattered across multiple continents and worlds.


    Lately, I''d been spending as much time in this lab as the Madhouse in DC and the reason was simple: I finally cracked alchemical mass production.


    Or rather, Renata Glasc, Singed, and the other chembarons of Zaun cracked mass production and I finally figured out how to shamelessly steal and repurpose their ideas.


    Best of all? I didn''t have to pollute the hell out of my personal garden world to do it.


    To be fair to myself, I''d more or less always known how to mass produce. It wasn''t as though the concept of assembly lines was somehow foreign to me. No, the problem had always been a matter of energy and effort.


    All of my inventions were powered by the World Rune, and that came with plenty of advantages. Namely, nothing lost power. Ever. As a cosmic force of creation, it was simply impossible for the World Rune to ever fail in its capacity as a battery. Nor could anything I made be reverse engineered by another tinker in any meaningful way. I was using a completely foreign form of energy that Shards were simply unequipped to understand.


    But there was a major disadvantage as well: Because the World Rune was permanently grafted to my soul, I had to be the one to power it all. Sure, some things like Control Wards could work by inserting a bit of my mana to act as independent batteries, but they weren''t permanent.


    No, my answer to mass production came thanks to Hero. Or rather, it all lead back to his Wayfinder. I''d attuned it to him using blood magic pioneered first by the likes of Vladimir and later refined by the Black Rose Order of Noxus. I''d been so focused on the mission of saving Hero''s life that I failed to fully consider the implications of what I''d done. By using blood magic to link his soul to the Wayfinder, I bound the item to him. If he lost it, I could easily find it for him with a minor ritual, no matter the distance.


    Then the natural question came: Why can''t I do that with myself?


    No one else''s soul was powerful enough to fuel an assembly line of mass-produced goods, but I''d already figured out how to make connections to souls that weren''t limited by distance. So, that''s what I did.


    I made a giant Mana Crystal out of enough quartz to put Rolex out of business and turned it into a mana storage device that linked back to my soul, a Nexus. It siphoned a monstrous amount of mana to keep itself running, but the World Rune was infinite anyway and since the mana wasn''t going through my body, I didn''t suffer any side effects.


    I then used it to power several manufacturing and alchemical processes in the lab, including a production line for some of the more basic potions and a wellspring of the not-quite Water of Life that nourished Babylon''s fields. Right now, the potions catalog included the basic health potion, the Elixir of Rejuvenation designed to restore lost limbs, and a "Sump Tonic" that cured various lung diseases.


    That Sump Tonic was a tonic made by a certain chembaron for her Zaunite wage slaves. There wasn''t any compassion involved. Rather, she noticed that there were too many who were dying from inhaling the Zaun Gray. Instead of spring for actual gas masks, she decided that since alchemy was her expertise, she''d rather just cure the symptoms. Of course, constant exposure to the Gray made the tonic a stopgap at best, but squeezing some extra time out of her workers was all she cared about in the end.


    Terrible news for those at the Sump Level, but great for the people of Earth-Bet. So long as they didn''t dive back down into a coal mine or something, the Sump Tonic could cure virtually any lung disease.


    On a minor note, this meant the NEPEA-5 lawsuit against Rubedo''s health potions finally came to a head in the Supreme Court, quite fast as far as legal proceedings went. Rubedo''s "breakthrough" into mass production forced the court to examine the case in great detail. There was a lot of legal jargon thrown around about precedents, regulation of medical products, and the rights of heroes as business entities, but there could only be one conclusion: My detractors were laughed out of court.


    The original reason for the lawsuit was to buy time for investors to gauge my alchemical abilities and move funds around accordingly so it grated on me a bit that they''d gotten exactly what they wanted. Still, small potatoes in the grand scheme of things.


    The Number Man started several proxy companies contracted to sell my potions across the United States and abroad. Nominally, these companies prevented the formation of a monopoly centered around my alchemical innovations. In reality, Kurt was having a blast yanking the world''s pharmaceutical market around by the nose.


    The secret identity and location of the mysterious Ward who got whisked away by Alexandria became something of a hot commodity to everyone outside the loop.


    All of this got me two lesser runes I''d unlocked over the past eight months: Magic Footwear and Cosmic Insight.


    I received Magic Footwear after I completed my armor and set the Tear of the Goddess into its breastplate.


    Magic Footwear was similar to Biscuit Delivery in that it granted me a mundane skill on top of the primary boon. It made me the greatest cobbler alive with knowledge of shoemaking from Runeterra. No matter the style or fit, from horseshoes to elegant art pieces that belonged on fashion runways, if it fit on feet, I could make it. Not that it was a particularly useful skill to have in the modern age.


    On top of the situationally useful shoemaking skill, I also received knowledge of various types of enchantments, all pertaining to speed and movement. If an enchantment existed with the primary purpose of making something go faster, slower, or in a different vector, I knew it and could remake it.


    If Magic Footwear was hyper-specialized, Cosmic Insight broadened my horizons, literally.


    I ignited this lesser rune the night after I finished the layout of Babylon and planted the first groves. In the temple of my soul, I saw constellations shrink until they could fit into the palm of my hand. I zoomed out of the temple, out of my soul, until for the briefest instant, I saw a glimpse of the true vastness of space. There at the edge of the universe, I felt as much as saw the ebb and flow of time and space, that delicate dance that wove the Grand Tapestry.


    And then it was over.


    The lesser rune wasn''t enough for me to get more than a glimpse. I was returned to the temple, making me feel like my soul had been used as some kind of cosmic rubber band. It did give me enough to understand what the game would call "ability haste." In other words, cooldowns. I could now engrave enchantments that reduced the cooldowns of my products and artifacts. Basically, enchantments that made other enchantments more efficient.


    Of course, the very first thing I did was to make my potions factory more efficient. Cauldron actually had legitimate streams of income now.


    I loved how everything built on itself. I was truly becoming a monster and I couldn''t be prouder.


    On another note, I was a little nervous. I wasn''t an idiot, most of the time; I could recognize basic patterns. The next rune, if the pattern held up, would be another Keystone. The last one had changed me, both physically and spiritually, by turning me into a Feljordian folk hero. Though it seemed lackluster at first glance, the potential it imparted was immense. Compared to Glacial Augment, I wasn''t sure what to expect of Unsealed Spellbook and First Strike.


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    X


    2001, June 4: Washington, DC, United States


    I dodged out of the way of Verdeer''s charge, deflecting the edge of an antler with my shield. Sparks flew as I activated the Blitzshield''s static field, but my opponent''s diamond-like antlers did not conduct electricity.


    That was fine. I amped up the brightness to the max.


    "Aaah! Oof." Gold Rush screamed as she lost track of where she was going and ran into my fist. Her enhanced speed came with appropriately increased muscle density so the punch to her gut didn''t do much, but that was all the distraction I needed.


    The ice that flowed through my veins flooded into my armor and coalesced in the crystals on my shoulders. As I leapt away, jagged icicles sprouted from my footprints like stalagmites, deterring pursuit. I could have grabbed her and drained her power, reducing her to a normal girl, but Verdeer was already recovering.


    Without the Winter''s Approach, I could barely generate a refreshing breeze, a puff of snow crystals that''d make Sejuani die laughing. With it, Glacial Augment''s true worth showed itself. Every movement I made produced an "ice echo" similar to Leviathan''s.


    I was effectively a cryokinetic much like Just-Ice of the Arlington Wards.


    That revelation had incited whole new rumors and speculations about me being a tinker whose specialization was mimicry. It wasn''t, but the PRT was milking it for all it was worth. In the past three months alone, I''d had four different PR events where Just-Ice, Glace, and I posed together.


    On the plus side, only Glace was tapped to keep a functioning ice rink in the National Mall through the summer.


    I put aside my annoyance with Powell and drew my relic pistol, pumping four rounds down range before Gold Rush could recover.


    Unfortunately, Brickhouse was on the ball and clods of earth intercepted all but one of my light bullets. He could pull cement from the walls or beneath the mat as easily as clay, but he almost exclusively used the clay set aside in piles in the training room during sparring. It saved on repair costs apparently.


    None of the light bullets I''d fired their way were strong enough to break the hardened clay so he threw them my way in retaliation.


    I blocked them with ease, catching three on my shield, dodging out of the way of two, and kicking the last apart in a shower of dirt and ice fragments. Every spin and step sent a flurry of ice crystals lancing through the air like I was Elsa, but I wasn''t the only one who could make distractions.


    Verdeer closed in again, this time accompanied by Brickhouse. My nominal leader''s hands were fully encased in solidified clay; he knew his strikes wouldn''t dent my armor. Gold Rush flanked around me, leaving her curtain of golden light behind her to try and slow me down.


    I shoved my shield in Verdeer''s face to deflect his charge, but he was waiting for it. He twisted his neck and swerved on his own, hooking his antlers to tear away my protection. I was briefly tempted to fire a Zeri-style bolt into his skull but remembered that he wasn''t electric proof, just his antlers.


    Reluctantly, I made a twisting motion with my left wrist, detaching the shield and letting him run away with it. If I let him drag me around by the arm, I''d find myself overwhelmed in short order.


    Still, I made him help me in his own way. The momentum of his turn was used to twist me around, launching me in a roundhouse kick that clocked Gold Rush across the jaw.


    She too had gotten better at anticipating my movements over the past several months. She was one of the few capes who could actively keep pace with my newfound speed and she made good use of it. She turned with me, making my foot come in contact with her slowdown trail.


    I suddenly felt as though my foot lost half its momentum. Given she was already rolling with the kick, it was barely enough to jostle her chin. It''d probably leave a bruise, but she''d shrugged off a lot worse.


    The sudden drop in my momentum also kept me from completing my spin, forcing me to land on my hands and remaining knee in a textbook three-point crouch. I knew what was coming and tucked myself into a roll, evading Brick''s downward fist.


    This was how our spars usually went now. I''d quickly graduated from fighting them individually and they treated me more like a raid boss to beat down through coordinated assaults. Perhaps there was a bit more consternation about being surpassed by a nine year old than I''d initially assumed.


    Regardless, I swept a leg in a wide arc, sending a gale of frozen air to destabilize them. I was lucky enough to catch Brick as he recovered from his punch.


    He landed on the ground with a pained grunt, just in time to see a light bullet strike the mat mere inches from his head.


    He got the message and rolled himself out of bounds. It was rare for our dear leader to be the first to lose but he took it in stride.


    I saw Verdeer behind me, ready to throw the Blitzshield like a frisbee. Of my fellow Wards, he was the only person who could use it without negating his own power, perks of being a Case-53. He''d asked me to make him something similar at one point, but PR cut off that idea as incongruent with his image.


    The shield flew like a discus, albeit with considerably greater speed. Had I continued to rise, it would have found the back of my helmet. Instead, I turned my crouch into a flip and kicked the shield as it flew by.


    My foot collided with the shield just slightly off center, sending it flipping through the air like a quarter. In the same motion, my pistol came up to fire two shots at Gold Rush, who had recovered from my foot to her chin. The blasts weren''t enough to cause any real harm, but they knocked her on her ass.


    The Blitzshield came down and I managed to catch it in hand, quickly slipping my left arm through the harness. I turned to face Verdeer.


    "You and me, Verd," I said with a confident smirk.


    He grunted and broke his stance. "Nah, we''re done. You win, you little monster."


    "Excuse you, I''m not little," I huffed with mock indignation.


    "Yeah, that''s what you take issue with," I heard Gold Rush mutter from the floor. "Seriously though, did you get faster? I could''ve sworn you were faster than me for a second."


    "No, no I didn''t. I''m just more efficient with my movements. You move like a sprinter; I move like a martial artist."


    "Verd''s right. You are a monster."


    "I am," I said agreeably. "Are we done for the day? I still want to go fine-tune some stuff."


    "Yeah, we''re done," Brickhouse spoke. "You go get to your tinkering."


    I nodded respectfully to my Wards Leader and headed back to the Madhouse. A lot had changed on this side of the Door as well.


    For starters, I was no longer homeschooled. I received my high school diploma, or at least the homeschool equivalent, last month. I was shocked to find that I was not in fact the youngest to ever graduate high school. That honor went to one Michael Kearney who graduated high school at the age of six. And, he did it without the benefit of a past life to his name.


    Mad respect.


    Funnily enough, mom wanted me to start looking at colleges. There was something to be said for Asian parents no matter the world, but I managed to talk her out of it with a promise to do it later when I was a more appropriate age. It took some doing, but in the end, I managed to convince her that "being a hero" was a perfectly fine activity to pad my application. Secretly, I thought it was the "mentored by Hero" that sold it for her.


    Asians¡­


    I toweled off the sweat from our spar and began to sketch out more of the rune matrices that would make up my new eyes. They were orbs of True Ice. Or rather, my Orbs of True Eyes.


    No, I''m not sorry.


    True Ice had become remarkably cheap, comparatively, since Glacial Augment, but that didn''t mean these prosthetics were easy to make. There was a whole underlying development process that I simply wasn''t willing to cut corners from. The eyes were the most complex machines in nature and I wasn''t taking any chances with mine.


    To start with, I had to sink these orbs in an alchemical solution that was "genetically and magically neutral" as one Dr. Monteiro put it. Which, to be clear, was very different from simply being inert. Piltovan surgeons needed to be able to prevent rejection and similar complications without the advantages of modern internal medicine and this was how they did it.


    The solution was derived from one of the plants that now decorated Babylon. Specifically, the Veraza azalea, named for the family of chembarons who pioneered the botanical genetic engineering process.


    After making sure that my body would accept the new eyes, I had to inscribe each face of the multi-faceted orbs with individual runic matrices. Hell, I made a microscope and had Armsmaster help me miniaturize the Hextech Multitool just so I could start on this project.


    Even with the improved tools, I already went through six or seven eyes trying to figure out the best way to position each runic matrix relative to the others.


    In the end, I decided to work from the back of the eye outward. At the base of course was the neural interface system that would collect incoming information, translate it to something my squishy meat-brain could compute, then transfer it down the optic nerves. Then, because magic was bullshit and I didn''t have to give two fucks about the anatomy of an actual eyeball, I made three runic matrices to mimic the role of retinas.


    Yes, three. Each matrix was positioned to form an equilateral triangle and acted like an oracle''s Elixir in their own right. Just getting them to sense mana at the same rate and frequency was a pain, made worse by the realization that I needed to remake the neural interface matrix because the sensory input was too much.


    The goal was to have each eye triple up on that spherical vision, effectively letting each eye triangulate objects by itself. Quadrangulate? Was that a word? The inspiration came from dragonflies and their highly advanced compound eyes that let them snag flies out of the air, over water, ignoring reflections, solar glare, and their own constant movement.


    Dragonflies were nature''s predator drones and if pok¨¦mon were real, yanmega would be at the top of my fuck-Arceus list.


    I could have stopped there. A pseudo-byakugan with individually operated eyes that could triangulate any target in range, pierce any illusion, and see the currents of mana that flowed through all existence? Yeah, they were fine as they were. I even managed to double the radius from a hundred fifty meters to three hundred meters.


    But if I stopped there, I wouldn''t have been making any real use out of the base material. I didn''t just pick True Ice because of the monstrous amounts of mana it could hold.


    True Ice wasn''t just "that thing that won''t melt that Gragas uses to chill his booze." It was, quite literally, the crystallization of an idea. It was why even people who received no formal magical training like Sejuani could use True Ice weapons to perform feats that, by all logic, should belong in the realm of mages.


    Ashe''s bow could make an arrow the size of a horse and somehow make it fly straight not simply because it crystalized the air around her to generate mass, but because it slowed physical concepts like inertia. Projecting the idea of "cold," of "slowing down," onto intangible ideas was the domain of master craftsmen and the Bow of Avarosa was a masterwork like few others on Runeterra.


    I was a master craftsman.


    Sort of...


    To be fair, I had much to learn. Potential did not equate to true skill and experience, but I was getting there.


    In the end, I had to come up with a compromise. Initially, I wanted to pull an Esdeath and "chill" time. Perhaps because I lacked the full integration of the World Runes or because my own understanding was lacking, but that proved to be too much.


    I was always pressed by the World Rune to build the best things I could make within my current talents and it turned out that my talents were lacking. So, instead of fruitlessly chasing after the idea of "frozen" time, I focused on keeping the chilling effect internal.


    My eyes would "chill" my own perception of time, giving me minutes to think and plan in the nanoseconds it took for a bullet to reach me. Strictly speaking, it made zero sense. To experience a moment of "slowed time," one''s perception would need to speed up, not slow down, but True Ice tended to tell physics to go take a hike.


    And then, as if being Neo wasn''t enough, I decided to leave room to expand my range of vision. Avarosan rangers could do something similar, seeing through the eyes of their omen hawks. I wasn''t ready yet, but by leaving a sympathetic rune matrix on the eyes, I could come back later to connect a familiar.


    With a satisfied smile, I got to work on what would hopefully be the last draft of my eyes.


    Author''s Note


    I ain''t no gardener and I sure as hell didn''t study sustainable forestry in college. You''ll just have to forgive me that that section was rather weak. Assume that these people are being taught and groomed to harvest smaller branches of Petricite and dream blossoms. I could turn this into a kingdom building fic, but I felt that this would be too much of a derail.


    As for why I capitalize Petricite but not dream blossoms¡­ I don''t know. I started doing it way back in Charmed and I want to remain consistent.


    Goddamn it took a full chapter just to get everyone caught up on time skip shenanigans. The big takeaway is that Andy cracked mass production. And you know what that means: hextech.


    Not the piddly little shield he made, but truly industrialized assembly lines, as Heimerdinger envisioned. As far as I''m concerned, this mass production unlocks for Andy the secrets of the Hextech line of skins. Jarvan''s weird two-pronged lance. Annie''s not-pedobear. Alistar''s¡­ Alistar. Everything in that line of AU skins is now up for grabs, though I may have to play around with their provided lore a bit.


    Evan Monteiro is one of the designers for the Champion, Camille. Seeing how I couldn''t find the name of Camille''s in-lore surgeon, I figured this would be a neat little name drop.


    Veraza azalea is a reference to Corina Veraza, a character who shows up in Legends of Runeterra. She is a chembaron, and developed a flower that can feed off the Zaun Grey. She has a skill called Magnum Opus, a flower which, in-game, obliterates the top five cards of your opponent''s deck and deals one damage to all enemies per spell destroyed. It used to be really, really strong before power creep kind of got to her.


    Omen hawk is a weak monster from LoR.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.6 Scattered

    <div>


    Scattered 5.6


    2001, June 7: Washington, DC, United States


    Thursday morning found me playing with the keyboard mom bought. Piano was the gateway drug, the marijuana of instruments, and in true Asian fashion, mom treated it like the alphabet: If you couldn''t play it, you weren''t a musician.


    Her attitude reminded me a bit of my past life. Then, I had attended an introductory course on piano at a local hagwon. I remembered running out crying because I was legally blind and couldn''t read sheet music without making little t-rex claws. I was six at the time; that represented my entire foray into music before my arrival here.


    Music seemed to be one of the few fields in which I was utterly mundane. Which wasn''t to say I was hopeless, only that I wasn''t inspired to play the piano in the same way I was inspired to brew potions or enchant wonders.


    The closest comparison was my Shojin kenpo training. The knowledge of how to play music was there, but it was distant, far removed from the creation process. If I chose to dive in, it truly would be an exploration into the world of composing, starting with the bare basics.


    I played through Mozart''s Minuet in F, a generic intermediate piece mom insisted would make my fingers more dexterous. She had me on this and another piece for two weeks whenever she had to leave me alone to go to work.


    By now, I could play it mostly from memory and wore a pair of headphones tuned in to the news. It was more about finger dexterity than any enjoyment of the song anyway.


    "Now on to sports with Mike," the newscaster said. "The first match of the NBA finals saw a surprise guest: Eidolon. He was seen figuratively letting down his cowl and enjoying the game from ringside seats alongside Exalt, a rising star in the Houston Protectorate. If ringside tickets to the NBA finals with Eidolon is what you get for your heroics, I''m not surprised Exalt''s putting in the hours. Now, let''s talk scores¡­"


    I snorted. I''d spoken with David on several occasions now and I could conclusively say he wasn''t the type to reward his subordinates. If anything, he was archetypal of the tech-genius CEO who started his own multi-billion dollar company. He did found the Protectorate after all.


    He gave of himself so completely to the mask that he sometimes had trouble understanding why others might not do the same. For him, the extra hours, minimal sleep, and constant training were all things that were a natural part of the job description.


    Seven months of therapy weren''t enough to radically change a man.


    Oh, sure, he laughed, made some cheesy heroic one-liners and dad jokes on camera, but I doubted a mere seven months were enough to fix his underlying issues. I could at least say that he was making an effort. He, Eugene, Keith, and Rebecca did occasionally go out for a beer and in February, he indulged a bit and acted as a guest commentator at the Superbowl.


    I was cautiously hopeful but knew better than to expect too much of him. Something told me the Simurgh wasn''t going to be driven away by some R&R.


    X


    I brushed the sweat from my brow and looked over my runework. Mysterious letters from a civilization long lost shone in glowing blue, contrasting eerily with the white faces of the Worldstones and their relay pylons.


    I could no longer find a justification to put off the creation of the Worldstone network. These flat, tablet-like pieces of relic stone were some of the most important things I could make, and also my least favorite.


    In short, I loathed repetition. I wasn''t a fan of making an infinite number of healing potions either, but at least they could be made in batches and were relatively quick. Now that I cracked mass production, I found myself avoiding what I saw as menial labor like the plague. Perhaps it came with the World Rune of Inspiration. After all, if there was such a thing as an antithesis of Inspiration, it''d surely be the soul-crushing monotony of a factory line worker.


    Or maybe, I was just a lazy son of a bitch and I was indulging in it now that I could dump my work onto machines.


    Which led back to the Worldstones and their pylons. No matter what I tried, they couldn''t be industrialized, not fully.


    The relic stones could be alchemically converted. They could be shaped using pre-programed lasers to topographically match wherever they were headed. But the runes? The runes were my domain.


    It was almost as though there was something mystical, something deeply profound and personal about the runic languages of Runeterra. I experimented with Feljordian runes, Ionian scripts, both human and vastayan, the hieroglyphs of Shurima, and a dozen other writing styles. The results were all the same: Not one could be enchanted by a machine. Oh, they could be engraved, but they would be dead, no life to them, no matter how much mana I used.


    Then again, I really should have predicted this. It was in the fucking name: Rune-terra.


    All that to say, I hated making these things. I felt like I was being grounded in elementary school, being made to write "I will not poke people in the butt. I will be more considerate of other people''s privacy," over and over again.


    I got to put them off in favor of my armor for a bit. Because Winter''s Approach absorbed mana much like the Tear of the Goddess, it was to everyone''s benefit that I wear the damn thing as much as possible. Eventually, it''d turn into Fimbulwinter in a grand ritual, on this coming winter solstice if I could swing it.


    After that, I waited until I had my lab up and running in Babylon, with enough capacity to create relic stone in bulk.


    As the shaped Worldstones and pylons came off the assembly line, I enchanted them off and on, as much as I could in one sitting without driving myself spare from boredom. Whenever I got bored, I sketched out new ideas, finished up my magic scissors, and dabbled in shoemaking. After all, Babylon was largely self-sustaining.


    The sluggish pace was fine, but it did leave me with a fair bit of backlog for a few months.


    And now, I was finally, finally done.


    Nine Worldstones, forty pylons, and forty-nine Wayfinders were laid out before me, the work of months and months of tedious labor.


    The plan was simple: Each Worldstone was to be placed in one of nine major cities in the United States, adding the one in DC to make ten. They were New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Dallas, Houston, DC, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Miami, and Phoenix. Said stone and pylons, one per cardinal direction, would form a node in the network, allowing the Wayfinders to create portals to any location within the broad web.


    Alongside the one in Hero''s position, each of the ten cities were to receive five Wayfinders, to be distributed to the local Protectorate Leader and whoever they chose.


    Other than the one in Hero''s possession, none of the Wayfinders were attuned. Instead, they had enough mana stored in them to make three portals, after which they needed to be returned to me for charging. In this way, I could ensure that they were of very limited use even if stolen or if a hero decided to go rogue.


    In the event of an emergency, they were supposed to lead evacuation efforts from five preplanned points in their respective cities. The five portals would then relocate the bulk of any city''s population across the US, distributing the refugees over the network to ensure that no other city received an undue burden to house and care for such a large influx.


    It was a plan approved by Hero and Rebecca in her capacity as chief director. I even got a meeting with the president for it. If I didn''t know he was just another stooge, I might have even felt honored.


    My part in this was done as far as I was concerned. I''d make more Wayfinders and add to the nodes in the network as we went, probably one in Alaska, Hawaii, and Washington state for starters, but for the most part, I could step back a bit. Now, it was up to the various state and municipal governments to create empty refugee camps outside their cities as a precautionary measure.


    I felt a firm hand clasp my shoulder. "You did good," Hero said, smiling in that soft, calming way of his that still managed to radiate authority.


    "Yeah. So, anyone bitching about having to build housing for refugees that might never come?"


    "As always, yes. Budgets are tight all around and no one wants to be told that their backyards are going to be repurposed for endbringer response. Hell, no one even likes thinking about those monsters."


    "Do I need to invent cheap housing too?" I scowled. "Because if I do, I''m going to hurt someone."


    "No, you''ve done well. Let us handle the rest of the logistics."


    "That''s good."


    "India, then?"


    I nodded. I knew what he was talking about. "July. India. Levi. I wish I knew more, but that''s all I know."


    "We''ll be ready."


    "Say, Hero?"


    "What''s up?"


    "Kurt still has a monopoly on my potions, right? Could he use it as an incentive to push for this? You know, give them a reason to start building the camps? I''m not sure what that would look like, but there''s got to be benefits to practically owning a multi-billion dollar industry, right?"


    He shrugged. "I don''t know. Politics really isn''t my thing, but I''ll pass it along. That sounds like a good use of our money."


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    The dynamic between Hero and myself had changed significantly over the past several months. He was no longer my mentor and I was no longer a prot¨¦g¨¦ he was nurturing. Instead, we were equals, executives and accomplices in the world''s most secretive conspiracy.


    I could tell. There were still times when he defaulted back to viewing me as a child. He would reach for my head as if to ruffle my hair or hold out a fist for me to bump, little things like that before he caught himself as he struggled with the dissonance of having a child who was in on the secret. To his credit, he was always swift to correct himself, but the warmth he held for the other Wards was greatly subdued with me.


    I''d gotten what I wanted, to be treated like an adult, but it left a bittersweet taste in my mouth.


    X


    2001, June 8: Washington, DC, United States


    "Project Isolde: Test number eight," I muttered. In my hands were my close-range weapon of choice, Gwen''s scissors. In honor of the Last Queen of Camavor and Gwen''s "mother," I named the scissors Isolde. What else could I name a weapon that gave me power over the Hallowed Mist?


    Currently, they were in their shrunken form, barely large enough for my fingers to fit the holes. They were made for a seamstress'' dainty fingers, to snip threads rather than lives. I could make them big again with a slight pulse of mana directed towards a rune matrix at the base of the grip, big enough to rival Riven''s own monstrous runeblade.


    I held a stick of tungsten, roughly an inch thick, in between Isolde''s blades and squeezed as absolutely nothing happened. Magic doohickey Isolde might be, but I definitely didn''t have the muscle to cut through the hardest metal in the world.


    Then, I channeled a steady stream of my mana into the deceptively harmless weapon. The change was immediate. A rippling current of blue traveled from my fingers to the tip of the blades. With the clank of metal on metal, the tungsten fell away in two pieces.


    "Test success," I spoke to the recording device. "When applied with mana, Isolde cuts through all mundane metals with ease."


    "Impressive," came a voice behind me.


    I jumped a little. Behind me stood Armsmaster in all his beard-tastic glory. "One of these days, I''m going to pay attention to the literal three-sixty degrees of vision I have," I grunted.


    "It will be a mark of your progress as a hero," he said in that deadpan way of his.


    That was the trouble sometimes with Collin Wallis. He did have a sense of humor, but it was so dry that it was hard to tell when he was actually trying to be funny and when he said something seriously. So, for the sake of being as inoffensive as possible, I smiled slightly at everything he said.


    "Armsmaster, what can I help you with?"


    "I require more Petricite Elixir."


    I nodded agreeably. Given enough time and resources, the man really was quite brilliant. He had figured out the right combination of elixir, muscle relaxant, and hormonal sedative to depower all but the most powerful capes for an hour without completely knocking them out sometime this February. The only thing that kept him from being every trooper''s new favorite hero was that the dosage required could not be concentrated in a dart without his miniaturization specialization so it couldn''t be used effectively in live-fire scenarios without specialized equipment.


    He did regularly sell sets of a dozen darts to various heroes across the country to pad his tinkering budget or set up an exchange with a different tinker who wasn''t part of the Madhouse.


    "Sure, you know where they are," I waved him off. Thanks to my mass production, I could afford to lose a dozen a month and still send a case to Phoenix for Director Lyons and my old pals.


    He went to the drawer and picked out a dozen before stopping. "Your scissors have impressive cutting power."


    "Thanks, Isolde will make for a hell of a close-range weapon."


    "Isolde?"


    "I name my weapons. Don''t you?"


    "No."


    I shrugged. "Suit yourself."


    "Why scissors? They are too short to be effective. And you have a dagger."


    "Sobriety. I named the dagger too." Then, with a flick of the wrist, Isolde was no longer a pair of palm-sized fabric scissors. Now, it was massive, as long as I was tall, and it was only thanks to my training and heavily enchanted metal that I could wield it with any dexterity. "And Isolde isn''t always small. It''s as long as I need."


    He frowned in concentration. He took the tip of the blades in hand and began to examine every inch. "How does that work?"


    "Something about mana replacing mass. You know how my power works, more like enchanting than traditional tinkering. If it helps, just think of Isolde like a magic sword."


    "Your powers are strange, even by our standards."


    "They are," I said agreeably.


    "So why scissors?"


    "It just seemed right, like Isolde refused to be anything but scissors. Call it an homage if you must."


    "An homage to what?"


    "Life. Death. Love. The threads of fate and the light of hope."


    "Strange."


    I laughed. "Yes, yes I am. Did you need anything else?"


    "I want to observe the rest of your tests."


    "I don''t mind, but why? I don''t think you can gain anything from them. Our specializations are too different."


    "This is likely true," he admitted, "but your creations tend to be very creative. I believe I will be able to recreate some of the things you make using my own methods."


    Never one to let an opportunity pass, I grinned. "Alright, let''s move to the training room. I think I''m going to need some more room for this. Oh, but I want a favor from you as well."


    "Name it."


    "Spar with me."


    "Do you not spar with the DC Wards?"


    "I do, but I need a stronger opponent, preferably one with martial arts experience."


    "I was not aware you were a martial artist."


    "I can beat Verdeer, Brickhouse, and Gold Rush three on one," I said, not a little proudly. "I promise that it really will be a spar, not just you teaching me how to fight."


    "Impressive. We will spar once and see if our fighting styles are compatible. Is that agreeable?"


    I nodded happily. "You won''t be disappointed."


    "We''ll see."


    X


    We soon found ourselves in one of the training rooms. It was one used mainly for sparring and consisted mostly of empty space rather than a shooting range or similar.


    "Project Isolde: Test number nine," I said for the mic. The eighth test was tungsten, the naturally occurring metal with the highest tensile strength. Logically, test nine graduated from natural metals to Petricite, the magic-absorbent material.


    I held in hand a small block of Petricite, as pure as could be. I tried to cut it.


    Cutting through Petricite was a strange experience. It was marble-like, but at the end of the day, it was wood, plant fiber. It felt thick, meaty almost in a way that tungsten did not. Metal easily separated once enough pressure was applied, too rigid to bend. Maybe it was the mana-absorbent property of the wood, but Petricite felt as though it had more substance.


    I had to input a far larger stream of mana to cut the material. In short, if my mana was being drained at a certain rate, I needed to input more than that into Isolde to keep up the cutting enchantment.


    I did manage it, but it took more out of me than expected.


    "Test clear. Isolde can cut Petricite if fed enough mana to overwhelm the rate of absorption." I then enlarged Isolde until it was as large as a longsword sized for me. With a bit of focus, Isolde''s primary ability manifested itself in the form of wisps of mist. There was a connection that formed between me and the mist, one I''d need to explore in greater detail later. I could feel anything in it and I knew that it''d be one more sense to foil strangers with. "Project Isolde: Test number ten. Armsmaster, please throw something at me."


    "Understood."


    He grabbed a ball used for dodge practice and hurled it my way at medium speed. I thought about guarding and the Hallowed Mist answered. What had started as a thin haze around the pair of scissors expanded and thickened until it formed a curtain of dense mist around my person. This was Gwen''s Hallowed Mist, I realized.


    It was Isolde''s mist.


    Gwen was a fetter, one link in the chain that connected the scattered fragments of Isolde''s soul. She was the most beloved of these links, the one with the greatest sentimental connection to the lost queen. And so, the Hallowed Mist answered to her.


    It was almost poetic how the mist recognized its queen, even so many centuries later.


    The mist formed a sphere around my person, condensing into something deeper, denser, and parrying the ball.


    "Harder, please," I said. "Feel free to use your armor''s augmented strength."


    "Understood."


    We proceeded like that. Eventually, we graduated from dodgeballs to darts, pistols, and eventually to full swings and stabs of Armsmaster''s pneumatic halberd. This wasn''t some in-game skill; there was no distinction between melee and ranged weapons. I merely needed to think about guarding against something and the mist answered.


    ''Do I¡­ Do I even need the Blitzshield anymore?'' I wondered.


    Yes, yes I did. At the end of the day, the shield was a symbol. What was a turtle without his shell? More important than just PR reasons, the Blitzshield presented a uniquely upgradable tech, one that could be customized with any number of hextech innovations. It was also an EMP, which practically guaranteed me a win against the vast majority of tinkers.


    ''If the shield is lagging behind, then I should work to upgrade it, not think about throwing it away,'' I concluded.


    "Your defense is impressive," Armsmaster admitted, breathing a little ragged from the spontaneous exercise.


    "Thank you. I figured that the mist could pull double duty as cover. I can see through it with my Oracle''s, but no one else can."


    "Indeed. How long have you been working on this project?"


    "Since before I became Hyunmu," I said with a proud smile. I could see the slight tinge of jealousy in his eyes, only tempered by the fact that I was a fellow tinker. Hopefully, by reminding him of how hard I worked, he''d be a bit more manageable. I didn''t need the Dauntless treatment. I looked down, as though morose. "I made it when I was with the Crips. A prototype version of this was supposed to be my ace in the hole before I was rescued by Alexandria."


    "I see."


    "Yeah, I''m really glad I can finally bring it to life. Isolde means a lot to me, as much as my Ymelo."


    "It is a reminder of your past."


    "It is. And a reminder to cut the threads.''


    "Were there any other tests?"


    I shook my head. I had my suspicions about Isolde, but those could wait until I was in private. "None at this time. Thank you for your assistance, Armsmaster."


    He nodded stiffly. "It was my pleasure. I will be in this room at six in the morning tomorrow if you wish to spar."


    "Tomorrow is a Saturday and I promised I would spend it with mom. Monday?"


    "Monday."


    As we went our separate ways, I started to think. I knew that as my connection to the World Rune strengthened, my connection to Runeterra would likewise deepen. I knew that Isolde was a unique weapon, one intrinsically tied to the history of the Shadow Isles and Camavor. But the mist¡­


    I hadn''t expected such a powerful connection between it and myself. I may have written the runes, but their full effects still caught me a little off guard.


    Now that I was alone, I focused and tucked Isolde in my pocket before grabbing one of the three thin spikes on the loop. A trail of thread, woven directly from the Hallowed Mist, followed my finger.


    This¡­ This had possibilities¡­


    Author''s Note


    I think I''m done¡­ finally¡­ Catching people up on time skips is hard¡­


    If writing lines seemed oddly specific, that''s because it is. Story time!


    So, when I was in Korea in elementary school, there was a weird¡­ fad(?)¡­ going around where kids shoved two fingers up people''s butts. It wasn''t sexual, we were all like seven, but looking back, it''s deeply weird. And this was before Naruto''s Thousand Years of Pain. Japan has an equivalent, called "kancho." I don''t know what that means, but in Korea, we called it "ttong-jip," which translates to "poop-house."


    Why?


    I don''t fucking know. Kids are stupid. But I guess I got my fingers up a lot of people''s buttholes¡­ Definitely the weirdest flex I have.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.7 Scattered

    Scattered 5.7


    2001, June 9: Washington, DC, United States


    I decided to rip the band-aid off in one fell swoop. Mom and I were seated at our kitchen island, a bowl of rice and beansprout soup in front of us.


    "Mom."


    "Hmm?"


    "I don''t like beansprouts."


    "You need it to grow up big and strong," she said in that chiding way all mothers reserve for their pouting sons.


    "My Biscuits make me perfectly healthy," I replied with a smirk.


    "Too bad. Mother says so."


    I raised a single spoonful to my lips. Beansprout soup was a watery affair flavored with Korean chili flakes, turnips, and onions. Mom added some shrimps for additional flavor, but it was never my cup of tea. Sighing, I decided to suck it up. Hero I may be, but telling mom "no" was still beyond me.


    "I''m going to give myself eyes," I said.


    "What?"


    "Eyes. I made prosthetics."


    "Yusung, are you sure it''s safe?"


    "Positive."


    "Well, let me see them."


    I pulled a small, velvet-lined case from my pocket. As my current magnum opus, the thought of being apart from them made me uncomfortable so I always kept them on my person. I slid the box over to mom.


    She opened them and gasped. Two blue orbs, roughly an inch in diameter each, shone with the brilliance of the purest sapphires. Every runic matrix, too small to make out the details with the naked eye, snaked along the facets of the gems like coiling vines.


    "Son, these are beautiful."


    "They are, aren''t they? They''re made of something I call True Ice. I guess they''re ''true eyes'' now," I said with a cheeky grin.


    Mom snorted. English wasn''t her strong suit, but she knew enough to understand the pun. "That was terrible. I feel greasy just hearing that. Is that the kind of humor they''re teaching you?"


    "Actually, yeah. Corny jokes are really useful to relate to kids and stuff on patrols. I''ve been emailing Just-Ice back and forth you know. He''s got a list of ice puns he shared with me."


    "That''s great, honey. Now tell me more about these eyes. Are they really eyes?"


    I nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, they''re even better than normal eyes. They can see through walls like the Oracle''s Elixir and even make everything seem to move slower if I want. I''ll be able to dodge bullets like Jackie Chan."


    "Yusung, no mother wants to hear her son expects to be shot at."


    "I know," I said soberly, "but I will. It''s a part of being a hero. I also know that I''ll be ready."


    She took my hand from across the island. "You will. But I''ll always worry about you, my son the hero," she said with a bittersweet smile.


    "I love you too, mom."


    X


    "Are you sure this is okay?" Hero, Eugene without his mask, asked.


    After breakfast, I called Eugene to let him know that I would be implanting my eyes today. When he heard about my project, he insisted on being in the room when I did, partly to satisfy his curiosity, but also to ensure that the operation went well. I couldn''t begrudge him that.


    The two of us were in a Cauldron lab, this one set aside for Eugene. It was next to the medical and biochemical facility where the doctor mixed her vials. "Stocked" didn''t begin to describe it; this place had everything necessary for a tinker and more. His mask was off, revealing clear blue eyes filled with concern.


    "They''re as perfect as I can make them," I said honestly. "In fact, I think they might be the single greatest thing I''ve ever made. They even grow with me and I made sure to leave room for improvements so I can just cut them out of my face and add in something new if I want."


    "That wasn''t what I was asking."


    "Yes, the operation is simple enough. I''m going to drink an Oracle''s Elixir. Then, I''m going to apply a local anesthetic. Using one of your lasers, I will cut out the bridge of my nose, leaving me enough room to insert my new eyeballs. Lastly, after making sure that the neural matrices are aligned with the optic nerves, I will drink an Elixir of Life."


    "But¡­"


    "Eugene, you know what the Elixir of Life can do for you. It''s why you still shit and piss from separate holes. Relax."


    He gamely ignored my snark with the ease of long practice. "What if the elixir decides your prosthetics aren''t a part of whatever ''optimal health'' means?"


    "Already taken care of," I said smugly. "The runes engraved on them are attuned to me in the same way the Wayfinder is attuned to you. They''ve also been soaked in a solution that prevents any sort of biological rejection. These eyes are literally a part of me. My skull will just regrow over them normally as if they were biological eyes. And, as a bonus, I can get rid of my scar."


    "Okay, if you''re sure."


    "Positive. And hey, look on the bright side. Maybe I''ll be able to get a date in my teenage years."


    "Your scar isn''t ugly."


    "I know. Honestly? I wouldn''t mind keeping it. But hey, teenagers are shallow."


    "You''re in no position to point fingers," he teased. "You keep a pair of scissors on hand at all times to trim your bangs. Are you trying to be a pop idol?"


    "You know that''s just what I tell everyone else," I said. I did not pout, no matter the smug smirk on his face. "You leave Isolde out of this."


    "I looked it up. Isn''t Isolde some queen that a knight of the Round Table fell in love with?"


    ''Sure, in this world,'' I thought. "Maybe? Who cares? I just thought Isolde was appropriate."


    "Hehe, so you like older women, huh? I didn''t know you were old enough to have these kinds of interests. You know pining after a married woman is inappropriate, right?"


    I flipped him off but couldn''t suppress a smile. That he was joking like this with me was a good sign as far as I was concerned. "Whatever. Let''s get me my new eyes."


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    "Drink your Oracle''s."


    "Already did."


    "Okay, give me the laser. If you''re insisting on this, I''ll do the cutting."


    "Yeah, fine."


    "Anesthetic?"


    I reached over for a syringe and jabbed it into first one side of my face, then the other. "Done."


    "You could have let me do it."


    "I can literally see my veins if I focus hard enough. Trust me, I didn''t miss. Now start the vivisection!"


    "You are way too chevalier about this," he grumbled. Despite his misgivings, he put on a pair of glasses that I knew contained a UI that''d guide him. The laser drill sparked to life with a brilliant golden hue typical of all of Hero''s gear. It was triple checked to cut a certain depth and no further. He gently placed the laser against the bridge of my nose. "Feel that?"


    "Ahhh¡­ Much pain¡­ Please¡­ Free me of this agony¡­" I drawled dryly.


    "Brat."


    "Boomer."


    "What does that even mean?"


    "Exactly what a boomer would say, boomer."


    "I could slip, you know."


    "You''d never forgive yourself."


    He grumbled but his hands remained steady. Soon, a large chunk of my face, from the bridge of my nose to the brow, was cut aside and left hanging over my lip. I didn''t feel anything, probably because Eugene sourced the best drugs.


    He was a swell guy like that.


    "Okay, now give me the eyeballs." He handed me the pair and I gingerly fit each inside their appropriate sockets.


    "You really don''t need eyes to see, huh?"


    "You just realized that?"


    "I knew that was what your Oracle''s Elixir did, but I guess seeing you with half your face peeled off really hammers it home, you know?"


    "Not half," I hummed, "more like a fourth."


    "Yes," he deadpanned, "that''s the point I was making."


    "Whatever, I''m done. Give me the Elixir of Life."


    "Here, you precocious brat."


    "Thanks, dateless wonder."


    "Oi! I can get a date."


    "That isn''t a stripper?"


    "How do you even know what strippers are?"


    "David," I said smugly. When in doubt, blame David.


    "Seriously?"


    "Pfft, you think he''d be as big a stick in the mud if he knew what strippers were?"


    "Ugh. You''re impossible. And David''s not that bad."


    "Sure, maybe I''ll grab a drink with the guy," I drawled and moved my flesh-flap out of the way before tipping the elixir in my mouth. "Bottoms up."


    One second. Then two. Nothing happened.


    "You sure you didn''t grab a du-"


    Then it started. The blood that caked my face seemed to reverse its flow, being absorbed back into my flesh even as the flesh-flap picked itself back up to where it belonged like a scroll being rolled up. It was itchy, but in the scratch-a-mosquito-bite kind of way that was also satisfying.


    "Oh, ye of little faith."


    "So, did it work?"


    I grinned. Isolde came to life in my hands, expanding until it was as large as a shortsword. From her thorns, three needles bound in threads woven of the Hallowed Mist shot out. Each struck with unerring accuracy. Two nailed a fly to the wall by the wings. The third struck the gap between the abdomen and thorax so cleanly that it did not disturb either chitinous plate on the way in.


    "Oh, yeah. It worked. My vision is pure bullshit. Like, count your nose hairs and tell you which one is the longest kind of bullshit."


    "Good, now get out of my lab. I''ve had enough of your snark for the day."


    "Is it because I called you a dateless wonder?"


    "I should transfer you out of DC. Then you''d be someone else''s problem."


    "Ooh! Can I go back to Phoenix?"


    "Are you going to hunt down the rest of the Crips?"


    "Yes."


    "Then no. You''re a hero. Act like it."


    "Spoilsport."


    "Out, you brat," he barked, but I could spy a hint of a smile.


    He liked me. Probably.


    X


    I looked myself over in the bathroom mirror. This second life''s Yusung was much better looking than my previous self. Though to be fair, I didn''t have a magic elixir that made me the best possible iteration of myself and a diet of conceptually nutritious cookies to help me along.


    "Yusung? Are you back?" I heard my mom call.


    "In the bathroom, mom," I replied back.


    "That was fast."


    "Yeah, Hero and I work fast."


    I heard footsteps and saw her come in. "Your scar."


    "Gone. Part of the treatment."


    "My son," she said as she wrapped her arms around me. "Let me get a good look at you."


    I smiled back. "Like the new eyes?"


    "They''re so¡­ blue¡­"


    "Yeah, they are. Think I''ll have to tell people I''m part white now?"


    "Do you think you can wear contacts?"


    "I could do that."


    I''d need to do that anyway. True Ice replaced my entire eyeballs, not just the irises. Now, my eyes looked more like gemstones than biological eyes.


    "I''m proud of you."


    "I''m proud of me too, mom," I said with a cheeky grin.


    She slapped my shoulder. "Don''t get a swelled head. Now, what do you want for dinner? I think this calls for a celebration."


    "Well, there''s a baked salmon recipe I''ve been meaning to try."


    "Sure, let''s go shopping."


    X


    2001, June 10: Washington, DC, United States


    "It''s been a while," I muttered to myself as I stood in the temple of my soul.


    It was time, time for me to claim my second Keystone.


    The temple was as breathtakingly beautiful as ever. Stone pillars of marbled gray and white surrounded a central dais, where three golden hoops filled with nine stars orbited a core of three supernovas. Twelve censers surrounded the dais, though only seven were lit and burning merrily.


    Beyond, above the temple sky, countless constellations beamed as though welcoming me forward. They were beckoning for me to take the leap, to once more grasp a heavenly treasure.


    I couldn''t stop myself from trembling with equal parts excitement and dread. The last time I ignited a Keystone, Glacial Augment made me an Iceborn, a folk hero of the Freljord. It filled my veins with a soul-deep chill and granted me an affinity for True Ice and ice magic like nothing else on earth. It changed me, fundamentally and completely.


    First Strike? Unsealed Spellbook? Which would it be?


    More importantly, how would it change me?


    Every step towards the altar felt like I was crossing the Rubicon. All that lay behind me fell away to nothing, leaving only me and Inspiration. Only forward.


    Finally, gingerly, with all the care and reverence that this moment deserved, I reached out a hand.


    I''d often wondered if there was a consciousness to the World Rune. It was never clear. Sometimes, it seemed as though Inspiration spoke to me through its boons, timely in ways that might not be mere coincidence. Here I wondered again.


    The Keystones shone brightly, so bright that it was hard to look at them. They orbited one another, almost as though deciding which should be next. Until finally, one darted outward and my world exploded with the light of a thousand suns.


    So distracted was I that I didn''t even notice the lighting of the censer. Glacial Augment had been localized. For all its power and potential, even though the people of the Freljord were some of the closest to their spirit-gods, it was but one part of Runeterra, one fragment of that world''s vast history.


    Not so for the Unsealed Spellbook.


    It was as though an entire library of spells knowledge was given to me. Many, I recognized right away: Ghost. Heal. Clarity. Ignite¡­ Flash¡­ I could enchant them onto anything I made. If Glacial Augment was a localized treasure, Unsealed Spellbook was a culmination of some of the most powerful enchantments available on Runeterra.


    And then, just when I thought I would be spared the agony of my first Keystone experience, my world became pain.


    The library was vast and it had to fit somewhere. Somehow, my soul had to make room for it. And so, without so much as a "by your leave," Inspiration decided to make those changes. It felt like an angry god was taking an ice cream scoop to my soul, carving out neat little pockets for the knowledge to be intrinsically integrated with my very being.


    I didn''t know how much time passed. The seconds and minutes blurred together until by the time the pain receded, I was left a crumpled heap on the temple floor.


    I took gulping, ragged breaths and raised myself on hands and knees. "Fuck¡­ What the hell is First Strike going to be then?"


    Still a little shaky, I stood and called the Spellbook to me. I could already tell that it wasn''t a literal spellbook, at least it wouldn''t be outside the confines of my soul. I flipped through them.


    Some were funny, like Mark, a snowball that would give me awareness of a person long after they left my visual range. Others were redundant, like Ghost, which I''d already learned thanks to Magic Footwear. Still others were spells I''d never encountered before now like Exhaust and Surge.


    But the most valuable spells were those welcome boons that expanded my understanding of a subject like Flash. With this newfound knowledge, I felt I could learn to cast Hexflash more readily. In particular, I couldn''t wait until I could incorporate Cleanse into my Ymelo. I''d been immune to empaths for a while, but now I could also give physical masters like Regent the finger.


    With a satisfied grin, I allowed myself to fade from the temple.


    Author''s Note


    In Korean slang, we say a bad joke is "oily" or "greasy" instead of "corny."


    Why bother with surgery when you can just carve a piece out of your own skull and use the Elixir of Life to fix everything, right?


    I thought about different ways I could integrate Unsealed Spellbook and came up blank. In the end, any changes I make to it would be ruining the nature of the Keystone. It''s a library of spells that the summoner can toggle at will. I figured that since it''s literally attached to his soul, there wouldn''t really be a reason he''d need to toggle specific spells. That said, I decided to keep the spell list to the standard twelve.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.8 Scattered

    <div>


    Scattered 5.8


    2001, June 10: Washington, DC, United States


    "GAH!" I shrieked like a little girl.


    When I returned to the waking world, it was to see Fortuna''s wide, brown eyes four inches from my own. She leaned back with a satisfied smirk.


    "Cookie."


    "Seriously? That''s what you say to me?" I quickly checked on mom, happy to see her still asleep. "You''re lucky mom''s asleep."


    "She won''t wake for another fifteen minutes. Now, cookie."


    I grumbled but gave in, summoning two Biscuits for us. I bit into mine with a satisfied hum, white chocolate raspberry this time, sweet but mellow. "What''s up? You don''t bother me unless it''s important."


    "I figured you wanted an update. And, you changed again. A big change."


    We sat on my bed side by side as she nibbled on her biscuit. I realized immediately what she was talking about of course: Unsealed Spellbook. "I guess you could say that my place in the universe shifted a bit."


    "Care to clarify?"


    "I have access to a bunch of magic enchantments now that range from healing to teleportation, or just setting people on fire. That''s always good too. Why? Can''t see the enchantments?"


    "No. Care to list them?"


    "I''ll send you a brief. Who knows? Maybe one day, I''ll be fully invisible to you."


    "That would be troublesome," she said with a frown.


    I thought about it. Becoming invisible to the Path was always a possibility, but it was Isolde that confirmed it as an inevitability for me. The World Rune was changing me, strengthening my link to Runeterra and therefore my link to the mystical side of the multiverse. The Path couldn''t analyze metaphysical factors and the more the World Rune merged with my soul, the more of an anomaly I would become.


    "Are we going to have problems if I drop off the Path?"


    She was silent for a long minute. "Perhaps we would have. Before, when you were a potential rogue element, you would have been an obstacle to remove or an unknown variable to restrain before you could become a threat. Now, you are Cauldron. My model of your personality is better than Eidolon''s because unlike Eidolon, I can still see you and update the model as you grow."


    "Even if my powers become blindspots to you, you''re confident you know enough about me to predict my movements."


    "Yes. You are a known quantity, one who works to kill Scion, one with a true chance at achieving the feat. Rest assured, you are not disposable."


    "Lovely to hear, Fortuna," I drawled. "You said you had updates?"


    "Yes. I''ve left a list of people who are being considered for a vial on your desk."


    "What about Christine Mathers'' vial? Find anyone?"


    "Yes. We''re going through final preparations to isolate their future operations."


    "Do I want to know?"


    "Do you trust me to make moral decisions?"


    I snorted. "Only if they''re the most expedient ones."


    "Good. I''m not a moral person."


    "Fortuna-"


    "They will be tasked with obscuring Cauldron''s actions by acting as a front. Those who see and hear them will be manipulated to not perceive evidence of Cauldron''s existence. Running interference to prevent Cauldron''s discovery is one of the biggest demands on my time so this will streamline the Path significantly," she said with an honest smile. "Thank you."


    I searched her face for any signs of deceit, not that I could find any. As always, everything about her down to her microexpressions was perfect, curated and cultivated like a meticulously manicured garden. "I trust you," I said finally.


    And, odd as it might be, dangerous as it might be, I did. At the end of the day, we had the same objective.


    "Appreciated."


    "And David? How''s his therapy?"


    "He is making progress, but not quickly. Did you expect otherwise?"


    "No," I sighed, "I suppose not. It''s going to take a minor miracle to unfuck his head. Any chance you can speed it up?"


    "Blindspot. Knowledge of my manipulations will likely make him more paranoid and be counterproductive. As it is, Alexandria was the one who approached him, alongside some prodding from Legend."


    "Huh, I didn''t know that. Good on you."


    "Quite. Peter Pan would like to move to Babylon."


    I blinked at the non sequitur. It took a bit for me to remember. With a healthier mindset, Rinke settled on Peter Pan instead of just reversing the spelling of "goblin." He took the name saying his mother loved the story. He wanted to be a "friend to the lost." I had mixed feelings about that name and hoped it didn''t indicate a childlike regression.


    "Why? I thought you had a facility set aside for him and the other Case-53s."


    "He wants to live in a magic forest."


    Palm met face with an audible slap. "Figures. You realize I''m going to put them to work?"


    "Of course."


    "Some," I said, "he can move some. I''m okay with him moving his headquarters there, but I don''t want a few dozen Case-53s running around without oversight. Some of those plants are delicate. And dangerous, especially the ones from Kumungu. Seriously, if any of them poison themselves, I''m going to watch and laugh¡­ then eventually give them the antidote, but mostly laugh."


    "He knows."


    "You already set it up, didn''t you?"


    She smiled. "Of course."


    "Fine, do what you want. You know, by the time we''re done, that place is going to actually become a fantasy world at the rate we''re going. We''ve got peasant villagers, advanced machines from lost civilizations, magic plants, and now fantastical fauna."


    "Would you be opposed to that?"


    "No. It''s just a byproduct of our activities, no more than that."


    "Indeed."


    "Has Rinke had any luck reversing a Case-53''s changes?"


    "Somewhat, and with varying effects. He managed to reverse some mutations but could not reverse others. Most Case-53s are now at least humanoid, though it is evident that they are changed. Their Shards seem to allow enough changes to optimize the use of their powers, but no further. Will your alchemy evolve to help them?"


    "Maybe, but not without killing the Shard."


    "After Scion."


    "After Scion."


    "Send me a full roster of Case-53s who have been exposed to Pan, a before and after."


    "I''ll let the doctor know."


    We fell into an easy silence until I saw mom begin to stir. Contessa rose and got ready to head off to whatever fire she needed to put out next.


    I sighed. Talking to her always left me feeling conflicted. Not everything I greenlit was moral. In fact, most things were pretty morally gray. There was a part of me that felt skeevy at some of the things she told me about. But¡­ But they were necessary.


    In the end, all I could do was to make their lives better, one small step at a time. The greater good was good and all, but I had to remind myself that the here and now mattered too.


    X


    Leviathan was coming in about a month, but with the mass production of potions, I didn''t really need to get involved directly. Similarly, I read in the news that various cities across the US were building a network of empty refugee camps out of cheap plaster so I wouldn''t need to get hands-on with the Worldstone network anytime soon. These municipal governments were receiving some flack from their constituents about homelessness and housing, but that was ultimately beyond the scope of my ability to help. I decided to trust Kurt to handle the numbers.


    As a way to balance my time, I decided that adding two more cities per month to the Worldstone Network was a fair compromise. Eventually, I hoped to cover every major metro area in the US and Canada. After that, who knew?


    Tomorrow, I''d rise bright and early to train with Armsmaster. In terms of martial arts, I was confident in my ability to hold my own. However, he had a breadth of experience that I could not match through training alone, not to mention the odd dozen gadgets he had to his name.


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    Could I beat him? If it came down to a life or death duel, absolutely. The Blitzshield alone would make his armor all but useless. But this wasn''t a deathmatch.


    No, I had to admit, when it came to holding back and training my skills as a person rather than as a nascent celestial, there were few who could be better teachers. Not a single person, perhaps save Hero himself, worked to improve himself in all aspects of his life as Collin Wallis did.


    I was looking forward to getting to know the man behind the beard.


    But that left me a lot of time today. Sunday, holiest of days. Typically, I''d head to the nearest Catholic church or parish for a quart of holy water, but Babylon rendered even that trip moot.


    With little else to demand my immediate attention, I spent much of the day in the Salar de Uyuni, testing out Isolde and my new magic.


    As far as I could tell, Isolde was as close to a sentient weapon as I''d ever made. It was something linked to my soul, and combined with its connection to the concept of life in the Hallowed Mist, it practically had a will of its own. It could cut damn near anything. Metals? Magic? Souls? Didn''t matter. It even came with a free shield in the mist and mid-range attacks using needles and spirit-threads.


    Hell, with some practice, I should be able to "sew" things and people, repairing clothes or suturing wounds as Gwen did for the Sentinels. I lacked the skills of the Hallowed Seamstress, but skills could be honed over time.


    Great. Wonderful. Isolde was a weapon with boundless potential, worthy of being a legend, but also a giant pain in the ass.


    Scissors were not traditional weapons. The Shojin Temple had no katas that revolved around scissors. Neither did the Wuju masters of old nor the sages of the Hirana Monastery. The Kinkou, those masters of stealth and assassination, adopted a great many hand tools for use as weapons, but even they never bothered using scissors. The closest comparison was Xan Irelia''s blade dancing, but even that wasn''t a good parallel.


    It would be a long time before I could fully integrate Isolde into my fighting style.


    At the moment, the best I could manage was to keep the blades closed. Unlike a regular pair of scissors, Isolde was somewhat unique in that each blade was sharpened on both sides to a single bevel. A cross-section was not a diamond shape like with most swords, but a flattened triangle. Those two single-beveled swords met at their flattest sides to form one blade.


    I let out a ragged breath as I thrust forward, one hand clenching the finger ring while the other parried an imaginary strike with my Blitzshield. Isolde pierced the frosty mist generated by my dance, skewering an imaginary foe.


    I swept my hilariously impractical longsword out horizontally, cutting a line of frost into the air. My leg followed at the same time, raising a rake of saltwater that immediately froze into a dazzling display of ice crystals. The sweep then turned into a sharp lunge forward with the edge of my shield.


    With a twist of my wrist and a pulse of mana, the Blitzshield let out a cone of electric current more than bright enough to disable any normal opponent.


    I used this makeshift chance to take a step back, readjusting my sword into a reverse grip. Then, my grip fumbled as Isolde''s tip clanged against the ground, jarring my hand at the weakest moment. The pair of azure scissors fell into the flat with a splash.


    "Shit," I grunted as I reached down to pick it up.


    The form I was practicing was a combination of an intermediate-level foot technique taught to the Shojin acolytes, some basic sword forms Master Yi used to stretch in the morning, and a bit of improvisation on my part. Ideally, I would have blinded my imaginary opponent, taken a step back, and released a set of spirit-needles in the same motion, targeting the vitals or immobilizing them before lunging forward in a reverse-gripped slash for the kill.


    It didn''t turn out how I envisioned. As I found, switching the grip of your weapon mid-fight was pretty damn hard and almost never done in the heat of the moment. Sure, European knights sometimes gripped their swords by the blades to use their pommels as maces, but while it was a legitimate technique, it wasn''t exactly commonplace to do so.


    I shrank Isolde down and began to twirl it around on my fingers, then stopped.


    "I feel so fucking stupid," I groaned.


    I ran through the forms again. This time, when I stepped back, I shrank Isolde and hooked a finger through a loop, swapping grips with ease. Three spirit-needles lanced out at where an adult human''s throat, heart, and kidney would be.


    That was one more thing to work on, the needles. My new eyes made me supernaturally accurate; I could pierce the eye of a fly if I wanted, but that didn''t mean much if my control over these needles was lacking. I could loose them just fine, but unlike Gwen, I couldn''t manipulate their trajectory mid-flight.


    Something for later.


    X


    After hours of martial arts drills, moving meditations, and dubious attempts at forming my own combat style, I returned back to my house to relax for the evening. Or, as close to relaxing as I allowed myself.


    In front of me sat the dossiers Fortuna dropped off this morning. Each file contained the name, photo, date of birth, location, self-professed reason for seeking powers, their actual reason for seeking powers, a psych profile, their proclivity towards villainy or heroics rated on a sliding scale from one through seven, and the price they were willing to pay for a Cauldron vial.


    Not that the last one mattered all that much. With Kurt gaming the stock market and the money from our pharmaceutical empire rolling in, the number of zeroes on a client''s checkbook meant nothing to us. To be honest, at this point, our price tag was more about making them feel like they were purchasing something valuable, which they were. If they felt as though they were acquiring a priceless good, they would be far more likely to treat the favors they owed us with the gravitas they were due.


    It wasn''t as though Fortuna enjoyed the intimidation and leg-breaking. It was a giant waste of time for all parties involved. The fewer "renegotiations" she needed to facilitate, the better.


    "God, just thinking that makes me feel like I''m part of a mafia," I groaned. Sometimes, I wondered just what kind of bullshit organization I''d gotten myself mixed up in.


    I went through reports like these once every two weeks or so. I knew that making the vials was a painstaking process, one Doctor Mother never rushed. Though the list of candidates typically contained over a dozen names, only a handful got a vial every month. Most of them weren''t even in North America. After all, the US was our seat of power. Cauldron didn''t need vials to influence US politics in our favor.


    No, most vials went to local warlords, heroes, and influential figures across the world where we could call in a favor, one more puppet to dance on Fortuna''s strings. That was if they were released into the wild at all. Just as many were used to experiment with, resulting in several Case-53s every few months.


    Still, I insisted on going over the dossiers to see if I could recognize a name here and there. Maybe, if I vetoed a name, I could prevent a tragedy. If I could, for instance, prevent Shatterbird''s abusive father from dosing her unknowingly, I could keep her from genociding Dubai. A single veto from me could save thousands, potentially millions of lives. It wasn''t even out of the question that I could then use that vial to create a worthy hero.


    It was a heavy feeling.


    So I read. No one from the United Arab Emirates was tapped to purchase a vial, not yet, so I could table Shatterbird for another month. But I did encounter a name I recognized: Thomas Calvert.


    He was a tall, black man with short-cropped hair, trimmed brows, thin lips, and a prominent cleft to his chin. He was thin, not so gaunt as to be a health concern, but definitely lanky. I knew that as Coil, he''d exaggerate his appearance with a black bodysuit and a white, coiling serpent.


    Ellisburg had not happened thanks to Rinke getting his head screwed on straight, relatively speaking. Instead, Thomas was Lieutenant Thomas Calvert of the New York PRT, decorated for eight separate successful missions this past year alone. He was commended for his excellent leadership and "cool head under fire." In fact, Alexandria had marked him as a possible candidate not because he could be easily manipulated, but because he fit the mold so perfectly.


    In a word, he seemed the ideal image of a stern but dignified soldier, the kind of man who could be expected to get things done.


    She thought he could be a stabilizing influence in whatever city we left him.


    How ironic then that this soldier would let ambition blind him. I knew him for what he was: a coward, traitor, thief, kidnapper, murderer, and an enabler of more of the same.


    I could forgive most of those. It galled me to admit, but I knew Fortuna had done far, far worse. What I couldn''t forgive was Dinah. Memories welled up unbidden. Phoenix. The Red Sands. La Torcha. Lawless. Camille.


    A blaze of azure light washed over me, my Ymelo bathing me in the stability of my convictions.


    I took a deep breath. I could do it. All I had to say was "Door, back of Calvert''s head."


    It''d be easy. No one but Cauldron needed to know. I could end him, end the suffering and misery caused by a petty snake who dreamed of the stars. I could keep Sarah safe. I could keep Brian from wrapping a gilded noose around his own neck. I could save Brockton Bay so much heartache.


    Would the city have been so awful without Coil constantly playing the factions against each other? Could the heroes clean up the Bay?


    I could find out. All it''d take is one sentence. One little snip of Isolde or one single needle into his brainstem.


    My fingers reached for Isolde even as it enlarged in anticipation.


    Another pulse of blue quelled my cold fury.


    A breath. Then two.


    I allowed the calm to set in. The Ymelo reminded me of why I joined Cauldron. I wanted to make them better, to be their moral compass and guiding light, to ensure that they did not abuse the tremendous power and privileges they possessed.


    "Can I throw that away like this?" I asked myself. Even to my own ears, my voice trembled with uncertainty. "Can I execute a man for crimes he hasn''t committed yet?"


    It was the Hitler conundrum. If you could go back in time to murder an infant Adolf, should you?


    I let out a shaky breath. No. The answer was no. If you could go back in time, you could adopt the dumb shit and beat some morals into him. Sure, it wasn''t easy, but the right path rarely was. For all of Fortuna''s vaunted Path, the truth was that there was no such thing as fate and killing baby-Hitler was the easy way out.


    "I¡­ I can''t kill him. Not like this."


    I sat in my room and allowed the silence to fill the air. I tapped into the Ymelo, searching for anything, any tiny detail I might have overlooked. It wasn''t long before I found it.


    "The Terminus Project. Brockton Bay only became the way it was because of the Terminus Project, Cauldron''s attempt at cape feudalism."


    The Terminus Project was a bit more complicated than that in truth. Kurt''s projections hinted at a grim reality: Some time in the near future, everyone would have powers. Terminus was therefore Cauldron''s way of preempting that. They wanted to create precedents for good parahuman leadership and allowed different styles of capes to flourish without direct Cauldron oversight, some villains, some heroes.


    "Except, even then, Coil is a failure. Legend was an exemplar of what a good parahuman leader should be. Coil¡­ wasn''t."


    I realized then that as much as I hated Calvert and all he would do if left unchecked, he was a symptom of a greater problem. The Terminus Project needed to be overhauled in its entirety. I simply could not accept that this was the best way to nurture parahuman leaders.


    I scribbled several notes and Doored them to Doctor Mother, Fortuna, and Alexandria''s desks.


    Terminus is a failure. We need to talk. -H


    Author''s Note


    Contessa is still hard to write. Shocker. But she''s getting better. She''s at least Pathing a way to seem human. More importantly, the biggest change was her acknowledging the need for a Shard''s death., albeit after Scion. The Cycle can only be broken with the absence of Shards after all.


    I''m reasonably certain I''m using the term "bevel" right in terms of knife-making to describe Isolde, but I can''t be sure. As far as I''m aware, a "bevel" is the slope your knife edge takes. Most kitchen knives are "double-beveled," meaning that the edge tapers into a triangular slope from both sides of the blade. Some knives, particularly Japanese sushi knives, tend to be single-beveled to suit a chef''s handedness.


    If you think about Gwen''s scissor-blades, it makes sense that the inner edge of each blade would be single-beveled so the blades can rub against each other to cut better. Similarly, if you look at her model closely, you can see that the outer edges of her blades are also sharpened.


    Now we get to why the Ymelo was so important. It lets him make rational decisions when, by every logic, he shouldn''t be able to. Isolde is the most powerful item he''s ever made, only overtaken by Winter''s Approach when it evolves. But the most important? Ymelo''s probably up there.


    He''s very much following the Ned Stark school of "If you cannot bring yourself to swing the sword, perhaps that man does not deserve to die."


    Ain''t morality a bitch?


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.9 Scattered

    Scattered 5.9


    2001, June 11: Washington, DC, United States


    Morning found me in full armor, Isolde spinning on my finger and the Blitzshield clasped to my left forearm. I stood a training room set aside in the PRT building. I''d foregone my regular workout in lieu of this spar, a chance to test myself before a truly skilled opponent.


    Across from me stood Collin Wallis, Armsmaster, in his armored glory. His armor was a matte midnight-blue, with silver streaks reminiscent of speed lines in racecars. I found it a little humorous that his logo was just a silhouette of his helmet and visor in blue over a silver hexagon.


    ''One day, that''s going to be on the Queen''s underpants,'' I thought, then snorted to suppress a laugh.


    "Hyunmu," he nodded in my direction. "You are ready."


    "Good morning, Armsmaster," I said with a polite bow. Sometimes, the man needed a slight nudge to observe basic courtesies. "I''m good to go whenever you are."


    "We will begin with a spar involving only martial arts. I will use my halberd. I take it you will use your¡­ scissors?"


    "Yeah. No active abilities?"


    "None. I will refrain from using my taser, grappling hook, or other attachments and you will do the same. I will send a countdown signal to the monitor. When it hits zero, we will begin. The spar will end when one person yields or takes an otherwise debilitating strike. Am I understood?"


    "You are."


    "Good."


    I saw Armsmaster make some signal with his eyes and a robotic voice rang out over the training room speakers. "Three. Two. One. Go!"


    Despite the start of the spar, neither of us moved. I was too busy examining the way his armor''s exoskeleton textured itself around his body. It was marvelous, the way it conformed to every twitch of his muscles. Just watching inspired new hextech projects in my mind. Miniaturization and efficiency were truly phenomenal specializations.


    As for Armsmaster, he was content to wait. He believed he outclassed me greatly and so was taking a mentor''s role. To be fair, were I in his shoes, I''d probably assume the same.


    I wanted to shatter that bit of delusion.


    I pumped my mana through my body, reinforcing It beyond human limits. He may have forbidden active use of tinkertech, but my spells weren''t tinkertech. It was a secret I kept from pretty much everyone, that I could do things beyond the lab. True, I used the Minion Dematerializer in the Red Sands incident, but I also very clearly had the relic pistol and details of that incident were only ever fully disclosed to Hero and Metalmaru on the Protectorate side of things.


    I decided to test him myself; I knew he was stronger in that armor, but I wasn''t sure by how much. At his best, he was a man who could take on Leviathan in single combat. Sure, a jobbing Leviathan, but that was still more than most could claim. On the other hand, for all I knew, he hadn''t built his anti-Leviathan kit yet. In fact, I was positive he at least didn''t have his combat algorithm, meaning this would truly be a contest of martial skill.


    I went in for a textbook thrust, stomping forward with my right leg and twisting my hip simultaneously for better leverage. He dodged it of course; it''d have been rather disappointing if he couldn''t.


    The thrust turned into a sweep that spread my arm outward. But before he could take advantage of my open torso, my shield-hand trailed behind to cover the momentary vulnerability. I continued on the offense, stomping forward into his guard. Every weapon had an optimal "strike zone" and a halberd''s was further afield. Unable to swing his halberd at full length, his strength was effectively halved, whereas Isolde could change shape to suit me no matter the distance.


    That wasn''t to say he was an easy mark by any means. He initially made a light jab towards my chest but when that slid off the Blitzshield, he allowed the parry, following it until the halberd rotated a full hundred eighty degrees. Even as I stepped into his guard, the weighted tail of his trusty weapon was careening for my chin, forcing me to duck to avoid it.


    That he could aim for my chin so accurately despite my awkward height was impressive.


    But I was already in his space. My shield-hand twisted up into a punch, though it was a little slow because of how large the shield was on my diminutive frame. He had plenty of time to catch my uppercut on his armored forearm.


    He twisted to the side, forcing my arm to go wide. He choked up on his halberd grip and made to jab towards my shoulder, but that was a feint.


    Then, he kicked me. It was a textbook snap kick taught in every karate and taekwondo dojo. But given my size and his augmented strength, it was enough to send me flying.


    Isolde shrank to the size of a dagger, allowing me to maneuver my right hand into a spiral and roll along the arm as Lee Sin taught his acolytes. I snapped back into ready position, Isolde spinning in my fingers.


    "Are you unhurt?" Armsmaster asked, a trace of concern in his otherwise mechanical tone.


    I tapped my breastplate. "Yeah, fine. My armor can take a lot more than you can dish out," I replied with a smirk. "I''m not even winded. I''m surprised you went for a kick though, didn''t know you knew how to do that."


    "Most opponents are caught off guard when I know different techniques beyond the halberd. It is logical to prepare for opponents who can get into my guard."


    "Makes sense. I should have expected it."


    "You use your shield in interesting ways. I do not believe they are optimal techniques. You leave yourself too vulnerable. The shield is best suited for a stationary, defensive combat style, but you seem to prefer an agile, aggressive martial art."


    "I know. I''m hoping I''ll grow into it eventually. Originally, the Blitzshield was meant to be a little larger than a bucker on an adult frame. It''s a bit too big for me right now, but I don''t want to just neglect it. The EMP and power-draining effects on the shield are some of the best tools I have if I ever need to take on a tinker or blaster."


    "Solid points, but the air resistance alone makes your punches with that hand rather slow and its size is throwing off your center of balance ever so slightly. You seem to be able to compensate using your augmented strength, but it is not optimal. Experienced fighters like myself will make note and exploit the vulnerability."


    I nodded. "My armor can drain powers, the outer scales and plates are made of Neo-Petricite, but I''m not keen on trying to grapple people, not with my size. And honestly? The EMP is too useful to ignore, especially when you consider that most people tend to send tinkers to fight other tinkers in the hopes of getting new tech or inspiration."


    He smiled appreciatively. "You''ve been studying Protectorate combat records. Good. But that still means your shield is a niche tool. Unless you can miniaturize your shield, carrying it as your sidearm is inefficient."


    "What do you suggest?"


    "Lose the shield," he said flatly. "You can either move the shield to your back and make a quick-deploy mechanism of some variant, or remove the EMP function and add it to something smaller like a bracer."


    I unhooked the Blitzshield from my wrist and tossed it to the side. "You might be right. I''m probably going to keep the shield though, mostly because I want to enchant it with Barrier, a personal forcefield."


    "Do your¡­ ''enchantments'' need to be on the shield?" he asked. I could tell he loathed calling them enchantments but acquiesced to the whims of a child''s fancy.


    "No, but my armor is already as loaded as I can get it," I said. And it was true. In the same way that anyone not named Armsmaster had to balance what could be fitted onto their limited kit, I had to balance which enchantments went where for optimal effect. Generally speaking, the more an item could do, the less effective it was at each task, versatility versus specialization. The exception was a masterwork like my eyes, something I''d built with the express intention of future upgrades.


    This winter solstice, Winter''s Approach would become Fimbulwinter, a legendary armor that could help make me even more of a juggernaut. It could fit several enchantments, but its primary function was a matrix that converted momentum and motion into mana to fuel a barrier of frost around my person. It was designed to be a direct upgrade to my current cryokinesis.


    "Your specialization is baffling as always."


    "Yeah, shall we continue?"


    He nodded and took his stance again.


    We went several more rounds, some with pure martial arts and others with more of our tech in play. We found out that when it came to martial arts, we were surprisingly even. No, I dared say I even had the edge in technique, a byproduct of being indirectly taught by the equivalent of xianxia masters.


    However, I still lost seventy percent of the time because of my stature and lesser strength. I could close the gap in reach by extending Isolde, but after a certain point, it became too long to be wielded properly and the cumbersome weapon would lead to him running circles around me. In terms of strength, I found out that Armsmaster''s armor made him roughly thrice as strong as he would be without it, edging out my physical reinforcement in a straight contest.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    When we added our tech into the mix, I found out that his ranged options were relatively limited. He could extend his halberd another two feet forward, but that meant little when I kept playing tag with my relic pistol. His grappling hook was a nasty surprise for me, especially when I found out he could direct its flight using his visor, but my eyes made tracking it trivial.


    I also found out that he couldn''t see through the Hallowed Mist and we quickly banned it as a tool in our spars.


    Neither of us were willing to use anything more than that. He didn''t want to drug someone so small with his tranq darts or bring out his plasma weapons and I wasn''t about to cut his armor or halberd on purpose.


    In the end, it was good practice for the both of us and we agreed to do this semi-regularly.


    X


    I sat in my lab after a morning of heavy exercise. Getting my ass handed to me repeatedly wasn''t fun, but at least I could hold my own. It was better practice than working with the other Wards.


    More than that, working with Armsmaster gave me the chance to look at his armor in greater detail. Not to fanboy too hard, but it was a work of art. I promised myself again that I would spend more time with the more mechanical side of Runeterra''s tech tree; it was one I''d unfortunately neglected until now.


    I was currently leaning over a large swathe of drafting paper, pencil in hand, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my Blitzshield.


    One option was to do as Armsmaster said, to simply lose it until I could use it properly. But a part of me loathed the idea of simply tossing something I made aside. I''d never once used Sobriety, but it was still sheathed on my hip no matter what. Powell and I had a shouting match about that. Was it weird that my comfort blanket was a knife that fucked up powers?


    The Dream Blossom Censer was something reserved for special scenarios, situations where stealth was paramount. I could understand the need to not carry it, but my shield¡­?


    I liked it. At the end of the day, that was all it boiled down to: I liked my shield. I wanted to level it up alongside me. So, it would have to change in function.


    Armsmaster was right. My fighting style was a bastardized fusion of several different martial arts, all of them far more agile than a traditional shield wall.


    My go-to answer was to make it a projectile, much like Captain America. If nothing else, I had plenty of references to draw on. By engraving it with rune matrices for Mark and Dash, I should be able to have the Blitzshield mark targets using its stun function then auto-aim with Dash. I could then use it either like Cap''s frisbee or let it drag me forward into a shield bash. After all, there wasn''t a reason for Mark to only be usable with snowballs as the medium. And with Dash, repeated casts could let me hit multiple targets from unexpected directions.


    But that was the limit of the Blitzshield''s enchantment capacity. It would mean foregoing Barrier and reconfiguring my shield so I could trigger its spells from a distance, but given the Hallowed Mist''s defensive properties, that shouldn''t be too much of a sacrifice.


    So decided, I began to tinker. With a combination of Cosmic Insight and Unsealed Spellbook feeding me formulas and matrices, it didn''t take me long. Four hours later, I had it, a shield that could move with me, one I wouldn''t feel bad about dropping on a dime for some extra agility.


    With that minor bit of work out of the way, I was about to finish up my shoes, jokingly called White Walkers, when I received an email from Brickhouse letting me know to expect a patrol after lunch.


    X


    "Hyunmu, you''re here," he called as I joined him, Gold Rush, and Verdeer in the Wards common room. "You''ll have a patrol with Gold Rush this time. Take a tour around the Gallery Place and Chinatown areas before trailing southeast to Union Station then back north to the H Street corridor. You''re going to finish up at the intersection of H Street and Maryland Avenue. Clear?"


    "Clear," we said simultaneously.


    It was all routine by now. The H Street route was the "thrill route" as far as the Wards were concerned. The neighborhood was destroyed in the 1968 riots long before Scion came into the picture. Although it was once a major business district in DC, lovingly called the "Swampnoodle," whatever the fuck that meant, it became the kind of place known for bars, clubs, and maybe a few robberies and muggings thrown in for flavor. It wasn''t the "worst" neighborhood in DC, but it was the worst neighborhood that Wards were allowed to patrol alone.


    I thought it was mostly bullshit. From what Pyro was telling me, it had some of the best live music venues in the city, not that I was old enough to enjoy those scenes.


    "Where''re you two going?" I asked my illustrious leader and our cervid friend.


    "I''ve got another date with the Humane Rescue Alliance," Verdeer said with a grin. The man really loved animals.


    "I''m going to be locked in a classroom for the rest of the day," Brickhouse said with a mock groan. "I turned eighteen in March so they''re slowly grooming me for Protectorate stuff."


    Gold Rush eyed her superior enviously. "Lucky. I can''t wait to graduate."


    "It''s really not that fun, mostly just some SOPs and what to do in certain situations. Actually, Hyunmu, didn''t you have to take a bunch of classes on lab ethics?"


    "Don''t remind me. Hero made me do it."


    "What happened?"


    ''I saved Hero''s ass with some definitely-not-suspicious blood magic,'' I thought but didn''t say. Instead, I shrugged. "It''s just some certification some bigwig thought all tinkers should get. I have it so it''s one less thing people can ride my ass about, you know?"


    "Ah, like, ''See, an eight year old can pass it. It''s no big deal,'' kind of thing?"


    "Nine. But yes."


    "Alright, you two go off now. Don''t keep Agent Mitchell waiting."


    Gold Rush and I got in the car with Agent Jeremy Mitchell hovering in our ears. I''d met the man several times before and we weren''t fond of each other. He was of the opinion that a Ward was still a child and should be treated like one. The Youth Guard was still a young organization, but he was heavily involved in their affairs.


    Agent Mitchell was the main reason why the rest of the Wards had relatively light schedules and he and Costa-Brown had argued more than once about whether or not I should be held to the same standard. In the end, the fact that I already had my diploma meant there wasn''t a whole lot he could do. What was he going to do? Insist I went to school?


    We were halfway through our tour when Gold Rush decided to stop. "Hey, let''s grab something from there," she pointed. It was a sign that read, "Jumbo''s Jerk." The logo was of an overweight black man with thick dreads and a chef''s hat strangling a rather upset looking chicken. It even had cartoon tears rolling down its wattles. How that was supposed to make me want some of their food was beyond me, but I followed her lead.


    "Is this okay, Console?" I asked.


    "It''s fine. Gold Rush requires more calories than a normal person her size because of her brute rating. Did you have lunch, Hyunmu?"


    "I did, but I suppose I could always go for a snack."


    "Good. Try to be personable, both of you. You can bill the PRT after your patrol so save the receipt."


    We made vague noises of assent and stepped into the store. I had to admit, the open kitchen where several spatchcocked chickens were grilling did far more to wet my appetite than their logo. I wasn''t too familiar with Jamaican cuisine, but the aroma of roasting spice mix and poultry was phenomenal.


    "Ey, we have some heroes in the house," said a heavyset black man with a full beard and set of dreadlocks wrapped into a ponytail, presumably the Jumbo in question. He had a wide, toothy smile as he flipped a chicken with his tongs. The man spoke with the heavy accent of a Jamaican native and it made me wonder what brought him here.


    "Hello, sir," Gold Rush began.


    "Nah, I''m not no ''sir,'' little hero. I''m Jumbo the Jerk Master!" He flung his arms wide and tossed his head back in a booming laugh. I had no idea if he greeted anyone else this way or if us Wards were special, but the man could ham it up with the best of them. He reminded me of Penelope "Stingray Straight!" Myers.


    "Is your name really Jumbo?" I couldn''t help but ask.


    He leaned forward and winked at me conspiratorially. "Nah, my friend, it''s Josh." Then, he rose back up again, tongs stabbing into the air. "But Jumbo when I am behind this grill!"


    It was hard not to smile with a man like that. He made it easy to get into my own act. So, I bowed deep with a soft smile of my own. "Far be it for me to begrudge a man his mask," I said calmly. "I cannot say I have ever had Jamaican food. Can you recommend a small snack?"


    "Of course I can. You want something sweet or savory?"


    "Something sweet, please."


    "Then you have to try my sister''s hummingbird cake, my friend. It''s buttery, fruity, and not too heavy."


    "Then I''ll get a slice of that."


    "I want a quarter chicken combo with Jamaican rice please."


    "Coming right up, little heroes. You go ahead and take a seat, yeah?"


    We made our way down the H Street corridor after Gold Rush''s impromptu meal. She raced some kids for fun. We signed some autographs and posed for pictures with a handful of college kids. There was one heckler that made a pass at my partner, but she shot him down while making a joke of it and we moved quickly along.


    Overall, the patrol was uneventful, as Mitchell and I liked it. He wanted Wards to be like a prep school and me, less action meant fewer reports to write afterwards.


    X


    I went home and began another major project. With Isolde and my eyes out of the way, I felt that it was time to load up my pipeline with yet another masterwork. Or at least, shape me as a person and a nascent Aspect.


    A while back, I once asked Contessa and Clairvoyant to look for the oldest tree still living. They delivered, a disc from a gnarled branch of a bristlecone pine over six thousand years old. On Aleph, Methuselah was the oldest at four thousand eight hundred years; this one beat it by over a millennium. Hell, six thousand years ago was the neolithic age, way back when humans were still figuring out that this farming thing wasn''t a fad.


    As per my request, they''d ensured that the tree was still alive, taking the wood from a branch roughly three inches larger than my head in diameter.


    I looked at the old wood with cautious reverence. It twisted on itself in countless ripples, so very distinctive compared to other woods. The pattern reminded me of rippling sand dunes in the desert. In my hands, this wasn''t just an old piece of tinder. It had the potential to be so much more.


    There was weight in life, and in death. The oldest living thing would be a worthy chain to bind us.


    Slowly, with the kind of mindful purpose reserved for the most complex of Lee Sin''s katas, I withdrew Isolde and began to carve. No machine would do. Nothing so impersonal would be acceptable, not here and not now.


    With the soft scratching noise of hallowed blade on wood, the Mask began to take shape.


    Author''s Note


    Another training scene, but this time with an actual opponent. I hope I did both Collin and Andy justice.


    In canon, Collin did have his jealous streak over Dauntless, but I figured it''d be much more tempered with Andy because a) this is way before Armsmaster began to plateau and b) Andy is constantly working and doesn''t have his power just handed to him.


    Collin is also aware that he''s Rubedo, and therefore the Red Sands Incident, if not the precise details. As far as he''s concerned, Alexandria rescued Andy in a violent showdown. He''s a little emotionally stunted, but he''s not dumb enough to take out his own self-esteem issues on who he perceives to be a heavily traumatized second trigger.


    H Street Corridor is a neighborhood in DC. It''s 1.5 miles long and was considered the "other side of the tracks." Like stated in the story, it was trashed during the 1968 riots and the city government only began revitalization efforts in the 21st century. It''s not an "emerging neighborhood" anymore, but until very recently, it wasn''t the safest place to be at night. When renovations began, it sparked up some major conversations about the city "whitewashing" neighborhoods and keeping the original (mostly black) residents from affording housing there.


    It was all kinds of fucked up. Best clubs in town for sure though.


    In the interest of not pissing off any actual Jamaicans, I decided not to try for the shitty "ya feelin'' me, mahn" accents.


    What''s the last scene?


    No comment, though I''m sure other people who''re fans of LoR will guess the reference.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.10 Scattered

    <div>


    Scattered 5.10


    2001, June 11: Washington, DC, United States


    I worked slowly, making every cut with care. Shavings of wood curled around Isolde''s blade even as I felt my mana spread through the mask like food coloring into a cup of water. Then, for the first time ever, I entered something close to a fugue. I didn''t black out, but there was an insistence to every cut. Every motion felt as though someone was nudging me onward.


    I could see the Mask taking shape. It was crude and rough, but the bristlecone pinewood felt like it was supposed to look this way, like an old sage unashamed of his ancient visage.


    I carved and carved until I felt the mana reach a crescendo.


    Then, I was elsewhere.


    I stood, in pajamas and with Isolde in hand, in an unfamiliar place. I thought I was accustomed to the World Rune dragging me elsewhere, but this was nothing like the temple in my soul.


    All around me, stonework pillars rose towards the sky, each depicting stories and pictures of a civilization long lost to the sands of time. Though I''d never been here before, I recognized the script easily enough: This was ancient Helian, meaning I was somewhere in the Shadow Isles.


    "Oh shit¡­" I gasped. I turned to run. I didn''t know where I could run to, but out of the ancient ruins seemed like a good start. Before I could, I came face to face with a gnarled old mask. "Gah!"


    I landed on my ass. I hadn''t expected to be discovered so soon, but at least it wasn''t a wraith that found me.


    Before me stood an old woman, a crone with a back so stooped that she must have stood at half her height. She wore layers upon layers of animal hide, though every one of them seemed to have come from a different beast even to my untrained eyes. There were shaggy pelts torn and rent with dagger-like talons and hides with thin, wispy fur that looked like clumps had fallen off from some unexplainable rot. By hunt or plague, all had died in a different manner.


    Countless masks dotted her cloak, some I could recognize as those of rabbits, pigs, lions, and other animals. Others seemed so foreign that I couldn''t even begin to guess. The mask she wore was completely nondescript, as though the maker could not decide on what it wanted to depict.


    Or perhaps, because the maker wanted it to depict everything.


    I was starting to get a clue.


    Beneath the cloak and mask, she was a bony woman with gray but not clammy skin. In her left hand, she carried a staff of old but not yet rotting wood that had twisted on itself to form a perfect loop.


    Her head tilted to the side inquisitively. Then, with a haunting voice that echoed endlessly throughout the surrounding mist, she spoke. "Who are you, little one?"


    Something held me back. I didn''t know why, but something made me hold my tongue. This was not an answer to give lightly.


    I looked her over one more time. The countless masks that I''d thought were inert seemed to shuffle and shift of their own accord. Streams of mana wafted from her like smoke, only to be lost in the surrounding mist.


    I looked at her and knew who she was.


    And with that, I had my answer.


    "I am He Who Inspires," I said with more bravado than true confidence. The World Rune had led me here and I chose to put my faith in it to lead me out.


    She spoke again. "Why have you come, He Who Inspires?"


    In her voice was more than a question. There was a dream, a whispered promise, a test. She was inevitable; I just happened to meet her sooner than most. I clung to that dream, that understanding. All I knew of the Mother distilled into my response.


    "I come to become a light in the dark, to sing a new song, to write a new story, to weave a new tapestry. I come to remember, lest all the world forget."


    She laughed. It was a haunting, ghostly laugh and the echoes sent shivers down my back that almost made me feel as though my very soul was trembling at the sound. "It is a worthy goal. Will you be the light that guides or the light that beckons? Take heed, He Who Inspires, and may you care for each light and spark¡­"


    She reached out a hand. Then, before she could touch me, or perhaps she did touch me, I had no idea, the mist consumed the world and it all faded to black.


    When I opened my eyes again, it was to stare at the unfinished Mask back in my room.


    I stared intently at the crude eyeholes. Then, with trembling hands, I placed it back on my desk and pushed my chair out. My head hung back in exhaustion. The World Rune was infinite. I was not. Never had I felt the truth in those words quite so clearly. Even as the mana in my soul waited to be called, there was a soul-deep fatigue weighing on me, as though the link between my soul and body had been strained to the utmost.


    "This¡­ This won''t be an easy project," I whispered, half in awe, half in fear.


    X


    2001, June 13: Unnamed, Ivory Coast


    "So, what''s this about the Terminus Project?" Alexandria asked. She, Doctor Mother, Contessa, and I were seated around a small table in another earth. I didn''t know what excuse she gave as chief director, but I told Metalmaru that I had to go conduct maintenance on the potion production facilities. If asked, Hero knew it to mean Cauldron business.


    "We need to talk about how we do things. I went over some of the memories I had and realized that you really drop the ball in Brockton Bay."


    "We have no plans in Brockton Bay at this time. I take it we will?"


    That caught me off guard. "Wait, you don''t?"


    "No. Since the arrest of Marquis by the rebranded New Wave, the city has reached a sort of equilibrium between heroes and villains," Alexandria said, practically reciting some report she''d read verbatim. "I was considering it as a prime candidate for experimentation. I take it that will be a mistake?"


    "If by experiment you mean use the city as an isolated petri dish to cultivate a high concentration of parahumans and then proceed to point a newly powered Calvert at the city with the ultimate goal of seeing how cape feudalism would work out in society¡­ Yes. Yes, that is a monumentally bad idea."


    "How so?" Doctor Mother asked. She flipped through a series of reports and found the overview of the city. "Because the current situation favors neither heroes nor villains, it seems like a good, neutral ground for such an experiment."


    I pointed at Alexandria. "She dies. And by dies I mean she drowns. On land. It was honestly kind of embarrassing."


    "Are you saying that an experiment in Brockton Bay is directly responsible for my death?''


    "Yup. But really, Brockton Bay is just symptomatic of a bigger problem. Your Terminus Project is all wrong."


    "Explain."


    "You''ve set yourself the goal of cultivating good parahuman leadership, both heroes and villains, based on the projections by the Number Man that eventually, everyone will have powers, yes?"


    "It will be generations before that happens," Doctor Mother said. "However, we expect the results of the Terminus Project to be useful long before then, so long as significant portions of the population become parahumans."


    I nodded. I agreed with her¡­ on paper. In theory, cultivating parahuman leadership in preparation for a changing society was logical. Hell, it was unusually forward-thinking for this organization, which was probably why they fucked it up so hard in canon.


    "I agree. There is no scenario in which having strong parahuman leadership is ultimately a bad thing. In fact, if you want to be able to field an army against Scion, you''re eventually going to need competent lieutenants. Peter Pan is a good start, but you''re doing a lot of things that are counterproductive.


    "You all read my brief on Shards, yes?" I got a round of nods. It was one of the first things Contessa asked me to do. "Good, so you know about a Shard''s conflict drive. Vials don''t have it, but natural triggers do. So, if your goal is to create a society lead by parahumans, why does the NEPEA-5 exist?"


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "It began as a way to force people into the Protectorate or gangs. We wanted to leave combat as the primary path available."


    "You believe that given the conflict drive associated with natural triggers, it was unnecessary. Most capes would have chosen violence in one form or another anyway," Alexandria said. "This might be true, but the NEPEA-5 also allowed us to gain control of a large number of thinkers, forming organizations such as Watchdog. Without it, the Madhouse you work at in your normal capacity would likely look different as well."


    "That''s true, but do you need it anymore? Think about this. It may have made sense in a world where the Protectorate was not yet fully established, but now, being a hero is the sexiest job imaginable. Heroes are popular. Heroes are idolized. Heroes are glamorous in a way that used to be reserved only for movie stars.


    "It''s worse than redundant though. The Terminus Project exists to cultivate strong parahuman leadership, but the NEPEA-5 leaves economic means off the table. Can a nation exist without an economy? Can a gang? Or any other organization? Of course not. You need some sort of monetary inflow and outflow, but the NEPEA-5 makes legal means impossible. You''re effectively crippling legitimate parahuman leadership before they have the chance to get off the ground. While this forces them to rely solely on their strength of arms, in the end, that alone isn''t a good foundation for the kind of parahuman force you''d need to field against Scion."


    "You want us to repeal it completely? That will be difficult. It is a large part of parahuman law, one embedded in the cultural zeitgeist."


    "I''d argue that you''ve already begun," I pointed out. "You started with me by setting precedents via the courts concerning my potions. I''m not saying this needs to happen right away, but I do think it needs to happen eventually, and not just the NEPEA-5. I''m using that as an example, but it''s true of laws in general. If you want strong parahuman leadership, you need systemic forces in place that favor such. The Terminus Project should be about a healthy transition, not some battle royale to see which warlord lucks out. Like I said in my brief, only a handful of capes are truly useful against Scion so cultivating a horde of villains and gangbangers won''t do much. It''d be much more efficient to create a lasting infrastructure that can support those few parahumans. You don''t need an army of fodder; you need a military industrial complex."


    "We''ll take it under advisement. But what was it that brought up Brockton Bay?"


    "Calvert."


    She hummed. "Captain Thomas Calvert, an elite trooper affiliated with the New York PRT. He heard rumors of Balminder."


    That caught me off guard. I remembered Balminder. He was a middle-aged Indian man who sold Cauldron vials in canon, one who broke from Cauldron around the same time as Shamrock. He''d be called "Dealer" when he set off on his own. I didn''t know much beyond that though. "Wait, Calvert tracked Cauldron?"


    "Of course not. He strongly believes an organization capable of granting powers exists. Beyond that, he knows little. We occasionally leave trails for competent people to find, a test if you will."


    "Fine, but I''m strongly advising against him getting a vial," I said, hands clenched.


    "You dislike him."


    "He wants to kill Calvert," Contessa chimed in. "It is only his own morality that keeps him from carrying out the act."


    I let out an explosive sigh. "She''s not wrong. I know that none of the things I saw happened yet, but he''s¡­ I don''t want him to have powers."


    "What power does he have?"


    "Precognitive thinker. He has the ability to split timelines, one in which he undertakes a certain action and another in which he abstains. He then gets to dismiss one timeline, choosing the one that favors him. Or, he thinks he does. What he''s really doing is having a Shard-induced vision and getting possessed by his own Shard to act as he otherwise would with his preferred choice. So really, his power is more like a simulation ability."


    "If we were to use that vial on one of our own, would he be able to predict Scion?"


    "No. Not a chance. Not the endbringers either. Calvert''s Shard communicates with other Shards, which is why he could do things like torture someone for information in one timeline and get said intel he shouldn''t have known about to use in the other, but it''s under the same restrictions as any other Shard. If he could do otherwise, there was no way in hell you would have let him have free reign in the future I saw."


    "Useful, but that''s not enough for us to want it."


    "I don''t care what you do with it, just don''t give it to someone willing to kidnap a twelve year old girl," I grunted.


    "This is about the Red Sands Incident."


    "You don''t say."


    "You are emotionally volatile, particularly where kidnapping and master effects are concerned," Alexandria ignored my snark and continued. "Will he acquire a master?"


    "No, just drug the girl up to her gills and make her beg for ''candy.''" I saw the corners of her eyes tighten. I was glad. It meant she wasn''t completely unsympathetic.


    "He is calm, disciplined, and intelligent," Doctor Mother noted. "His experience and position of command within the PRT indicates that he will likely be a force for order in whichever city we put him."


    "He''s also ambitious and will never stop trying to take over whatever city he''s in. In my vision, he acted like a stereotypical Bond villain, a mastermind type who tried to take over Brockton Bay as both Coil the supervillain and as Director Calvert of the local PRT."


    "You say that like that''s a bad thing. His psych profile does indicate dissatisfaction with his current lot, but a person with military training and discipline who is capable of managing two different personas, both in high positions, is precisely the kind of man we want to sell a vial to."


    I wasn''t getting anywhere. The trouble was, the shitty doctor was right. From her perspective, Calvert was close to perfect. "I really don''t want him to get a vial."


    "What happened to not judging a man for crimes he has yet to commit?"


    "I won''t kill him," I glared. "That''s all the courtesy I''m willing to give him. Just because he hasn''t committed a crime doesn''t mean I should give him the means to do so in the future. I won''t punish him, but I won''t enable him either."


    "Hyunmu, it is his kidnapping of minors that bothers you," Alexandria noted.


    "And?"


    "What if we throw in a caveat?"


    "What? ''If you kidnap or pressgang a minor, one of our executives will come kill you.'' Like that?"


    "Would that be acceptable? In the grand scheme of things, Calvert represents a minor investment, but one that could help further our interests in a city. From what you have said, he will likely create an environment of conflict, playing multiple factions against each other while he furthers his interests from the shadows. All the while, he will be a stabilizing influence that ensures one faction does not lose overmuch. All of this will incite further triggers. We could impose lines in the sand to restrict his criminal activities if that is more bearable to you."


    "What he''s really doing then is building a seal over a soda can. Inciting a large number of triggers over time will destabilize a city and holding it back is just going to build up pressure."


    "Isn''t that what we''re doing across the world?" Doctor Mother asked pointedly. "As Number Man''s calculations make clear, trigger rates are rising. It''s why the Terminus Project is so valuable. I am willing to include a ''no kidnapping'' clause but I do believe Calvert will be a useful pawn."


    I thought about it. It was an olive branch, I knew. These people I was sitting with had done much worse. If anything, a single kidnapping was nowhere near as bad as the likes of the literal Nazis that roamed the world. But even with the Ymelo''s cooling influence, I just couldn''t let it go. It seemed I had my own neuroses even without a traditional Shard and this would be one of them.


    I sighed explosively and turned to Contessa. "Fine. If he oversteps his bounds, I will kill him."


    "I''ll allow it," she promised.


    "But I want you to do me a favor, Alexandria, Doctor Mother."


    "Oh?"


    "Rethink the interaction between the Terminus Project and the Nemesis Program. Our Case-53s aren''t just disposable minions anymore. They''re Pan''s crew. It''s one thing if they''re volunteering for a life in Earth Bet, but it''s something else to just brainwash one with a trigger phrase to auto-lose to an up-and-coming hero. A mental trigger like that isn''t likely to be helpful in the long run."


    Alexandria hummed thoughtfully. Not for the first time, I wondered how much of her behavior was an affected action as opposed to something she did subconsciously. "I would be amenable to examining the projects and having Number Man rerun the calculations in light of your advice. Perhaps some sort of immigration policy can be maintained. A Case-53 who wishes to start anew on Earth-Bet is to be provided with monetary resources, identification, and other intangible support in exchange for three scripted losses against new buyers, or something to that effect."


    "Really? Just like that?"


    She scoffed. "We are not unreasonable, Hyunmu. We do realize that the information you''ve provided us changes our dynamic. In the end, retaining the NEPEA-5 and Nemesis Program as they stand would be counterproductive to the Terminus Project and our ultimate aim of raising a cadre of capes who can combat Scion."


    "I know, I just¡­ I expected you to need more convincing."


    "I do not know how I would have behaved a decade without your involvement, but I will remind you that I am not that person. None of us are."


    "Yeah, sorry," I apologized. It felt weird, apologizing to Alexandria for thinking she''d be too stubborn. I wanted to ask Custodian if there was something in the air.


    The meeting broke soon after. I hadn''t gotten everything I wanted: Coil would still be a thing and Brockton Bay would still be a powder keg, but hopefully, new systemic changes would make the world at large a brighter place. And who knew? Perhaps Coil would overstep his bounds.


    No, I was sure of it. He was not the kind of man who stuck inside his limits. And when he stuck his neck out¡­


    Isolde would be waiting to snip it off.


    Author''s Note


    As always, any surprise reveal gets spoiled by someone who''s very knowledgeable about the source material. It''s natural to the forum format of most sites so I can''t say it''s unexpected. Hopefully it still holds the gravitas it deserves.


    Cauldron is as difficult as always, but I hope I made that scene at least a little believable. In the end, the important thing to keep in mind is that none of them are the people they would be ten years from now and even with just his potions and the creation of Oberon, Andy''s proved himself to be a huge Cauldron asset. At the very least, he''s not someone whose advice any of them can ignore completely.


    Even so¡­ I thought about it for days, but I just couldn''t think of a reason for Cauldron to deny Calvert a vial. At the end of the day, Andy''s vote is one among the executives. Could he force the issue? Possibly. Is it worth the clout with Cauldron? Not really. Altering the trajectory of the Terminus Project is ultimately a far bigger win for him and he knows it. As despicable as Coil is to Andy, widescale changes across the nation can improve a great many more lives.


    He also got something rather significant: The inclusion of caveats inside a person''s vial contract as a precedent and Contessa''s promise to let Coil die. Andy''s got his personal neuroses and this meant a lot more than it objectively should.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.11 Scattered

    <div>


    Scattered 5.11


    2001, July 4: Washington, DC, United States


    I hadn''t touched the Mask since I began carving it. Every time I reached for the Mask, something stayed my hand as if to whisper, "Not yet."


    Independence Day, as expected, was something of a big deal at the capitol. It as a full day celebration despite July Fourth landing on a Wednesday. Every member of the DC Protectorate and Wards were expected to participate in a large-scale PR event that drew in tourists and residents alike like flies.


    The festival took place on the National Mall. Most booths got set up at around nine in the morning and were in full operation by ten. I saw classic games like cornhole as well as several capes running booths. Pyro had his own shooting range set up while Hero''s Heroes was a particularly popular sandwich shop.


    Given my massively increased visual range, it was all a little overwhelming. Thankfully, us Wards didn''t have to do anything too complicated.


    Gold Rush was signing autographs and challenging people to race her around the Washington Monument. Verdeer got roped into being a living jungle gym for the little ones. Whiteout was off leading a guided tour of some memorial or other. Brickhouse was making clay sculptures of various heroes for sale. As popular as the Founders were, I was surprised by how many people wanted one of Bluesong, though perhaps I shouldn''t have been. She was pretty, active in her community, and her backstory was all but confirmed as fact.


    As for me, I was busy flash-baking pizza in a clay oven I had Brickhouse set up early in the morning. Biscuit Delivery extended to all forms of baking after all, pizza qualified.


    I was unloading a perfectly baked margherita pie off the oven, bubbles of crust and edges of basil just slightly charred, when Whiteout dropped by.


    "Yo shorty, let me get the next one," he called. At seventeen, the boy stood a good foot taller than me, not that it was hard with my four-seven height. He wore his white and gold hood back to keep himself a little cooler.


    "Of course, Whiteout. What would you like?" I asked. I still sounded exceedingly polite, but my accent was all but gone. It had been a year after all, and children always learned faster than adults.


    "I dunno, I just want some pizza. Something loaded."


    I nodded. "One sausage and pepperoni with caramelized onions and hot honey coming right up."


    "Yesss," he hissed. "How long''s the wait?"


    I began to spin a ball of dough, tossing it for some extra flair. This probably wasn''t how Lee imagined his martial art would be used, but damn if it didn''t look impressive. "Four minutes."


    "For real? That''s fast."


    "A clay and wood oven like this one can bake a Neapolitan style pizza in one or two minutes because of the shallow roof and high temperatures."


    "Cool, I''ll just hang out here, dude."


    "You do that."


    It was one of the only interactions I''d had with Whiteout in months. Typically, the most elusive member of the DC Wards used his power to white out any surveillance in an area, including tinkertech observation, and used it to guarantee privacy in important meetings. I was pretty sure he was being trained as some kind of internal security. When he wasn''t doing that, he was leading tours at the International Spy Museum so the two of us seldom crossed paths.


    Honestly, I thought he had it made. He wasn''t powerful, but that just meant he wasn''t powerful enough to attract unwanted attention. His power was useful to important people and he got to laze around otherwise.


    I sometimes wondered what it''d be like to indulge like that, to have relatively few cares.


    "Hyunmu? Can I have a chicken and jalapeno pizza?" came the request of some middle-aged man and his son.


    "Oh, my apologies, customers. Cooking sometimes makes me introspective."


    With that, I spun the large, wooden peel like a polearm and got back to work.


    X


    Us heroes did eventually get a break sometime around three in the afternoon when most people had a chance to gawk at us. I tried my best to sneak off to tinker for the rest of the day, but Hero caught me and dragged me back, saying something about how important it was for a Ward to connect with his home city.


    I maintained that he was too high-profile to sneak off and just didn''t want to suffer alone.


    Fucking traitor.


    We sat around in a booth in front of the Lincoln Monument that had been set aside for us. Soon enough, evening had come and the final act of this dog and pony show was to begin.


    "A talent show. I can''t fucking believe you host a talent show ever year," I complained for the fifth time.


    "Relax, Hyunmu," Pyrotechnical grinned. "It''s not that bad. Just get up there and have fun."


    "Easy for you to say. All you have to do is show off some fireworks."


    This "talent show," though Hero wouldn''t call it that, was started by our illustrious leader during the early days of the Protectorate as a way to buoy faith in the fledgling organization. Initially, it was a way to show off how strong heroes were, how reliable we were. Brutes would pull buses and tank bullets, movers would outrace racecars, and Hero himself would put on a destructive lightshow, obliterating some target set floating in the middle of the Potomac.


    It took place every year immediately before the fireworks display at nine. The whole thing couldn''t have screamed "''Murica! Fuck yeah!" any louder if Bluesong hooked up speakers for the occasion.


    It was blatant media-pandering, which was exactly why it had taken on a life of its own. Now, it really was a talent show in all but name. Every member of the DC Protectorate, Wards included, were expected to participate, though no longer did it strictly have to be about powers.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I sat woodenly through several acts, including some kind of corny comedy sketch by Whiteout and a kendo demonstration by Metalmaru. My own contribution was just elaborate target practice done with the help of my relic pistol and Brickhouse, fancy kung fu movie flips and all.


    The showstopper though was an "all-out" spar between Hero and Armsmaster, two of the most combat-oriented capes in the DC Protectorate.


    Hero and Armsmaster began the match by locking blades, Armsmaster with his trademark halberd lit up in blue plasma and Hero with a golden lightsaber of some variety. It was flashy, with a rain of sparks that erupted with every clash.


    I would have been more impressed if I didn''t know that this part of the spar was scripted. They even got a professional director to choreograph this fight scene, mostly so Hero wouldn''t get skewered on accident; he wasn''t much of a martial artist.


    In the climax, Hero shot into the air, deploying wing-like protrusions that fired a seemingly endless rain of lasers to try to overwhelm his sparring partner. Armsmaster quickly swapped out his plasma blade for something that looked a lot less impressive: Neo-Petricite, courtesy of Metalmaru and yours truly.


    He swept his halberd in a complex circle, guided by a UI that only he and I could see. Every time Hero''s lasers got close to hitting him, the blade would bisect the beam, directing them elsewhere. I wondered if this was the start of his combat algorithm. For several minutes, the two were at a standstill until he finally slipped.


    It wouldn''t do for one of the Founders to lose after all.


    Hero''s fire rate increased dramatically until Armsmaster''s UI and experience could no longer keep pace. A golden beam struck his shoulder, then his wrist, forcing him to relinquish his weapon. I honestly didn''t know how much of this part was scripted. For all I knew, Armsmaster genuinely wanted to see how he compared with our leader.


    In the end, the two shook hands in an exaggerated show of sportsmanship. As I heard later from Metalmaru''s gossip-mongering, the whole thing was meant to keep Armsmaster on the forefront of people''s minds by marking him as a hero capable of pushing a Founder in combat. Hence why this little demonstration was scheduled just before the fireworks.


    I suspected Collin would be getting his own command sooner rather than later.


    X


    2001, July 6: Washington, DC, United States


    Two days later, I was putting the finishing touches on my White Walkers when I was interrupted by a familiar alarm. I''d only heard it twice before, but it was unmistakable: Leviathan was back.


    Which meant India.


    I nodded and went back to work. The Indian government and one of my shell companies had signed a multi-million dollar contract for the purchase of my potions three weeks ago. The first batch, coincidentally enough for emergency use, was sent over last week. When the dust settled, there would be plenty of potions to go around. With Rubedo''s "endbringer donations" carried by the PRT to the actual attack site, I hoped to receive an even shorter casualty report than the one from Naples.


    I''d done all I could on that front. Not knowing precisely where Leviathan was headed, I couldn''t add all of India to the Worldstone Network, nor did I have their political permission, so I settled for adding Seattle and San Francisco to the list.


    I strapped the White Walkers to my feet. Despite being somewhat large, cobalt-blue boots with only the barest hint of white and gray outline, they were delightfully snug and warm, comfortable in a way I knew would grow with me over time, as would the rest of my armor.


    I made sure that these shoes had some of my best enchantments: They were designed to provide perfect grip regardless of the surface. Ghost, because of course. Tenacity, because I couldn''t imagine a scenario in which I''d regret it. And of course, Cosmic Insight to make Ghost more efficient. "Summoner haste" it was called in-game.


    But the real reason they were called "White Walkers," besides so I could make a shitty ice-zombie joke, was because I took cues from my fellow disciple of Wuju: Wukong. These shoes used a unique runic matrix of my own design to condense the surrounding air into platforms, platforms that looked suspiciously like clouds, or the Hallowed Mist. I couldn''t fly, not yet, but running on clouds was a pretty close alternative.


    Designing that runic matrix took a lot longer than I expected, but I would have had these months before had I not gotten distracted repeatedly.


    Then, half in the zone and about to begin the final round of testing, I heard something that made my heart sink.


    "Leviathan has made landfall in Hyderabad. Repeat: Leviathan has hit Hyderabad."


    I recognized every major coastal city in India. I''d made sure to learn them all. Hyderabad wasn''t one of them.


    That wasn''t supposed to happen. Until now, Leviathan had never hit anything but coastal towns. I rushed to my desk and pulled out a map. A tense minute later, I found it. Hyderabad was the capitol of the state of Telangana, and a city most decidedly inland. To get there, Leviathan would have had to swim up the Krishna River and follow the Musi River, one of Krishna''s many tributaries.


    "Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck," I muttered, hands gripping my hair in panic.


    This wasn''t supposed to happen. I remembered that Leviathan was to hit India, but not precisely where. Logic said Mumbai, Chennai, or Surat, perhaps one of the other large coastal cities. We followed logic. Once again, Cauldron discreetly warned the target nation. I''d received reports that India had taken heed, shoring up its defenses near the ten largest of its coastal cities.


    It made sense. Our response was the logical path.


    But of course, this was Earth-Bet, where Murphy fucked logic up the ass with a nail-bat.


    ''Did Leviathan switch targets? Is it because India prepped the coast too much?'' I wondered. I tried to wrack my brain for an explanation. ''The Simurgh isn''t active yet. They''re not supposed to be smart¡­ Was this the canon target? Or is Eidolon somehow getting frustrated after a single good Levi fight?''


    "Fuck!" I swore, my voice drowned out in the clamor.


    I sat there, at my workstation in the far edge of the lab and buried my head in my hands. I wanted to shut everything out, but the resounding alarm battered at me. I stayed that way until the alarm finally died and the real heroes had gone to fight. My joy at finally completing my shoes seemed oh so petty now.


    Never before had I felt Cauldron''s burden like this. Hand shaking, I forced myself to read up on Hyderabad. Hyderabad, the "lion city." It was a city of countless centuries of history. Millennia. It was also a city that boasted more than six million people in its greater metropolitan area.


    I couldn''t remember. One bad call. One moment of insufficient information and the blood of six million was on my hands.


    ''It''s not my fault,'' I told myself. ''I gave them all the intel I could.''


    So why did the world still feel so heavy?


    Author''s Note


    Andy''s eyes can see 300 meters away, up from 100 with just the Oracle''s. But that''s the radius. Since he can see behind him, his total visual area covers the area of a 600 meters wide circle. For reference, a master longbowman would be able to send an arrow about 360 meters, or 400 yards. An assault rifle like an AK-47 has a theoretical max range of similar. He''s seeing that whole area filled with crowds of people.


    I didn''t want to write an entire festival arc, but also wanted to show that things are moving. In some respects, canon isn''t changing even as some major ripples are rocking the boat. Armsmaster is being tapped for his own command, though whether that''ll still be Brockton remains to be seen.


    As you wiki-nerds know, Hyderabad is the canonical destination for Leviathan. Nothing changed, but Andy thinks the destination changed because he only knew the nation, not the city. Why? Because if I have to look up the location of an endbringer fight, Andy doesn''t know it. His memory is good, damn near perfect thanks to the Ymelo, but not of anything before he built it.


    Ugh. Necessary scene, but I really don''t write grief very well¡­ I want to keep to a minimum level of angst, but Andy really is that kind of a person and I felt that this was a valuable growing moment for him.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.12 Scattered

    Scattered 5.12


    2001, July 10: Washington, DC, United States


    I sat in my room, Number Man''s preliminary report clenched in hand. Six-point-four million people lived in Hyderabad. An estimated three-point-six million were dead or missing and practically all the rest were otherwise displaced. I let that number roll around in my head. Leviathan had hit somewhere completely unexpected, and thus completely undefended. Add in India''s crowded cities and relatively poor infrastructure and this number seemed inevitable. People were calling it the single biggest loss since Kyushu.


    The Musi River basin was more like one giant lake now. Survivors were rowing between collapsed ruins of skyscrapers that jutted out like islands. Pictures of people making cooking fires out of broken furniture were making their rounds. Their eyes were the eyes of people who didn''t know whether to laugh or cry such was their disbelief. I''d felt that only once before in Busan.


    The Indian government had prepared billions of dollars in aid, except they were located near Chennai, Mumbai, and other coastal cities. Redirected supplies were only just now starting to trickle into the broken city, four days after the attack.


    I felt numb. Distant.


    I''d done all I could, I told myself, but that excuse felt increasingly hollow.


    It was so easy to read the numbers and accept the statistic, to close off my heart and go no further than that. It was easy to go with the flow of my Ymelo, to allow it to dampen my grief.


    I couldn''t. I couldn''t because that would mean dampening my empathy. This wasn''t why I built the Ymelo.


    I had to care, because I feared that if I didn''t, no one else in Cauldron would.


    I felt a hand on my shoulder. As always, Fortuna was there in the brief moments when I stopped paying attention. As always, she inserted herself into my mental conversation seamlessly. "You don''t have to care."


    "Who else will?" I asked bitterly.


    "The ones who are broken will care. The mothers who fish their children''s corpses from the river will care. But you are not they."


    "You''re fucked up."


    "I''ve never denied it. But you have done all that is in your power. You know this. You are not responsible for the millions."


    "Then why don''t I feel any better?" I bit back sarcastically.


    She laid down on my bed and leveled me with disinterested eyes. "Because you are not me," she said with an ambivalent shrug. "You are not the doctor. Nor Alexandria. Nor Number Man. You are Yusung. Hyunmu. So you care, even when you know it was not your fault."


    "If I remembered more clearly-"


    "You would still be here, tearing your own heart to pieces as you oscillate between deep empathy and the Ymelo''s artificial calm. One million or three, it would not matter. You would care because you are not us."


    I tried to laugh but the sound came out raw. "Would¡­ Could you¡­"


    "No. You also know this. The Path is not almighty. I cannot magically move six million people out of Leviathan''s way any more than I could evacuate all of Naples. You were not this saddened last year. Why now?"


    "I¡­ I guess I hoped," I whispered. "I hoped that this one would be even better than Naples¡­"


    "And hope is the most insidious disease of all," she finished for me.


    "Is this your way of making me feel better?"


    "No. That path involves narcotics you would never forgive me for. I don''t need you to feel better. I need you to use this loss to drive yourself. It helps to talk to another and no one else is in a position to do so with you. Rational discourse will let you accept the efforts of your Ymelo more readily by reframing your grief. There will be well-wishes from the Phoenix Wards when you speak with them next, but such would sound like mockery coming from me."


    "Fuck you. And fuck your Path," I said, but I was too mentally exhausted to add any heat to the insult.


    "You cannot save everyone."


    "I know."


    "But you want to try anyway."


    "I do¡­"


    "Then try. Struggle. Build."


    She was helping, in her own fucked up way. Her Path was blind to endbringers. Even now, days later, it probably hadn''t settled with all the triggers expected in Hyderabad. So, she was here, doing what she could. She''d decided to motivate me, whether by buoying my spirits or filling me with spite, it didn''t matter.


    The drive mattered.


    "Something that could face an endbringer¡­"


    "You can." It was not a question.


    I thought of Hextech Galio and Alistar. Dr. Heimerdinger''s T-Hex. Of weapons and systems I could build that would not require my direct presence. "I can¡­ Something to hold the line until I mature¡­" I whispered. "It might take years¡­"


    She smiled that thinker-smug smirk that made me want to slap her. "We have years. What do you need?"


    X


    Fortuna hadn''t made me feel better, not really, merely redirected my moping to something more productive. We spent hours like that, just talking about what upscaling my industrial production might look like. I showed her designs for more advanced Wrenchbots, robots that could be automated to perform more complex tasks than simply fetch tools or water the more dangerous plants in Babylon. I gave her a rough idea of the size of the production facility I''d need if I wanted to make a Hextech Galio of my own out of Petricite.


    Or, to be more specific, facilities. It looked like I''d need a dedicated foundry just to make tons and tons of brightsteel, Demacia''s Petricite alloy derivative, another to shape the metal into the outer shell, yet another to make the internal components, and still one more to put it all together. It was the kind of undertaking that most countries couldn''t manage.


    Everyone liked thinking about piloting a gundam or a jaeger or megazord or what have you, but no one wanted to think about the logistics of building one.


    Years. Years of work, but with Unsealed Spellbook and Cosmic Insight, at least I felt like I was finally at the starting line.


    Then, my attention trailed to the side and came to rest on the Mask, that other thing that might let me compete with an endbringer. It was as though I was being drawn in. It had rebuked my attempts to work on it before, but it now seemed to beckon to me.


    Before I knew it, almost as though it had taken on a life of its own and jumped into my hands, I''d begun to carve. My hands were firm and steady yet gentle with reverence for what it represented. Just as before, Isolde took the thinnest possible shavings with each cut. I had begun to smooth out some of the imperfections near a brow when the world shimmered around me. Just as before, the mana I was infusing into the Mask reached a crescendo.


    And then, I was somewhere new.


    "Another vision," I whispered. With curious eyes, I looked around.


    This time, I was a bit more cognizant of my surroundings. The vision was an expected outcome; the World Rune was using my own act of creation as a bridge. It promised renewal and purpose, rest and hope in the same breath. Most of all?


    It promised power.


    I looked around to find myself in a temple I could not name. Everything was vaguely oriental, not that that meant much. I was clearly in Ionia, but where? Navori? Shon-Xan? Bahrl? The many disparate cultures of Ionia were not as readily identifiable as the flowing script unique to the Helian people.


    No matter where I was, the view was breathtaking.


    The temple was located atop a high cliff and the garden in which I found myself overlooked the crashing waves. Below me, spires of limestone jutted out into the sky like gnarled fingers, their edges shaved away until smooth by the waves and winds.


    Here, by looking at the way the shadows fell, I could see that the sun was halfway past the horizon, though given my sudden relocation, I had no idea if I was facing east or west, dawn or dusk.


    As beautiful as the scenery was, I found my attention drawn to two figures. Both were masked, but one could not be more different from the other if they tried.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    The first was short and squat. He had two pairs of scrawny, stick-like limbs and wore a shirt of green leaves and a robe of bark. He was about the size of a yordle, but nothing could make me mistake the tremendous mana wafting from him for that of the mischievous not-faes''. His magic sang of the tides and the sea, that origin from whence all life came. His mask was red and white, with a prominent "lip" that could be mistaken for a moustache. At his side was a staff made of wood that I just knew was older than the entire Ionian civilization.


    The second was a bird, a vulture, who perched on a tree just behind the first. She, for I knew her to be a she, wore a cowl made of some unknown leaf and a necklace of bones, ribs or perhaps fangs of some great beast. Her magic whispered of the sky and the evening breeze that blew before an unrelenting storm none could avoid. Her mask boasted a long, crimson beak that would have looked outrageous on anyone else.


    I didn''t dare mock it for I recognized them. And with them, I knew where I must be. This temple belonged to the Kinkou Order, those legendary assassins and caretakers of the Balance.


    "Oho, a guest," the first spoke. His voice was low and soft but not unkind. "Come, come. You must join us for tea."


    "Yesss," the vulture let out a sibilant hiss. "Come and join us, little star."


    Warily, with great reverence, I took a seat. I made sure to sit on my knees, mindful of the tradition of these lands. Why? They wouldn''t care. And yet I did, the small things one focuses on in moments of turmoil¡­


    Before us, a table of blood-red cedar sprouted from the earth, its edges rimmed with branches and leaves that shone like emerald with new life. I was looking and yet, I wouldn''t have been able to point out just when the mugs of tea appeared. Still, I took a sip as to not be rude.


    "I am here."


    "You are," the first rumbled.


    "And yet, who are you?" the second added.


    "I am He Who Inspires," I spoke without much thought. It seemed the right thing to say, what I said to the Mother the first time.


    "You are. And yet you are more."


    "You are. And yet you seek more."


    "What is it you seek, little star?" the vulture whispered her question.


    I opened my mouth to speak, only for the not-yordle to shake his head subtly. There was more to this question, more to this dream.


    ''What do I want?'' I asked myself as I stared into my reflection in the cup.


    It was a simple question, but also one loaded with hypotheticals and what-ifs. I wanted Scion''s death. I wanted Earth-Bet to not be such a shithole. I wanted to kill Leviathan, for all the people sure, but if I had to be honest with myself, I wanted to kill him to prove myself. I wanted to prove that I could conquer the ocean, prove that I could rise beyond the trigger that brought me to this world.


    "You''re warmer," the Wave said. Even through his mask, I could tell he was smiling.


    ''Warmer, but not there yet,'' I mused.


    Was I so simple? No, I wasn''t the sort to be driven by revenge, nor the desire for a worthy challenge. Those were factors, but they weren''t me.


    It came down to a simple question: What next?


    What would I do once I killed Scion? What would I do once the endbringers were gone? I could rule the world, or even the multiverse of earths. I could usher in a new era of magic and science. I could prove the two weren''t mutually exclusive as I innovated countless treasures and wonders that would boggle the human mind. I could¡­


    I banished the notion. That wasn''t me either; I was no emperor or god-king. I loathed shackles on my person; it was why the thought of Camille still made my heart clench. I couldn''t impose my rule on others. Not now, not ever.


    But Inspiration¡­ It was the act of creation that called to me.


    Ultimately, that was it. I wanted to inspire, but not control. Delight in the creation of others, but never possess them. I wanted to save, but not dominate. If this brief stint into Cauldron''s upper echelon had taught me anything, it was that responsibility did not suit me.


    Let another claim that crown, I decided. I for one would be glad for it.


    And yet, responsibility was mine nonetheless. It was not thrust upon me. Uncle Ben was wrong. With great power came great possibility. Responsibility¡­ Responsibility was something I had chosen to uphold of my own will.


    I''d chosen to make the world a better place. I''d chosen to join Cauldron. I''d chosen to become their moral compass.


    I''d chosen, and until I chose to lay down that crown, heavy it would sit on my head.


    I had my answer.


    I phrased my words carefully. "I seek the waves that bring new life. I seek to stem the winds that sweep away so many."


    "All things exist in balance, little star," the vulture warned. Every word made the air crawl with potential and dread in equal measure.


    "They do. The wind cannot be locked away, but I wish to temper the gale and nourish with new waters. I seek to give those in my care time to bloom before the inevitable storm."


    "A delay¡­ You can only defer so long¡­"


    I looked at her, at the Last Wind. Three million deaths¡­ "Then I seek to understand," I spoke solemnly.


    It was the First Wave who spoke. "A worthy answer, little star. You will ride the waves and winds. Call to us, and may you find your destiny."


    He did nothing special that I could tell, but the world around me faded to nothing. In moments, I was back in my room. The Mask was closer to being complete. I must have been carving even as I had my little spirit-quest, because the edge of one eyehole and brow now boasted an elaborate pattern of waves. Or perhaps it was the wind, so intricate was the detail that it was impossible to tell.


    X


    2001, July 13: Washington, DC, United States


    Building a gundam was hard work. Unfortunately, it was also officially unsanctioned work. Legally, a Ward was employed by the government, which meant we had to follow the local laws concerning the protection of minors from exploitation. Technically, in DC, that was forty-eight hours a week at the absolute most, but that law was written with the orphan looking after his two little brothers in mind. Most Wards in fact worked twenty-five hours, if that.


    I was already stretching things, not having school to worry about and all, but there was another problem: Wards couldn''t be knowingly asked to participate in A or S-class threat response.


    Strictly speaking, I was one of four Wards in the entire country with an official "S-class" loadout, that being my Dream Blossom Censer. If it were up to the bureaucracy, I wouldn''t have had that, but I''d made the Censer in a moment of extreme duress. The other three had similar stories.


    All that to say, I couldn''t be asked to make a gundam to punch Behemoth in the face. Officially. Which of course meant we, Rebecca, Eugene, and I, were doing it all unofficially on Babylon while using Rubedo''s potions-making as an excuse for my absence from the Madhouse.


    The release of Unsealed Spellbook and my foray into mass production taught me something: The "hextech" Champions I could make were not native to the Runeterra I knew. They belonged to an alternate universe from which the hextech line of skins could be sourced. There, a boom in magi-tech known as the Hextech Renaissance, took all of Runeterra by storm, to such a degree that Jarvan left his precious Demacia behind to experience the martial innovations of this new technology.


    I swore I''d get around to making Jarvan''s weird forked lance¡­ someday¡­


    That realization taught me that the World Rune was growing. Infinity couldn''t grow, not really, but it was taking on a different shade, my shade. Just as Inspiration shaped me, I was shaping it. Otherwise, there was no way for Inspiration to have drawn from that particular line of skins, a line that did not exist on the Runeterra it originated from.


    I suspected that it was only possible due to two factors: First was our strengthening connection. Just as the Mask Mother''s will seemed to bleed through to the Mask, my own will and desires were influencing the database Inspiration drew from. Second was that none of the principles were new or unusual. Hextech existed on its Runeterra so scaling up was permitted.


    We were in the early stages of planning and land all over that world was being zoned off for construction. There would be more hands-on things for me to do later, but at the moment, the best thing I could do was to build the Hex Core unique to Viktor and toss them all the blueprints for Piltover''s factories that I could.


    I carefully adjusted the last piece of wire that went into the Hex Core prototype. It looked a lot like Tony Stark''s arc reactor. In truth, that wasn''t an accident. If I could make an ice-zombies joke with my shoes, I could rip off one of the most brilliant engineers in fiction.


    No shame.


    As brilliant as Viktor was, the Hex Core he made did have room for improvements. I found that the easiest way to improve on his work was to incorporate some of the wonder-materials available all around Runeterra. Viktor, for all his genius, never had access to the sum total of that world''s expertise after all.


    This train of logic led me to produce brightsteel, the Petricite-infused metal used to armor the Demacia''s elite formations. It unfortunately wasn''t as hard as Neo-Petricite, but nor did I require Metalmaru''s cooperation. It would have been impossible to secure enough Neo-Petricite for Hextech Galio anyway.


    Brightsteel, like every rendition of Petricite, absorbed and stored mana. It was also magnetic, as expected of a ferrous derivative. The stored mana could then either be channeled elsewhere or fed back into the Hex Core using a series of electric currents to "overcharge" it for an exceptional output. Because it could be made to release mana on demand, brightsteel became an extremely important part of my new Hex Core design. Hell, with the way it insulated the rest of the device from magical currents, it could even be configured into a circuit breaker of sorts.


    Relic stone similarly had its place. I attuned a piece of it and used it as the base for my Hex Core, allowing it to draw mana directly from my soul, no matter how far away it was. In effect, I''d created a miniature version of Babylon''s Nexus. I decided on the relic stone because the same stone that channeled the "righteous will" of Sentinels into holy light would allow me to force through a far greater amount of mana from my soul than any other material I had access to.


    I''d even begun to draw prototypes of a cooling system for Hextech Galio and other hextech mechs. By forming a suspension fluid composed of the Water of Life and tiny shards of True Ice, I felt I could create something that would both negate any overheating problems and give my mechs the ability to self-repair to an extent.


    Bit by bit, my gear, no, my future, was coming together.


    "Oi!"


    I was brought out of my work by a wad of paper tossed at my head. I whirled, hissing like a wet cat and one hand already reaching for Isolde. "What?" I growled.


    It was Pyrotechnical. The usually jolly tinker rather miffed at the moment. "Don''t give me that, shorty. You''re supposed to be off on patrol in six minutes."


    I glanced at the clock. It was true, regrettably. "Yeah, sorry. I guess I worked through my alarm."


    "Tell me about it. Brickhouse would rather bug me to bug you than come here himself, you know that?"


    "Come on, I''m not that bad."


    "You wouldn''t be if you stopped trying to bite people''s heads off whenever we need you away from your lab for a moment. Otherwise, you ain''t bad. And don''t think I didn''t notice you reaching for your magic scissors."


    I folded my hands in front of me. "Sorry."


    "Just go to your patrol, Hyunmu. It''s just a few hours. Hear you''re doing the Potomac Route. That''s the best one."


    ''Yeah, I hear you. I''m going. You can stop nagging now."


    "Oi! I don''t nag!"


    "Sure, sure."


    "Brat," he griped.


    "Pepper Mario," I snarked back.


    "Isn''t it Paper Mario?"


    I grabbed my things and began walking to meet the Wards. I called back behind me. "Pepper, cause you think you''re hot shit."


    Author''s Note


    Well then¡­ This was a complex chapter. Not much I can say. Well, not much I want to say. So, have a plant fact!


    Cucumbers are berries. But blackberries and raspberries are not.


    Yes, you heard me right. Cucumbers, bananas, and pumpkins are berries. Botanical taxonomy is as weird as zoological taxonomy apparently.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.13 Scattered

    Scattered 5.13


    2001, July 13: Washington, DC, United States


    "It''s been a while since we went on patrol together, huh?" Jonathan, Brickhouse, said. It wouldn''t be long until he graduated from the Wards, perhaps a month at most.


    "It has," I agreed. I was decked out in full regalia, my cobalt-blue and gray armor matched with my shield. Isolde was left at a medium length and strapped to the small of my back like a strange shortsword. The Ymelo hovered behind me, occasionally pulsing an eerie blue for the benefit of passerby. "You won''t be a Ward for much longer so this might be the last one we have together."


    "You say that, but you''re already basically Protectorate."


    "Only because of my potions," I demurred. "And even then, I can never seem to make enough."


    The two of us walked in silence. We had been dropped off at the Southwest Waterfront and were told to walk along the Potomac until we reached the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. There, we were to do some PR work and sign a few autographs before skewing back east towards HQ. Overall, it was an easy walk, about an hour and a half, with an additional thirty to forty minutes thrown in for PR. It was one of our favorite patrol routes for the view if nothing else.


    I should be back in my lab in two and a half hours, a tolerable delay.


    Brickhouse broke the quiet. "Say, Hyunmu?"


    "What''s up?"


    "You ever feel like powers kind of¡­ screw you over?"


    I couldn''t help it. I laughed. "Hahahahaha."


    "Hey, I''m trying to have a serious conversation here."


    "Sorry, sorry. It just came out of left field. What brought this on?"


    "You. How you said you can never seem to have enough potions." He paused, mulling his words, before speaking again. "I''ve been thinking something similar too, you know? I mean, I''m not saving thousands of lives a week or anything, but¡­ I guess I''ve been feeling a little bit helpless¡­"


    "How so? Geokinesis is a strong power and you have good control and range. I''ve seen you fling yourself across the street so it''s not like you''re lacking mobility either. You''re probably one of the stronger capes in the city."


    "So I''ve been told. But that''s all fighting. I mean, I move dirt. I can even make new types of dirt. There''s got to be more I can do with it than throw mudballs at people¡­ Did you know I asked to go to Hyderabad?"


    That was news to me. "No, I didn''t. I though you needed to be an adult."


    "You need to be Protectorate. I''m eighteen now, but officially, ''Brickhouse'' isn''t, so I couldn''t go."


    "Realistically, there isn''t much you can do against Leviathan though. I suppose if you got there before he arrived, you could help set up a ton of wavebreakers. In the fight itself though?"


    "I know. I wanted to go help them build houses."


    "Oh¡­"


    "Yeah. Still too much apparently. Didn''t want to expose me to the aftermath, like I''m some dainty flower," he spoke through gritted teeth.


    That was unlike the Becky I knew. "Director Costa-Brown? I would have thought she''d jump at the chance to send you for support. Maybe under supervision, but still, she seems like the sort to let you go for the experience if nothing else."


    "No, she was fine with it. Mom wasn''t. She used my hero identity''s age to keep me here, something about the Youth Guard¡­ I mean, I get it. I do. No mother wants to watch her son go off to an endbringer fight, even days after. It''s just¡­"


    "You don''t feel like you''re doing enough," I finished for him. I could relate and I told him so. "Don''t take this the wrong way, but I''m really not in the mood for a patrol today. I have some stuff I really want to finish back at the lab."


    "Heh, so I heard. Why do you think I asked Pyro to get you? Didn''t want you trying to stab me."


    "Laugh it up. I''m not that bad."


    "You react like a drowned cat whenever someone drags you from tinkering."


    "I can''t help it," I whined. "It''s a tinker thing."


    "So I''ve been told. I''m not mad. You work harder than any other Ward I''ve ever met. Me included. I''m man enough to admit that."


    "But it''s never enough."


    "Hah. Guess not. Powers don''t solve problems, just give you the perspective to see bigger problems. You feel me?"


    ''Like you wouldn''t believe,'' I thought. I gave Brick''s clay pauldron a firm punch. "I feel you. Let''s just hurry up and get through the route."


    "Let''s."


    X


    I sighed. I really should have known better. Earth-Bet existed to fuck over my plans, however minor.


    The trouble started at the Kennedy Center. We set up shop in the Presidential Grove on the southern lawn of the center. Brickhouse made an impromptu pottery wheel and made a few simple vases while I read off a script in my back pocket via some not-byakugan hijinks. I didn''t know much about pottery, but I sure looked like I did and that''s all that mattered. We were about fourteen minutes into our demonstration when we heard a slew of angry shouting from behind us.


    "We''re sorry everyone, but we need to check that out," Brickhouse raised his voice, taking control of the crowd around us. The clay around him rose up into the air and melded back with his armor. "Hyunmu, can you see anything?"


    "I see people running out of the main building, but I can''t see too far inside."


    "Console, we might have an emergency. People are rapidly exiting the Kennedy Center. We''re going to go see what''s happening."


    "Parahuman hostiles?" came a nasally voice over comms. He wasn''t Agent Mitchell, so that was a plus in my book.


    "None we can see, sir."


    "Don''t enter. Hyunmu, scout the area. Brickhouse, protect him."


    "Yes, sir," Brickhouse said, but I could hear the frustration in his tone.


    It wasn''t long before I had the answer. "Stage Crew," I groaned. Showbiz had taken over the Hall of Nations and placed some kind of hardlight stage over the ticketing booth. I could see the original workers tied up in a cramped closet nearby. They weren''t exactly comfortable, but they were safe enough. "They''re taking ''admission fees'' to some magic show or other. Who''s Halo?"


    "Not important. Console?"


    "You can engage. Prioritize civilian protection and evacuation. Reinforcements en route. Twelve minutes."


    I groaned. I had Galio to prep for. I had the Mask to carve. I had an improved potion recipe I needed to test. I had defenses I''d been meaning to make for mom. There were a million and one demands on my time and I was stuck dealing with these fucking clowns.


    Two hours for patrol? Fine. Throw in these idiots? Not fine.


    "Any chance we can ditch and let the Protectorate handle this?" I whispered back.


    "Negative. They''ve got bigger concerns than Stage Crew. Hero just returned from Hyderabad and will be heading out again this evening, as will Bluesong. Nor should our heroes be seen running."


    "Cheer up, Hyunmu. They''re not dangerous."


    "That''s not why I don''t want to put up with them." The two of us began to powerwalk towards the Center. "Why now?"


    "It is a little weird. The last time they did something like this was two months ago and it was a bank heist. They had that teleportation box and grabbed a hostage so they got away with $28,000. Not a lot, but it''s always been about the pageantry with them. Maybe we should have expected the Kennedy Center at some point."


    I grunted something less than polite back. Then we were inside.


    The moment we stepped inside the hall, a pair of Showbiz''s drones marked us with two spotlights. Brickhouse flinched back at the unexpected brightness and Prestige took it as his cue to speak.


    "Ah, heroes of the hour. Welcome, Brickhouse and the littlest Ward," he said, enunciating over the crowd. The suit and bowtie he wore was supposed to make him look dashing, like an elegant magician, but I couldn''t help but compare him to Fortuna''s understated poise and find him wanting. In his hand was a stereotypical collapsible baton that every fifth grader owned at some point or other. Inside, I could see some mechanisms that were likely Showbiz''s work, though I couldn''t tell what they did exactly. "August personages or not, I''m afraid you''re still going to have to pay admission if you want to see this show."


    Brickhouse let out a longsuffering sigh. I was glad to see that I wasn''t the only one fed up with their shit. "Why are you here, Prestige?" he asked. Behind him, I popped open two pills, one gray and one red. If Brickhouse could get them to back down, great, but I doubted it. I breathed in as the two elixirs set in. Behind me, I could see the Ymelo begin to pulse softly, acting as a buttress against Wrath even as Iron made me grow.


    "Why else? We''re charging admission to Halo''s magic show."


    "Since when do you try to toll for a show you''re not hosting? Isn''t there something about artistic integrity?"


    "Ah, but that''s exactly what this is about. Halo''s gimmicks are a shoddy copy of our own magnificence, so it''s only fair that we take our cut. Artistic integrity. You understand," he shot back. Behind his mask, I could see his eyes tighten with anger. Whoever or whatever "Halo" was, I could only assume they knew each other. Or maybe, they''d seen one of Stage Crew''s past productions and decided to turn it into a professional routine. It didn''t matter.


    "No, I''m afraid I don''t."


    "You can''t possibly be making much money from this," I cut in. "Your power is transmutation of nonliving matter. Why not just retire and join a corporate team? Turn a deck of playing cards into gold and make some priceless collectables. I can think of half a dozen ideas to make more money than rob an artistic nonprofit. Are you really this uncreative?"


    "I''m afraid that would ruin the prestige," he replied smugly. "It''s in the name, turtle-boy. It''s not about the money, but the art."


    "Nothing he makes lasts longer than twenty-four hours," Brickhouse chimed in with the more likely reason. "Trust me. It is about the money and if he had options, he wouldn''t be here acting the fool."


    That set the two off, bickering with one another over the "value of art" or somesuch. While they were talking, I took a closer look around. I didn''t want to be blindsided by Masquerade or something. That''d truly be humiliating.


    Off to the side, I could see Showbiz messing with some kind of switchboard. The tinker was wearing a new top hat and half-cape draped over one shoulder. Both were tinkertech. He''d also upped his drone count from the first time I saw him. I counted eight hardlight drones supporting the stage, eight more behind him hidden from view, two spotlights on us, and four more with Masquerade, probably to provide their thinker with some protection.


    Masquerade had been busy snagging some fat cat''s fancy watch but stopped so he could start to flank us. In his hands was a cane that I could tell was a stun gun repurposed into a prop. Despite being the lowest priority, I made a note to watch my words. His ability to determine truth from lies was an irritating one and unless I strictly spoke about metaphysicals or things I myself was unsure about, I could accidentally offer up too much intel.


    "Enough," I cut in again, my annoyance clear. This time, I made sure to let my mana flow through both my armor and weapon. Frosty mist began to fill the area, causing an effect similar to dry ice. "You are robbing people a mere seven days after Leviathan. Do you truly have no shame?"


    Prestige spread his arms wide and shot us a smug grin. "Ah, but it''s been long enough that we''re not interfering in endbringer response. Hence, we''re not breaking the truce."


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I couldn''t. I just¡­ couldn''t. It wasn''t any one thing. All the accumulated annoyances and stress boiled over: Babylon. My self-imposed exposure therapy. Leviathan. Terminus. Nemesis. The Mask. Galio. At the end of the day, I knew that Prestige, Masquerade, and Showbiz weren''t unique. They were just one of a thousand "not that bad" criminals across the states that got the nod from society because they weren''t important enough to matter.


    I remembered a year ago, seemed like forever, how when I first met these clowns, Agent Mitchell told me then that if they were ever brought in, they would be transferred out of the city, to Protectorate branches across the states to pad some numbers. I decided then that they weren''t worth my time, that I didn''t approve of pressganging and so wouldn''t go out of my way to capture them.


    Behind me, the Ymelo shone like a blue fireball, a will-o-wisp that soothed the senses. I felt an artificial calm take hold of the complicated cocktail of emotions and my soul became as the great mirror of the Salar de Uyuni. I made my choice. We already had permission to engage.


    Looking at Prestige''s smug smirk, I thought different now. "Fine. Rebrand them. As long as I don''t have to have these idiots cut into my tinker time," I muttered lowly.


    "Copy, Hyunmu?"


    "Nothing, Console." I glared at Prestige, not that he could tell with my mask. Something dark welled up in me. Perhaps it was a whisper of the Waves and Wind, but I found their casual dismissal of Hyderabad intolerable. "I have had it with you. This isn''t about the letter of the endbringer truce. This is about respect. Three million passed away and here you are, insistent on pursuing a petty vendetta. Enough. You have two choices: Withdraw or surrender."


    My Wards Leader looked at the emerging mist with obvious trepidation. "Hyunmu? You sure about this?"


    "I''m sure. Protect the civilians."


    "What are you planning?"


    "Nothing," I said truthfully, my voice filled with a deathly calm. "A plan implies they are opponents. They are not. They are stress relief."


    "Ohoho, is the littlest Ward making ultimatums?" He stalked off the stage, twirling his baton like he belonged in a marching band. It was so very typical of Prestige to be as flamboyant as possible, a peacock that didn''t know when to tuck tail and run. He put one finger to his chin in an exaggerated thinking posture. "Hmm¡­ Withdraw or surrender. Showbiz, what do you say?"


    The chubby stagehand-tinker grinned down from his switchboard. They weren''t taking me seriously. "I don''t know, how ''bout neither?"


    "Masq?"


    "Three against two. We like them odds," came Masquerade''s voice from behind me and Brickhouse, stun-cane raised like a fencer''s foil. He probably thought he was being stealthy but I''d marked him before we even entered the hall. "You couldn''t stop us when you had numbers."


    "You heard them, turtle-boy, we''re going to sit tight and hang around. You don''t mind, do you?"


    I breathed deep and began to call the wellspring of power in my soul. Beneath my armor, mana flooded through my bloodstream, strengthening me in an art passed down since the time of the Vastayashai''rei. I was no Lee Sin. The Dragon of Ionia did not live through me. I could not wield its flames with iron discipline nor rout armies nor reshape mountains.


    But I was more than enough.


    I was calm; the Ymelo made it so.


    I treasured life; the Hallowed Mist made it so.


    I respected death; the Waves and Wind made it so.


    "Calm" and "passive" were very different things.


    "Brickhouse, please protect the civilians," I repeated. He took one look at my face and decided to just roll with it. It was out of line for me to command my senior in the field, but age be damned, respect for my abilities was a lesson I''d literally beaten into the Wards over a year of grueling sparring sessions. Slowly, like a cat only now uncurling from its nap, I spread my legs and sank into a familiar stance. I looked up at the two members of Stage Crew and made zero effort to acknowledge the third. "Then you will suffer."


    Caught by the venom in my promise, they were woefully unprepared for my burst in speed. To be truthful, I was nearly caught flatfooted as well; it wasn''t often that I relied on both elixirs and mana reinforcement simultaneously.


    I crossed the gap to the stage, weaving in between the shocked spectators with casual fluidity. I jumped and nailed Prestige in the chest with a snap kick that had us both flying clear off their hardlight stage.


    I had enough presence of mind to pull my kick a little so his ribs wouldn''t shatter like glass. Still, I glanced under and saw that beneath his shirt, Prestige wore some kind of padded armor. He''d also seemingly turned his suit vest into metal in time to take the brunt of the blow.


    ''Good. Don''t let this be boring now,'' I thought grimly. If they were going to waste my time, I was going to make sure to test as many features of my new gear as possible in a combat scenario.


    "Gah!" he coughed, his armor doing not nearly enough to protect him fully. His breath was driven from his lungs and he''d be sporting a bruise the shape of my White Walker come morning. Then, he ragdolled across the floor while I landed in a graceful crouch.


    Seeing their leader temporarily out of the fight, I turned to face Showbiz, wisps of mist and ice flurries dancing around me.


    I was mildly surprised and a little bit impressed when the spotlight drone that had been marking me descended to my eye-level. It had managed to track my sudden burst of speed and now let out a bright flash that would have blinded anyone else.


    And then that surprise turned to irritation. His tech was fine, good even. This was one more proof that they could do so much better. I wasn''t sure what bothered me more about Stage Crew, their irreverence or their wasted potential.


    My hand whipped out, fingers dragging along the mist until they pulled talons of ice that tore the nuisance to ribbons.


    By then, Showbiz had recovered from his initial shock. The eight drones behind him came to life, launching dozens of hardlight constructs in the shape of playing cards in my general direction.


    I clenched my fist, shattering the frozen claws, and picked up the relic pistol. We descended into a duel of quantity versus quality. A hail of cards rushed towards me, only to freeze in midair to my enhanced senses. With my new eyes, missing became all but impossible and I fired off light bullet after light bullet, shooting down anything that might possibly hit people behind me.


    Several playing cards struck the Blitzshield, exploding with surprising force. A single burst of the Hallowed Mist would have been enough to shield my side, but I allowed him to think he had a shot. Across from me on the opposite side of the stage, I saw Brickhouse raising walls out of the surrounding marble flooring, making cover for the civilians on his side.


    "You good, Hyunmu?" he checked in on me.


    "Fine. I was waiting for you. Got everyone?"


    "Heh, yeah. Give ''em hell."


    Bulwark raised, I dropped the distraction and put the gun away. Isolde enlarged from the small of my back, becoming the size of a longsword in the span of a single breath. I felt the swell of its handle fit into my palm and whipped it out, calling on the Hallowed Mist.


    I called and it was as though the Queen of Camavor answered. The Hall of Nations was flooded with an eerie mist that whispered of life, death, and wonder in the same breath. Every playing card shattered into motes of light as though they ran into Alexandria.


    I dashed forward, completely ignoring Showbiz''s increasingly desperate barrage. He must have seen me like the blurry shape of a shark lurking beneath the waves, because he flipped his cape outward. The cape stiffened into a sheet. No, not a sheet, I realized, but a flying carpet.


    It would have been an impressive trick, but I didn''t much care for the tinker. The dash was a feint. I skid to a stop and fell to one knee, before bringing the Blitzshield around in front of me like I was ready to block a mighty blow.


    Rather than block, the Blitzshield bloomed to life. Every playing card that struck the shield had fueled it, the Neo-Petricite absorbing the energy used to form the constructs. Now, with a flood of my own mana, that stored energy was released in a torrent. The augmentations inspired by Zeri''s electric rifle paid dividends in the form of a cone of electromagnetic force that crashed onto the stage.


    All sixteen drones, eight that maintained the stage and eight that were shooting at me, fell like puppets with cut strings. In a single motion, Showbiz was reduced to whatever he had on his person. I took a moment to regret the lack of anything to Mark with that burst. Pulling a Cap would''ve been fun.


    "What the fuck?"


    I made to jump towards Showbiz so I could knock him out of the air, but I saw Prestige stand back up. Across the hall, Masquerade was getting ready to surprise my leader. His mask must have been tinkertech of some sort because he now wore the face of a middle-aged man. The bulwark raised by Brickhouse had protected anything held by Masquerade from the EMP.


    I growled in frustration and made my choice. "Brick, behind you. Masquerade is disguised," I barked into the comms.


    In the same moment, I whirled and lashed out with a slash that met Prestige''s own wand. He''d turned it into some kind of metal and expanded it before capping the ends in diamond.


    "You''ve been holding out on us, turtle-boy," he snarled.


    I said nothing. Instead, I parried his staff to the side with a twist and pivoted my back foot into a textbook side kick. It became painfully apparent that Prestige, for all his bombastic flair, had zero experience in hand to hand combat. Made sense, but I couldn''t help but feel a little disappointed.


    I refused to rely on Iron or Wrath to simply overpower him. Instead, I matched him strike for strike and relished in the increasing desperation on his face.


    I was calm. Annoyed. Irritated. Frustrated. But calm, calm enough to think. Calm enough to hold back. Calm enough to demonstrate precisely the gap between us.


    Isolde bit deep, splitting his baton in twain as I punched forward with my left hand. He dropped one half and reached out to grab my hand, thinking to transmute my armor into something else, maybe cancel out my augmented strength. It didn''t work. Ice built up like a snowball rolling downhill, keeping his fingers from contacting my armor. I didn''t think he''d be able to affect the Neo-Petricite shell, but I also wasn''t willing to let him try.


    The ice on my wrist turned into rigid concrete, but my fist wasn''t slowed in the least, Wrath more than making up for the weight. All it did was put more mass behind the strike and for the second time that day, air fled his lungs and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.


    I wanted to finish him then and there, but Showbiz forced me to pay him more attention. He''d removed his top hat and pulled out some kind of laser rope like a circus ringmaster. His flying carpet swept down to try and lasso me, making me dodge aside.


    "Prestige!" The opening in his hat then enlarged, firing a salvo of everything vaguely magic related. I saw darts shaped like roses, doves, more playing cards, balls, and even a small swarm of butterflies.


    I flipped out of the way and jumped into the air. It was as good a testing environment as I''d get so I activated the White Walkers. Clouds formed beneath my feet as I wove between the rain of projectiles.


    "Fuck he hits hard!"


    "Yeah well, my drones are dead. We need time."


    "Give me a divider."


    Showbiz twirled his hat and a set of curtains flowed into place between us. With a touch, they turned to diamond.


    "Cut that you little shi-"


    I obliged. I poured enough mana into Isolde to make it gleam like sapphires before tearing through the layer of diamond like a plasma torch through rice paper.


    Showbiz hadn''t been idle. He pulled out a second curtain, which hardened into diamond at Prestige''s touch.


    I cut through that too.


    "Fuck! What the hell is this shit?" Prestige was losing his cool now. Another curtain went up. I thought about jumping over it, but this wasn''t about taking them down anymore. It was about proving a point.


    I braced myself and pulled back my shield arm. I activated the Ghost enchantment on my White Walkers and jumped. Clouds formed beneath my feet, letting me run until I hung parallel to the ground. Motes of turquoise light cloaked my shoes as I spun, gathering momentum. Then, I brought down the edge of my shield like an ax against the diamond wall.


    Diamond met Petricite and diamond shattered like glass.


    Showbiz had taken my little moment of showboating and grabbed his leader before throwing down a pellet on the ground. Said pellet exploded into a plume of red smoke. Inside, I saw the two vanish, replaced by six doves. I didn''t know what they were, but each made to leave the building so I decided to shoot them down.


    Isolde spread its blades apart and spun like a windmill, sending three spirit-needles and thread from its spiked handle. Each pierced a dove, only for the doves to fade and the needles to pass straight through and embed themselves into a wall.


    ''No mass,'' I noted, ''not hardlight then.''


    I swept the threads in Isolde''s teeth and tossed another set. This time, two of the doves flew downward before they were struck.


    I noticed something different about them. It was hard to describe. They had no mass like the others, but they seemed to ripple and fade. The impression I got was that they were reflections of sorts. My eyes couldn''t see through them, but there was something lurking beneath the surface.


    I was right. When these two faded, the two villains emerged from a wormhole that appeared.


    ''Short-range teleportation based on a vanishing act then.''


    I didn''t let them get up. Prestige reached for something in his pocket, a ring that made him invisible. A second later, Showbiz likewise disappeared from view. Showbiz had clearly upgraded his tech. It didn''t matter. I lazily tossed Isolde into the air and watched it spin. In a split second, the relic pistol was back in my hand and I fired two shots into empty space. I saw both men collapse with a thud.


    I holstered my pistol and caught my new favorite weapon on its way down, shrinking it until it fit snugly into a strap on the small of my back. Walking over, I pulled off the two rings and they shimmered into view.


    My side taken care of, I turned back to check on their last member and my Wards Leader.


    I froze.


    All around the pair, the five drones Showbiz had left were rendered into so much scrap. Several of them had marble spikes sticking out of them and one of them was clenched in a stone fist like some strange art piece.


    That wasn''t what caught my attention.


    "Shit, how the hell did they lose to the midget?" Masquerade said, one arm wrapped around a young boy about my age. That explained why Brick hadn''t buried the thinker. Without any way to see through the disguise tech, he had no way to track his target and he was too busy protecting civilians from incoming projectiles.


    "Oh, you''re done, Hyunmu?" Brickhouse greeted as I walked up. "Seriously, Masquerade? It''d have been a small miracle if they managed to win. He''s stronger than me."


    "Bullshit!"


    My leader shrugged. "What''s your power telling you? Little guy''s a monster. Now give it up already and go to jail like a normal person."


    "Fuck you, I''m not going to jail. You let me go and he doesn''t have to get hurt," he said, jabbing the crying kid with his staff.


    "Really? You''re resorting to a hostage?" I drawled. "Awfully clich¨¦ for a creative."


    "Shut up, if you hadn''t escalated this wouldn''t be happening!"


    I stopped. "Have I escalated? Yes¡­ I suppose I have. See, you''re also escalating, involving civilians. It was fine when it was just heroes and villains, but now, now you''ve given me a reason to get serious. You sure you want to do this?"


    He started to drag the boy out towards the exit. "Fuck you. If you follow, he''s going to get hurt. You hear me?"


    "Conso-"


    I put a hand on Brick''s arm. "Don''t bother."


    The Hexflash I''d been channeling activated and I vanished in a shower of golden sparks before emerging behind Masquerade, hand already clamped over his stun-cane. It sparked as I crushed it to pieces. I wedged a rising knee between him and the kid, driving the air from his lungs.


    In the moment, I forgot to account for one fact: He wasn''t Prestige. He had minimal armor. I heard ribs snap like matchsticks even as the ice echo that followed pushed the child away.


    "Gugh," he let out a gurgled cry before collapsing to his knees. Just in case, I shoved a health pill into his mouth and massaged his throat roughly until he swallowed. Then, I slapped his chin lightly to knock him out.


    "There. That''s everything."


    "Yeah, good work, Hyunmu. I didn''t know you could teleport." Brickhouse nodded my way and with a wave of his hand, the marble bulwarks that had protected most of the civilians sank back into the flooring.


    "Something I''ve been saving."


    "I swear, you tinkers make new powers whenever you want."


    I smirked goodnaturedly. "That''s us. Our power is to build powers."


    Just then, we began to hear the telltale PRT sirens. "Looks like cavalry''s here."


    I looked around at the Hall of Nations. There were tiny holes where I''d had my spirit-needles and a bit of singing of the carpet where my Blitzshield fired its EMP, but other than that, the hall looked mostly pristine. "Good. Can I go back to my lab now?"


    "This is Console," our comms sparked to life. "The chief director would like a word."


    "Oh, for fuck''s sake¡­"


    Author''s Note


    I build characters like most people build a house: Foundation up, sure, but also over a full fucking year. Yes, I''m aware that the pacing of my stories tends to be very slow. I''ve yet to find a single satisfactory way for me to fix it.


    Didn''t want to leave Stage Crew''s fight for the next chapter so there you go. I''m not a fan of hilariously stompy fights, but at this point, Andy''s quite a bit beyond what a normal cape can accomplish, especially when one is a tinker who loses most of his firepower to an EMP. In reality, Brickhouse''s performance is more in line with what can be expected of a Ward.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 5.14 Scattered

    Scattered 5.14


    2001, July 13: Washington, DC, United States


    After the fiasco at the Kennedy Center, the three members of Stage Crew had been rounded up by our reinforcements. Prestige was then shackled in Petricite, just about the only material he couldn''t turn into tissue paper or something. I''d likely have to feed Showbiz a dose of Petricite Elixir down the line, if only to keep his tinkering urges at bay.


    While the PRT troopers escorted the villains into their holding cells, Brickhouse, myself, and Agent Preston, the man on comms, had been ushered into the chief director''s office. I was surprised by how young the agent looked. He couldn''t have been much older than Brickhouse.


    I looked around Rebecca''s office with open curiosity. It was fascinating to me, not least because I was only one of a handful of people in DC who knew both her identities. As Alexandria, she was an uncompromising figure who bulldozed through red tape like a bull through a china shop. She got immediate results and gave zero fucks about anything beyond the mission. She''d arrive, find the problem in a few minutes of thinker-backed investigation, and punch it into paste before flying off that same afternoon. That directness was what made her so feared among villains.


    As Rebecca Costa-Brown, she had a slightly different reputation. She still presented herself as a stern, no-nonsense kind of woman, but she wasn''t as unyielding. She was more "human," reserving softer, kinder smiles for those nominally in her confidence. As the chief director, she was seen as the icon, the peak of what a normal human could be, a woman of peerless morals and boundless empathy for the American people.


    I found it hilarious that her two personas unofficially loathed each other. The running theory in the organization was that the only way for the PRT to host both type-A women was to station them across the country from each other.


    Her office reflected her character, with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with countless tomes that covered everything from parahuman law to marketing and public relations. There wasn''t much in the way of personal decorations, but that was on-brand for her. A large picture of her shaking hands with Earth-Bet''s Bill Clinton hung on the wall behind her. It was a picture of the official formation of the PRT in 1993. On her desk was a smaller picture of her and the four founders. It spoke volumes that I couldn''t tell which of them in the picture, Alexandria or the chief director, was the body double.


    "Would you care to tell me why you allowed two Wards to engage a gang of criminals while outnumbered, agent?" Rebecca, Chief Director Costa-Brown at the moment, spoke with an icy fury that made Agent Preston wilt in his seat.


    "I¡­ That is¡­" he stuttered. Strictly speaking, Stage Crew was "safe," a villain team that was permitted to run wild so the Wards could cut their teeth against parahuman opponents. But such was her presence that he couldn''t even think to defend himself. That, or he was new.


    "I believe your immediate superior is Captain Saunders. The three of us will have a chat about why he left a rookie to oversee console. And you, Brickhouse. What possessed you to permit a junior Ward to take the lead against three villains?"


    He gulped audibly. I could see beads of sweat run down his back, but he was made of sterner stuff. "Ma''am, in my defense, Hyunmu''s abilities are greatly understated. He consistently defeats myself, Verdeer, and Gold Rush in our spars even in a three on one. I did not believe him to be in any danger."


    "I am aware of his abilities. That things turned out well enough is why you will not be reprimanded more severely. Nonetheless, your priority should have been to deescalate and draw civilians from the line of fire. Am I wrong?"


    "No, ma''am."


    She let out an exaggerated sigh. "It''s good that you understand. Still, you performed excellently within the framework of the mistake you made. You allowed your more offensive and versatile teammate to draw their attention while you protected the civilians using your power. Well done."


    "Th-Thank you, ma''am."


    "Don''t thank me yet. As things stand, you lost control of your command. You will join some of my troopers in leadership seminars over the next month. Are we clear?"


    "Yes, ma''am."


    "Hyunmu."


    "Yes, ma''am?"


    "You usurped command and acted on your own. Results aside, you are clearly unfit for patrols. You are being removed from the active roster until further notice. Are we clear?"


    I nodded, recognizing it for the prize it was. She was punishing me, nominally, but had in truth given me precisely what I wanted. "Yes, ma''am," I replied dutifully.


    "Good. Agent Preston, Brickhouse, you are dismissed."


    Agent Preston walked out with his shoulder slumped, all trace of military professionalism forgotten at the thought of his future reaming. I doubted this "Captain Saunders" would be happy with him. Brickhouse on the other hand made to protest what he thought was an additional scolding for me, but thought better of it when he saw the chief director''s glare.


    The door closed, leaving me with Rebecca alone.


    "We''re clear," she said. "We can speak freely."


    I sighed and shot her a wan smile. "Sorry if today ruined some of your plans for Stage Crew," I said, because I couldn''t imagine that she had none.


    She waved me off. "Not important. They were supposed to be transferred out eventually anyway so this just accelerates things on our end."


    "Lovely. So do you always make new agents piss themselves?"


    "One of my few joys in life. But let''s talk about you. What brought this about?"


    "I don''t know what you mean. I saw villains. I engaged."


    "You gave all three minor concussions and from what I''ve gathered, did a lot more to Masquerade. If you hadn''t force-fed him a potion immediately after, he''d be in critical condition, correct?"


    "I misjudged that last one," I admitted. "Prestige had a lot more armor and turned his suit vest into different materials to absorb the impact."


    "You did, but that''s not what I''m asking so stop being obtuse. You are not a reckless man, Andy. Nor are you a man who enjoys causing pain or lording your power over others. What brought this on?"


    "Hey, if I wanted them dead, they would be," I said defensively.


    "And you''re moving the goalposts. Stop it. Yes, you held back, but you also revealed far more of your tricks than you normally would have. Now, what happened."


    "Leviathan happened," I deflated. "Three million died and I just¡­ I couldn''t do anything. All my knowledge, all my tech, and¡­ none of it mattered."


    "Do you really need me to tell you that it wasn''t your fault?"


    "Of course not," I spat bitterly. "I''ve heard all the platitudes. I guess¡­ I guess I was already in a shitty mood. Being on a meaningless patrol made me feel worse. And then¡­ they had the gall to attack so soon after the truce, acting like it was someone else''s tragedy, someone else''s problem. When I heard it was because of some personal hate-boner they had for whoever the fuck Halo is, I just¡­ I wanted to make a point."


    "Well you''ve certainly made one," she said dryly. "Congratulations, you''re famous now. Videos are already circling the webs, some new website called Parahumans Online. You just might be the first big hit on that site."


    That made me pause. As far as I knew, Parahumans Online, PHO, was the side project of Dragon, Richter''s pet AI. I knew for a fact that Dragon was made before May 2005, Leviathan''s attack on Newfoundland, but I wasn''t sure if she was active already. Was she? A "side project" did not mean she had to be the original creator. She could have just picked it up after Richter died and¡­ Richter was known to make a handful of dumber AIs and set them loose on the web to stop cybercrimes and mess with villains¡­ And¡­ Dragon could not fork¡­


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    That certainly was worth thinking about, but later.


    I resorted to my tried and true mask of snarky sarcasm to hide my musings. "Joy. Do I get an ice cream flavor named after me?"


    "If you want. You''re off patrols while we let things ride. Happy?"


    "Like you wouldn''t believe. Thanks for that, Becky."


    "Chief director here."


    "Chief director," I acquiesced with a bitter smile.


    She let out a small sigh that I wasn''t sure was faked. "In a way, I suppose this is partly my fault. I should have expected this. You matter, Andy."


    "What?"


    "You matter."


    "I know I matter. That''s not really wha-"


    "You matter," she cut me off, "as more than just a Cauldron executive or Contessa''s prot¨¦g¨¦. You matter as Rubedo, as a hero. There are few in this world who have changed the nature of endbringer fights like you. Since your potions, more capes have been willing to stand in the line of fire, even if it''s only to perform rescue operations. After the fighting was done, we received volunteers from every corner of the world, twenty-two percent more than last year. Just knowing they have a possible safety net is enough to make people reconsider their stances on entering a disaster zone."


    "Why would having more potions make them want to volunteer?"


    "Several of our puppet companies offered favorable contracts to those nations who sent relief."


    "Figures. You can always trust human greed."


    "Quite. But however it was done, the truth is that you matter. I¡­ I do not change," she said, softer, almost as though it was painful to admit. "Under the makeup, I am still the young woman I was when I drank the vial. Every memory is imprinted on my mind as though carved for all time in stone. I am static. And because of it, I find understanding the emotional health of others a challenge."


    ''Is¡­ Is Rebecca Costa-Brown being¡­ self-aware right now¡­?'' I couldn''t believe it. I didn''t know she could do that. Then I barked a laugh at the absurdity of my own thought; now really wasn''t the time.


    "You don''t have to look so surprised, Andy. I am not unaware of my own faults, though I cannot correct them so easily."


    She brought up something on her computer and swiveled the monitor around. It was an email address, one of dozens of addresses maintained by the PRT for general inquiries, press releases, and announcements. It was an email address dedicated to Rubedo, to me.


    "I did not account for your emotional health. Maturity can only carry you so far. A phenomenal power can only make you so great. At the core of it all, there must be a foundation of personal strength, a reason to fight if you wish to be melodramatic. I once asked Eugene why he insists on taking the Wards to Disneyland or funding their videogame nights. Do you know what he told me?"


    "No."


    "He said, ''It''s so I remember why Cauldron exists.'' I do not need that reminder, but It seems I''ve failed to consider that you might." She gestured to the monitor. "Read them. They''re all for you."


    So I did.


    "''Dear Rubedo, I don''t know if you read these, but thank you. You''re why I still have a dad¡­'' ''Rubedo, thanks for making sure I have a little sister¡­'' ''Dear Rubedo, that new Rejuvenation Elixir regrew my dad''s arm¡­'' ''Dear Rubedo¡­''" I looked up at her after several more, tears stinging my eyes. I knew what she was doing. It was blatant emotional manipulation and she wasn''t trying to hide it. But not every manipulation had to be negative.


    "You matter," she said simply. "You matter in ways no one in Cauldron ever has before. The last attack felt crushing, didn''t it? Every hero felt it. Keith. Eugene. David. Me. Even Fortuna in her own way. It''s a heavy burden."


    "I know¡­ I thought I knew," I said softly. "I guess it''s only now crashing down on me."


    "Did you know? Eugene was against you joining Cauldron even after saving his life? This was why. The weight of the world¡­ It''s not for such young shoulders to bear. But you chose to bear it anyway. Now stand. Stand and rise above because you don''t need to bear it alone."


    "Really? Can you sound any cornier? Anyone ever tell you you''re shit at pep talks?"


    She smirked. "Why do you think I leave the speeches to Keith?"


    "Touch¨¦."


    "Now get out of my office and pretend to be suitably chastised."


    I stood and gave her a wan smile, snapping off a sarcastic salute. "Yes, ma''am."


    X


    "Huh, so that was a thing then," Raquel said, popping a mini pizza roll into her mouth. She, Yasmine, Penelope, David, and I were on a large video call as per our weekly ritual since David and I moved out of Phoenix. I''d gotten through telling them about my shitshow of a day.


    "Way to go, brat. You kicked their asses," Jazz grinned.


    "Jazz, that''s not a good thing," Penelope chided. "He got scolded by the chief director and put off patrols."


    "To be fair, that''s kind of what I wanted."


    "You could at least try to look remorseful."


    "I could, but I''m not. I mean, I probably shouldn''t have kicked Masquerade that hard, but he took a hostage first. I''m not going to pretend what I did was right, but it was a spur of the moment thing, you know?"


    She ran a hand through her blonde locks. "I do, believe it or not. It''s hard when the world is made of tissue."


    "It''s a weird feeling for sure. I need more practice. Anyway, what''s up with you guys?"


    "Not much," David started. "Nothing crazy happens in Albuquerque. I stopped a carjacking here and there, brought in some drug dealers, but no actual fighting."


    "Is that good or bad?"


    "Ehh, a bit of both? Don''t get me wrong, I''m really happy that Josie gets to live in a safe neighborhood and all, but I''m starting to feel a little antsy. There are only a few gangs here and only MSXIII is big enough to make an issue of anything."


    "Must be nice," Penelope sighed. "We still have Dos Caras."


    "Wait, still?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I would have thought Royalle or Oathkeeper would have bagged him already."


    "He''s a trump that can flay people alive on contact, peels off people''s faces, then uses said faces as a medium to channel their powers. He''s dangerous and unpredictable."


    "Yeah, but isn''t Royalle''s power to be selectively immune or something?"


    "He can become immune to and copy any power he sees being used on him, up to three at a time. Eidolon-lite basically. But those are pretty big requirements. He needs to see it coming and survive the first hit."


    "Point. That sucks. What happened to all the control wards I sent?"


    "They stopped being useful." She saw my expression and said hastily, "Not that they''re not useful, but that Dos Caras replaced his faces. He doesn''t have La Llorona''s mist anymore so he''s not a stranger. It turns out that the faces still rot, so he''s got a limit to how long he can keep them around."


    "Yeah, shit''s fucked," Jazz added. "Right now, he''s got some indie villain named Chupacabra and Beartrap from the Crips."


    "I know Beartrap. Not Chupacabra though."


    "He was a changer. Turned into this creepy, pale, bat-thing that can''t actually fly but still has webbed fingers for some reason. Pretty good brute power and had a straw-beak-thing that could drain someone''s blood like a mosquito. More blood he drinks, the stronger he gets. Now that Caras has the power, he''s using Beartrap''s snares to hold targets while he feeds and gets stronger."


    I considered it. With his current powerset, Dos Caras could likely escape anyone in the Phoenix roster, if not outright kill them. I could make Oathkeeper Yasuo''s sword, but without his techniques, it''d be wasted. Something inside recoiled at gifting one of my creations to someone who''d squander it, intentionally or not. "Penny, you''re not hunting for him, are you?"


    "Nah, there''s still Bone Maiden and Parade on the Crips'' side and Stampede, Scorpion, and Lockjaw on the Peckerwoods'' side. I don''t think I can beat him in a fight as I am."


    "Good," David said. "I don''t want you anywhere near that psycho."


    "Love you too, babe."


    "Well you guys be careful," I said. I made a note to make something for Penny, just in case she got sent after Caras. "I''ll send you a few more potions when I can."


    "I still can''t believe you cracked mass production."


    We shot the breeze for a while longer, catching up on our personal lives. I didn''t have much to share on my end, but I was happy to hear that David had decided to study forensics on his off time to prime himself a promotion as more than just cape muscle. Admittedly, I tuned out here and there when Jazz started talking about how upset she was with her boyfriend Poundtown because he forgot their anniversary or somesuch.


    "So, movies?" Raquel asked hopefully. I could see her eyes practically sparkling.


    "Yeah, sure. Let''s watch knockoff Dresden," I snarked.


    "Hey, Maggie Holt is nothing like the Dresden Files!"


    "A paranormal urban fantasy revolving around a secret society where a young initiate tackles vampires and other supernatural creatures? Maggie Holt is Earth-Bet''s Dresden Files."


    "Andy, stop trying to rile up Raquel," Penelope said.


    "Yeah, jerk."


    "And Raq, stop letting him."


    "Fine, fine," I smiled. "Let''s watch some Maggie Holt."


    "Hey guys, do you mind if Josie joins us?" David called. "Mask up and all, but she''s a huge Maggie Holt fan too."


    "Yes! We can meet your little sister!" Raquel squealed.


    "Thanks, start with the first, Penny."


    "Coming right up¡­"


    I grabbed a domino mask and leaned back with a smile as David''s little sister charmed the girls. Was this the most productive use of my time? No, absolutely not. But then again, as Becky said, perhaps I ought to remember why Cauldron exists.


    Perhaps, it was for moments like these¡­


    Author''s Note


    I¡­ I''m not sure how I feel about his one. I definitely didn''t mean for Rebecca Costa-Brown of all people to give Andy a pep talk, but here we are. Sometimes, the scenes really do write themselves. That said, I think it''s good overall. It showed Rebecca as a dynamic character beyond just what we saw in Worm so I''m happy with it I guess.


    Also, PHO is a thing. Yay¡­? But no, no dedicated PHO chapter. You''re just going to have to know that it happened and that Hyunmu is one of the first "viral" capes for this. I don''t think I can add much more to a PHO chapter than, "OMG HYUNMU SO KEWL!3" and those tend to be the worst types of PHO threads. I might include bits and pieces whenever I think it''d be funny.


    Maggie Holt is a side character in Pact, Wildbow''s other work. Funnily enough, on Earth-Bet, Maggie Holt is a series of movies similar to the Harry Potter franchise, though with more cues from the Dresden Files. The Weaver Dice is a game series Maggie is familiar with in Pact, implying a multiverse of Wildbow. And isn''t that a terrifying thought? Grimlord Wildbow is multiversal.


    At any rate, this concludes Scattered. If it feels a bit incomplete, that''s because it is. Blame the plumbers. I''m not entirely happy with the conclusion of this arc, but it''s a bit more acceptable if I think of it as setup for Arc Six, Omen.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.1 Omen

    Omen 6.1


    2001, August 2: Washington, DC, USA


    "Simulation start," I spoke, voice steady despite the stirrings of trepidation in my chest.


    The pool I stood in was a collaboration project between Zero Day, Bluesong, and Hero, a marvel of hardlight, wave motion, and texturing technology that could replicate any number of waterside environments. It was the size of several Olympic swimming pools and contained a number of modular outcrops that could be moved and reskinned to look like buildings, collapsed bridges, or whatever else was necessary. It was one of the best places in the country to train for disaster response.


    In a sense, it was the Danger Room from the X-Men, but more limited towards floods, tsunamis, and similar natural disasters.


    And right now, as I stood waist-deep in the water, the pool looked a lot like Busan.


    There was no Leviathan. No amount of hardlight constructs and fancy machines could replicate the terror and gravitas of an endbringer bearing down on you so they didn''t bother trying. Still, as the artificial pumps sent undulating waves ever higher up the "coastline," I could feel my heart tremble and clench.


    I grit my teeth and refused to get out of the water. The water level rose around me, up to my chest now. I balled my hands into white-knuckled fists and endured.


    "More," I told myself. More, until I didn''t fear the waves any longer.


    The waves reached my head and I forced myself to pay attention to every crest and trough. Inspiration was enough. It was a fragment of the infinite, a letter of creation used to carve mountains, drain oceans, and burn skies. I had power, so much more power than a tidal wave. More than Leviathan. More than Scion.


    Behind me, the Ymelo burst into eerie blue flames, its light illuminating the chaos around me.


    I stabbed Isolde into the pool floor to anchor me. Even with the Elixir of Iron, my increased size and weight were not enough by themselves to withstand the waves that could sweep away cars and houses. The waves crashed above me as I held myself under, forcing myself to stand tall against the currents.


    Until, I finally ran out of air.


    I activated Ghost and kicked against the ground as hard as I could. I skipped back and was caught with the current. Just before I would have been dashed against a simulated car, I swung, Isolde gleaming with my resolve. The car was split clear in two and vanished into motes of light behind me as I made my way underwater and through the city.


    The simulation included a dozen mannequins, dummies designed to act as rescue targets. When I first began, I couldn''t even stand in a pool with a wavemaker without going into a panic attack. It was only the Ymelo''s light that allowed me to get a hold of myself and drag myself from the water. I remembered sitting there at the edge of the pool and breaking down crying because I couldn''t forgive myself.


    I remembered thinking it was all a joke. How could I hope to save the world and kill Scion when just the memory of Leviathan reduced me to a shivering wreck?


    So, I did what every Champion did: I got better. I threw myself into the wall again and again until the wall broke from my obstinance.


    Was this the safest way to overcome my thalassophobia? No, of course not. Every psychologist in the world would be up in arms over child abuse and malpractice if someone actually recommended this kind of immersion therapy to a nine year old.


    But I didn''t have a psychologist. I had a Contessa.


    She was Pathing me now, so I was going to abuse the hell out of her Path, trusting that she intended for my well-being. Every monotonous Wards patrol and PR event, every time I was dragged away to help with tinkering or review some Cauldron document, I took as a part of the Path, breaking up the slew of near-drownings to force myself to recover.


    It was working. Hellish, but working.


    So I drowned myself. Again. And again. And again.


    I smiled grimly as I breached the waves, a trail of the White Walker''s clouds and Isolde''s mist framing me like some mythic beast. I crested a building and looked around for my first target. Finding the dummy, I forced myself to hit the waves again. I could run on the air and clear the exercise with ease, but I refused. That would defeat the purpose of immersion.


    First one, then two, then twelve, I smiled as the robotic voice declared the end of the simulation. Forty-two minutes. It was slow compared to Hero or Bluesong''s records. There were rescue-oriented teams that came by to use our facilities and they knocked our times out of the water. But¡­ it wasn''t bad for a solo cape and certainly not for one child.


    I patted the Ymelo fondly as I headed towards the showers. I had room to improve but for now, it was enough.


    X


    I leaned back into my chair and sighed, satisfied. My brand of extreme therapy was progressing well. Not fun, but well, and my continued progress left me feeling content. The chair in my room wasn''t quite tinkertech, but it was custom-made to fit my diminutive frame with plush gel cushions and excellent lumbar support. It was easily one of my favorite things about the house and I''d even made sure to get a few copies for Babylon and the Madhouse.


    But, snazzy chair or not, Ymelo or not, I couldn''t be working all the time. My focus easily warranted a minor thinker rating on its own, but it had limits. So, I took some time to kick back and relax.


    I opened my laptop to browse one of the newest sites floating around on the fledgling world wide web, one I strongly suspected to be a Richter project.


    Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards


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    Topic: Cape Wiki?


    In: Boards United States General Meta


    Mezcal Mike (Original Poster)


    Posted on August 2, 2001:


    So guys, I''ve been thinking. Has anyone ever considered making a Wikipedia for capes?


    For those of you who don''t know, a wiki is an online encyclopedia, with articles on different topics compiled by experts on the respective subjects. It''s all community-driven and you can find it here. Neat, right? Need to know how many people live in New York? Done. Why jet engines are so loud? There you go. Wonder what the difference between mezcal and tequila is? Wonder no more! (I actually wrote that one and I''m damn proud.)


    So yeah, the idea is to have individuals write articles about the heroes and villains of their city. I made a sample post for Alexandria, here. It''s got her cape name, debut date, affiliation, powers and ratings (as far as I''m aware, had to guess on a few), and a history of her activities that I could dig up. Check it out.


    If you want to help out with some of this, give me a shoutout.


    (Showing Page 3 of 3)


    ? 8008-Ez


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    You forgot Alexandria''s cup size. What do you think? 36C? Mmmm...


    ? Netizen-0451


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Dude, what the fuck? Seriously? OP makes something useful and your first response is "Can we add tits?"


    Mezcal Mike, I''d love to help. I think that instead of heroes, we should maybe focus on villains. You know, help new indie heroes know what they''re up against.


    I live in Columbus, OH, so I decided to make one for Death Wish, our most prominent gang leader.


    ? Mezcal Mike (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Just ignore the twelve year old. Seriously, people like him makes me think the internet may have been a mistake.


    But yeah, that''s a great idea. Thanks for your contribution, Netizen-0451. I''m going to code something so the cape wiki is sorted by location, with some of the nationally prominent capes like the Founders in their own section.


    PS: You have fantastic taste in video games, my friend.


    ? Netizen-0451


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    ^ - ^ Thanks!


    ? Hang Ten


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Mezcal Mike, awesome plan, dude. I''m in San Diego so I''m always happy to see Lexi get some love.


    But, here''s a thought... Can we use this as a national tracker for the S9?


    Those fuckers killed my cousin a month ago. Maybe if we could set up a community-driven warning system, we could save some lives, you know?


    ? Mezcal Mike (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    *Furiously takes notes*


    Yeah, I gotcha. I''ll set up something. Use the wiki for updates to the S9 roster. Powers, personality, that sort of deal. Use this site to set up some kind of national alert.


    Fishie, lord admin the mighty, can this be done?


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Mwahahahaha, I have been summoned!


    Lady Admin the Mighty, thank you, but yes. That sounds like a good way to use our growing site.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ? Grimlord Wildbow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Huh, neat.


    I''ll add one. The Siberian, the cape who managed to escape the Founders in New York on September last year, joined the S9. She is completely invulnerable because she selectively ignores the laws of physics at will. Any and every form of force gets ignored. Kinetic, electric, thermal, the whole shebang. She cannot be poisoned, hypnotized, or otherwise mastered in any way. Hell, she''s even immune to radiation so dropping a nuke isn''t an option even if the US was willing to go that far.


    She''s also a cannibal and likes to play with her prey, letting them run so she could chase them down.


    She can grant her invulnerability to anything she touches, people included.


    But the real secret is that she''s a master''s projection. She''s invulnerable, but her master is just a squishy human. Find him. Shoot him. Just remember that she can turn something surrounding him invincible even if she can''t affect him directly. For example, he might hide out in a camper or a car and she might lift the whole car with her to protect him.


    ? Mezcal Mike (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Wait, Grimlord Wildbow, how the hell do you know that? If it''s true, holy shit... Can anyone else verify this?


    ? West is Best


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Yes. She''s fucking invincible and ate my friend three weeks ago. Fuck her and fuck the Slaughterhouse.


    I don''t know about the rest though. If it''s true¡­ Let me go find my rifle¡­


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Are you a thinker, Grimlord Wildbow?


    ? Grimlord Wildbow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    No. I am the creator of this world, the author of this play. I am lord and master of the grimderp, he who rules the wild and the bow.


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Right¡­ Thanks for the intel anyway. I''m going to give you the Unverified Cape tag and The Guy In The Know tag.


    ? Grimlord Wildbow (The Guy In The Know) (Unverified Cape)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Finally, the recognition I deserve.


    Also, here''s Eidolon''s page.


    ? Netizen-0451


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Sweet! Speaking of the trumpiest trump, has anyone seen the video of him with Make-A-Wish? Because holy shit I nearly died of diabetes. He seems to be way more active in the community these days.


    ? Bananabread Bakery


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Yeah, I bet he''s trying to stay ahead of a scandal he thinks might come to light. Why else would he suddenly start with this crap?


    ? Life Is 42


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Hey, fuck you, fag. Make-A-Wish isn''t "this crap." And you have no clue what Eidolon''s thinking so fuck off with that sanctimonious bullshit. Not everyone wants to see a hero brought low.


    ? Bananabread Bakery


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Lol Am I a fag because my name has "banana" in it? Not everything is a euphemism, or do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class? And why else would Eidolon go on his social justice crusade? Celebrities do it all the time to blunt some predicted scandal so I don''t see why a bigtime hero wouldn''t.


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Shut up. Both of you. Being gay is fine so stop using it as an insult. You''re both banned for going off-topic and for being foul-mouthed idiots.


    ? Netizen-0451


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    I''m sorry I brought it up¡­


    End of Page. 1, 2, 3


    I added a few more comments about the burgeoning cape wiki in my alternate account. Grimlord Wildbow was one of several I made knowing just how critical PHO would become in the future. I felt like I owed it to the public to contribute at least some of the intel I had. After all, for all of Cauldron''s resources, Contessa was just one woman. If a few threats and loose ends could be tied up without her direct involvement, all the better.


    I couldn''t do it at the Madhouse because the PRT network was monitored by Zero Day there, but home was fine, especially with the Cauldron-provided laptop. It wasn''t unhackable or anything, but its security was pretty good and no one outside of Cauldron knew I had it. I found this to be a decent way to keep my thumb on the pulse, at least as far as general social temperature went.


    After typing up a few more heavily redacted dossiers on famous villains, I opened up two other laptops, mostly to hide my IP address. VPNs weren''t exactly common in this day and age, but going the tech-stupid route of simply buying extra hardware worked fine.


    Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards


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    Topic: Who''s your favorite hero and why isn''t it the Hero?


    In: Boards United States Mid-Atlantic General


    Zero2Hero (Original Poster) (Cape Groupie)


    Posted on August 2, 2001:


    I thought I''d make a post to talk about how awesome Hero is. Like seriously, not even the other Founders compare. He''s handsome, super creative, kind, friendly, and crazy strong.


    Like, does any other tinker have anything close to the repertoire he has? I couldn''t find links for them all, but here are all the things I know for a fact he''s made:


    The golden disintegration ray he used to deck Behemoth in New York,


    Smaller versions for lesser threats,


    Shoes that let him stick to walls,


    Flight pack that lets him keep up with Alexandria''s speed,


    Forcefield generation thing that looks like it''s in his chestpiece?


    Super radar that he used to find some lost kids in Yellowstone,


    Some kind of flying gurney that puts injured people in stasis and lifts them away,


    A hardlight fabricator that makes temporary housing for endbringer victims,


    A lightsaber (squeee!) he used to duel Armsmaster this Fourth of July. I GOT TO SEE IT LIVE!


    Anyone know anything else he''s made? I LOVE Hero and I really want to make a proper list of everything he has. Also, here''s a picture of me with Hero''s autograph!


    (Showing Page 1 of 2)


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Zero2Hero, I appreciate that you like our ultrageek technerd overlord so much, but please be careful about self-identifying information. I can clearly see the name Hero signed the autograph to and your face.


    Fishie, can you take down the picture?


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Yeah, good call. And¡­ aren''t you one of those "ultrageek technerds?"


    Zero2Hero, if you want to post a picture of the autograph, that''s fine, but keep your face out of it.


    ? Haha Bro #1


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Haha


    ? Haha Bro #2


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Hoho


    ? Haha Bro #3


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Hehe


    ? Penguin-Man (Unverified Cape)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    What the hell?


    Oh, OP, here''s a video of Hero at Disneyland with the Orlando Wards.


    ? Zero2Hero (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Weee! That''s so awesome! I wish I had powers! :(


    Also, what''s an OP?


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    It means "Original Poster" i.e. you.


    Fishie, Yes, but I''m young and cute.


    ? Zero2Hero (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    What''s i.e.?


    ? Undertow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Well, that certainly dates her if the picture wasn''t a clue.


    ? Haha Bro #1


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Huehuehue


    ? Haha Bro #2


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Hehehe


    ? Haha Bro #3


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Hyohyohyo


    ? Penguin-Man (Unverified Cape)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Okay, seriously, can we ban the Haha Bros?


    ? Lucha Loco (Moderator)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Ehh, I''ll allow it. They''re not being insulting or starting fights.


    ? He Who Inspires


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Well, Zero2Hero, here''s a bloopers reel of Hero testing his flight pack.


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    How do you have that?


    ? Zero2Hero (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Oh my god, that''s hilarious! :D:D:D


    ? He Who Inspires


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    *Shrugs*


    Who knows? Maybe I''m just a mysterious mystery. I also may or may not have Hero''s bathwater for sale. PM me for deets.


    ? Zero Day (Verified Cape) (Protectorate DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    This is a big breach of lab security. I''ll be going over the network logs with a fine-tooth comb.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    What? Why the hell would anyone want Hero''s bathwater? Why do YOU have Hero''s bathwater? What the fuck is wrong with you?


    ? He Who Inspires


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    *Shrugs*


    What can I say? I am He Who Inspires. If I must inspire a few sexy dreams, then inspire I shall.


    ? Lucha Loco (Moderator)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    No. Nope. Not touching this. One more out of you and it''s a ban.


    ? He Who Inspires


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    But Lucha Loco, commercial uses of PHO are not against the rules. I''ve not revealed any identities nor espoused "hateful and racist rhetoric." What am I being banned for?


    Also, don''t I deserve a Guy In The Know tag? Verified by Zero Day and everything.


    ? Lucha Loco (Moderator)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Fuck this. Kicking this up so I don''t have to deal.


    Fishie!


    End of Page. 1, 2


    (Showing Page 2 of 2)


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    I have been summoned!


    And ew! What is wrong with you?


    *Sighs*


    Fine¡­ I made a new tag just for you. Happy?


    ? He Who Inspires (The Creepy Guy In The Know) (Temp-Banned)


    Replied on August 2, 20 01:


    I''m just providing a good that may or may not be in demand. It''s a good derived from a parahuman so where else would I sell it but Parahumans Online?


    *User has been banned for one week.*


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Nope. Nope. Nopenopenopenope. Rules updated. Here. Happy?


    Take your temp ban. You''re not coming back until you''ve learned your lesson. That''s just gross.


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Well... that escalated quickly. I took a screenshot of this just so I could mail it to the big boss. I can''t wait to see his face.


    ? Haha Bro #1


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Huhuhuhu


    ? Haha Bro #2


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Heeheeheehee


    ? Haha Bro #3


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Hyukhyukhyukhyuk


    ? Penguin-Man (Unverified Cape)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Oh for fuck''s sake, go away!


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Shishishishishi


    ? Haha Bro #1


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    ?


    ? Haha Bro #2


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    ?


    ? Haha Bro #3


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    ?


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    No? Not that laugh? Ugh. Uncultured plebians.


    ? Zero2Hero (Original Poster)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Ooh, Hyunmu, while you''re here, can you tell me what working with Hero is like? Does he have a PHO handle yet?


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Sure, why not. I''ve got some time.


    Hero''s a surprisingly normal man once you get past the shiny tech. Actually, he can be a bit of a spazz, but in a good way. He cares a lot for the Wards and goes out of his way to make sure we can all have some time to unwind and be children. He arranges pizza parties and movie nights for us when he''s not off beating up endbringers. I think that it''s difficult to appreciate sometimes because we sometimes feel like we''re being treated like children, but¡­ we are children. At the end of the day, he''s very careful about helping us balance our lives as normal kids and as heroes. I''m very grateful for his efforts.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Well, guess we know that the PRT''s watching. There''s no way a ten year old wrote that.


    ? Penguin-Man (Unverified Cape)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Are you really surprised? I''m pretty sure PHO has an age restriction.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    True. What''s with your tag? Are you or are you not a cape?


    ? Penguin-Man (Unverified Cape)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Wouldn''t you like to know?


    ? Hyunmu (Verified Cape) (Wards DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    *Rolls eyes*


    I am a PRT-sponsored media relations liaison. I am here to tell everyone that from now on, visitors to our offices must wear a fedora at all times to distinguish themselves from employees. If you lack a fedora, you will be tattooed one on your left buttcheek upon request. All violators will be detained and forced to sit through a three hour seminar on the complete taxonomy of fashionable headwear. Each week, wearer of the dandiest fedora shall be crowned the Countess of Hats.


    ? Zero Day (Verified Cape) (Protectorate DC)


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Don''t pretend to be PR, Hyunmu. Powell is enough of a pain as it is.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on August 2, 2001:


    Woah, that was actually Hyunmu? Damn, my bad.


    End of Page. 1, 2


    I sighed happily. The man was surprisingly fun once you got through the quiet exterior. Being a flavor of software tinker, he figured out I was dicking around on PHO pretty fast, though I doubted he knew just how many accounts I had active. I did know for sure that he was aware of my two official accounts, Hyunmu and Rubedo.


    He''d likely dig into He Who Inspires, if only to try to prevent another "leak," though I was assured by Kurt that the laptops we used had top of the line security and Zero Day did focus more on data management than cy-sec. Just in case, I promptly tossed the laptop I used for He Who Inspires into another dimension. Zero Day couldn''t track something that wasn''t on this earth.


    Author''s Note


    I don''t write trauma well. The answer to that? Don''t write much of it at all. Instead, I just decided to write the scene of Andy overcoming his thalassophobia. Does this reduce the narrative impact? Yes. Does it also dramatically reduce the angst you need to read through? Also yes. It''s a balancing act and this is what I settled on.


    Ultimately, this is the kind of resolve you''d need to be a world savior. We like to imagine power fantasies, but the truth is that most of us would actually still be afraid, too paralyzed by uncertainty to do anything. Power alone does not a hero make.


    All hail Andy Yusung Kim, patron Aspect of Shitposting. Don''t take the PHO segment seriously, it''s written mostly for shits and giggles. I have no plans at this time to make Zero Day an important character.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.2 Omen

    Omen 6.2


    2001, September 22: Dnipro, Ukraine


    I was in Babylon, the place I went whenever I wanted to make something no sane adult would allow.


    My lab had grown over the past year. Initially, it was just a hastily constructed warehouse containing my Nexus, that giant shard of quartz I''d turned into a Mana Crystal and attuned to my soul. Hooked up to the Nexus were conduits that channeled the mana into different assembly and production lines: one for the Water of Life to nourish Babylon''s soil, one for health potions, one for sump tonics, one for brightsteel, and so on.


    Within months, that basic setup was expanded rapidly into a full-blown industrial complex. Cauldron built fast using the same methods they used to establish a multi-continental headquarters. I asked the Number Man how it was done once, but the full explanation made me drowsy. What I did glean from his impromptu lecture was that it was a combination of extremely efficient logistical multitasking, cheap multi-dimensional labor, and industrial-grade fabricators from multiple tinkers.


    And Hero of course.


    By studying fabricators from other tinkers, Hero was able to make his own, using his expertise on wavelengths to pause certain atomic processes, effectively restructuring subatomic wavelengths into the exact molecular structure desired. He used the Stilling to mimic cold fusion. Or at least, the energy was being shunted out of this dimension.


    Because the manufactured materials were mundane, mostly cement and concrete and the like, they required no maintenance. He still didn''t fully understand the process, but his fabricators greatly expanded Cauldron''s network of bases. If it wasn''t for the need to maintain the fabricators, he likely could have solved the US housing crisis on his own.


    As for the imported labor, they were either resettled into different parts of the globe or paid and returned, always with their memories altered via the Slug.


    Signed contracts and generous compensation or not, memory modification still made me feel a little dirty. I wondered if I''d ever be comfortable with knowing that all the resources and foundations that my work rested on could be traced to some shady action or another. I didn''t want to think about that day.


    In the end, I had a full, professional-looking alchemy lab that overlooked the factory where I tested different formulas. At the moment, I was brewing booze.


    Yes, booze.


    Graggy Ice to be specific. There was a barrel of the stuff I''d been working on for the past six weeks. It was brewed using Gragas'' personal recipe, or as close to it as I could get. Freljordian grain milk was the base of the lager, a practice the wandering brewmaster picked up from his dealings with the Avarosans. There was even a shard of True Ice inside, enchanted to age the lager to perfection, and not a second more.


    It was, without question, the best alcohol on earth. Several earths, not that I could appreciate it in my current body.


    "I¡­ may have gotten sidetracked a bit¡­" I laughed uneasily. Beside me, Fortuna leaned against the barrel wearing her typically smug smile.


    "You did," she said in that stoic tone of hers, though I could hear a hint of teasing mockery.


    "You didn''t feel like stopping me?"


    "You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Besides, it''s not as though you didn''t make anything else of use over the past few weeks. You''ve been productive. Are you truly so against recreational alcohol?"


    I thought about the less-than-proper things I''d done in my college days. "Well¡­ no¡­"


    She smiled. "Exactly. Not everything you build needs to be for the ultimate betterment of mankind or for your own personal power. Sometimes, a bit of recreational tinkering is permissible."


    "Did Eugene talk to you?"


    "He did. So did Rebecca. In the past three months, you''ve added six more cities to the Worldstone Network, perfected a potion that prevents organ rejection without compromising patient immune response, and created pyro-gel. And you did this all while developing a unique martial art style and undergoing your idea of immersion therapy. Any of the above would be full-time commitments for virtually anyone else. A few extra hours of work are not worth your long-term emotional health."


    I sighed. "Fair enough. Is that why you''re here? To tell me to make something silly once in a while?"


    "No. I''m here to try this new lager," she said with a smirk. She produced a shot glass from her breast pocket and filled it before bringing the golden brew to her lips. She stiffened before carefully, almost gingerly, putting the shot glass down on the table. After a long minute and a deep, fortifying breath, she spoke. "That is¡­ dangerous¡­"


    "You know I can see every muscle in your body lock up, right? Path to not hacking up your lungs?"


    "It''s stronger than a lager should be," she defended, "though I have to admit it''s delicious."


    "Of course it is. And you already knew that because the Path shows you what I''ve already made. You don''t need to turn yourself into a comedy sketch to get me to loosen up."


    "I don''t, but it''s convenient. I also wished to feel its effects for myself. Why do I feel so powerful?"


    "An alcohol is a downer, right? Normally, it slows reactions and whatnot? Well, the Elixir of Wrath is an upper. It makes you really active. I decided to mix the two, something that will tone down the anger-inducement while providing a similar strength boost. Drinking it should give you a sense of calm contentment, like a light buzz, while also making you much stronger."


    "You realize the Protectorate cannot endorse such a product?"


    I nodded. "Of course. I made it mostly as a proof of concept. You know, just to see if I can fuse the effects of two alchemical solutions in beneficial ways. Normally, if anyone else tried to make something like this, they''d end up with a stupid cocktail that makes people drunk, pissed, and Hulked out. If I removed Wrath from this, would you let me sell it?"


    "Perhaps as a joke," she humored me. "How does ''Witches'' Brew Distillery'' sound for a company name? Is that what you want? A microbrewery to add to your pharmaceutical empire?"


    "Nah, I kid. Even if I remove Wrath, Graggy Ice is still magic booze. You might be fine, but that was only a shot glass''s worth and you have the restraint to keep yourself from drinking more. You were expecting it and it still almost knocked you on your ass. Can you imagine what''ll happen if magic booze became a thing normal people could buy?"


    "Chaos."


    "Chaos," I agreed, "and Rebecca would have my hide for making this her problem. I might send a bottle to David though. Help him loosen up a tad."


    "Perhaps."


    "Speaking of, how goes his therapy? Is he more mellow now?"


    "Somewhat. I''m not certain how effective therapy is for him. He has relaxed some and participated in more PR-friendly operations as you are aware, but that is not our goal. Our goal is for him to place less of his self-worth into being a heroic savior who requires worthy foes to challenge himself. There is no easy metric for such a thing."


    "And you can''t Path him, only make estimations," I sighed. "Maybe increase his self-validation somehow? If he feels that he can''t improve further, that there is nothing beyond the ceiling he''s reached, he wouldn''t need to seek worthy opponents."


    "But does," she pointed out. "Scion and the endbringers exist to prove that there is something greater than himself. Convincing him that he can go no further might make him unstable unless we deviate his self-worth into more than being a hero."


    "That''s what it comes down to in the end, huh?"


    "Quite. Rest assured, Rebecca and I will monitor his sessions discreetly. Perhaps a small bottle of this lager as a holiday gift would help?"


    I smiled wryly at her. Believe it or not, Fortuna could joke. I was reasonably sure that a fair chunk of our interaction was scripted on her end to make me feel more at ease, but she was making an effort in her own stilted way. Amidst all the Sisyphean doom and gloom was a girl who never got to have an equal. Unfortunately, the only way she knew of to interact with others was to manipulate them into liking her.


    It was less effective with me because I knew what she was doing, but I couldn''t pretend I was immune. Even so, I chose to believe she was loosening up around me, if only just a bit. The knowledge that one day, I would be beyond her ability to Path made our interactions that much more organic.


    I glanced behind me to the electrolysis machine behind me. This was the real reason for my foray into brewing. Initially, I wanted to isolate glycerol, the same chemical used to make nitroglycerin. I was wrong of course. Although glycerol is an alcohol, it is not the same as ethanol, or drinking alcohol. I ended up looking pretty stupid, but with a new hobby to pass the time.


    I did do it right eventually.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Glycerol was used in a number of industries and when not being made to explode, could also be used as a sweetener or a thickening agent in liquors, which was where I''d initially made the mix-up.


    Could I have just ordered a crate-full of the stuff via a shell company? Yes.


    Did I think of it? No. I still had difficulty remembering just how much money I had at my fingertips now.


    When I eventually did get my hands on glycerol, I drew from Ziggs'' unique brand of alchemy to make his pyro-gel, the Runeterran equivalent of blasting jelly that could blow apart a small house, certainly a decent-sized living room, with just a single fingernail''s worth.


    Okay¡­ so¡­ significantly more dangerous than blasting jelly.


    I opened a premade batch that had been left to set. I carefully measured and packaged the pyro-gel into five pound packets, each containing enough firepower to turn most brutes into a Rorschach test. Or, if I was being honest, a city block, one more thing for my unofficial S-class loadout.


    "Do I want to know what you want with twelve packets of these?"


    Beside me, Fortuna shrugged. "Do you?"


    "Is it going to kill people?"


    "Do you want me to lie to you?"


    "No. Never. Not even to spare my feelings."


    I saw her nod. "Then definitely."


    I sighed. "Then yes, I do want to know why you want enough explosives to level a small town."


    "There is a geokinetic cape in Indonesia who wants to make Mt. Merapi erupt as an homage to Behemoth, who he believes is the manifestation of the divine wrath of Batara Kala, the Balinese and Javanese god of the underworld."


    "And¡­ you need this much pyro-gel because¡­"


    "I want to create a secondary vent for the lava to flow through so as to divert much of its pressure. Otherwise, Merapi will explode and cover most of Yogyakarta in a lahar wave. Of the nearly four hundred thousand who live there, I expect eighty percent to either die or be grievously injured if I do nothing."


    "You have Petricite. Can''t you just shackle him and whisk him off somewhere?"


    "I will not."


    I leveled her with my best exasperated stare. "Why. Even if you divert some of the pressure, people will die as a consequence of the mountain exploding."


    To my extreme annoyance, she as completely unfazed by my glare. "Yes. However, rather than lose the city, a controlled eruption will end in the deaths of only two hundred."


    "Well go on then. You clearly came here to teach me something."


    "He is, despite his lunacy, a prominent member of the royal family. He''s a bit of a black sheep in the family in that he holds to traditional Javanese and Balinese myths rather than Islam as his faith of choice. I can kill him now, but doing so will cause infighting that will snowball into widescale political instability in Indonesia, a problem I simply do not have enough hours in the day to address. The same happens if I ensure he goes missing altogether.


    "I can expose his lunacy to the public and make him a laughingstock, Yogyakarta is predominantly Muslim, but he has his share of admirers and lickspittles. If left to his own devices, his stupidity will take root in enough people to incite a surge of endbringer worship across Southeast Asia."


    "How? If the population is mostly Muslim, why would they care about some old Balinese god?"


    "Yogyakarta is Muslim. That doesn''t mean there aren''t traditional holdouts in the rest of Java or its sister island Bali. This problem isn''t unique," she explained patiently. "The problem with religious extremism is that it inspires other idiots to push the envelope, be more radical than the last guy. He''s not dangerous for what he is; he''s dangerous for the ideas he puts in people''s heads.


    "I need him dead, Yusung. I also need his stupidity publicized in such a way as to present a clear threat to the people, while leaving Yogyakarta mostly unscathed. If he dies without accomplishing anything of consequence even as the volcano goes off, the majority of those who are likely to buy his stupidity will come to the conclusion that their god never intended to destroy the city."


    I tried to make sense of that. "Any chance you can''t just social-fu him around? You know, charm him into becoming more moderate?"


    "No. He is not useful enough for me to try and appeasement would cost too much compared to the utility he brings."


    "Even as a prince or whatever?"


    "Even then. We have enough agents there. His showy death will spark enough tensions to increase the likelihood of triggers while not destabilizing the city in the long run. Removing him from the line of succession will allow his far more moderate and even-tempered aunt to raise her daughter for the throne. Even considering our objective of cultivating strong parahuman leadership, this really is the best Path."


    She held out her hand expectantly. I sighed. I could see my hand trembling a little. But even so, I put the packet of pyro-gel in her hand. Here I was again, a co-conspirator to the murder of hundreds.


    "I hate this," I spoke bitterly.


    "I know."


    "Warn who you can?"


    "As you wish."


    She turned to leave.


    "Fortuna?"


    "Yes, Yusung?"


    "Make these count."


    "Of course," she said, favoring me with a surprisingly gentle smile.


    X


    Speaking with Fortuna always left me feeling conflicted. Even now, hours later and back in my house, I continued to wrack my mind over things I could have said differently. ''Could I have convinced her to find another way? Could I have convinced her to invest more effort? More of the Path? Was warning a few people really the best she could do in that situation?''


    The trouble was that it was impossible to know. Ultimately, Fortuna was her own person; she made her own choices and the rest of the world had to live with them, even if most never got to see the woman pulling the strings.


    Did that make me cursed or privileged?


    I honestly didn''t know. The truth was, I failed. A lot. I set out the year prior with the goal of becoming a beacon of hope for Cauldron. I wanted to make sure they ended up in better circumstances than in canon, ended up as better people than in canon.


    This wasn''t the first time.


    No matter how many times I spoke with her, Contessa''s decision concerning Jack did not change. Broadcast would be permitted to remain active, nor was I to release any details of Jack''s true power. Just about the only compromise I could get from her was that she would arrange for Riley''s rescue following her trigger. She was too versatile, too valuable to just butterfly away her trigger. January of 2005 if I remembered right.


    Four years, I swore. Jack had four years before I took his head.


    Thinking of the cause of the apocalypse inevitably made me think of the man who held it off for so long.


    Kevin Norton did a fine job making Scion a hero in 1999, the same year I arrived. And then, he became so afraid of the control he had over Scion that he ran, abandoning the bridge he called home. The homeless man would meet Lisette twelve years later, bringing her to that bridge and handing over Scion''s reins to the young woman.


    Contessa did get the man an apartment condo from a "long-lost relative" as a belated thank you. He''d never know what he''d done, but he had single-handedly postponed the apocalypse. He deserved it and more in my opinion, but that was as far as she was willing to divert from the Path for the "most powerful man in the world."


    We talked about perhaps using Norton to manipulate Scion. The truth was, approaching him with a parahuman in tow, actively drawing his attention to the Shard network and our activities, was too risky. It wasn''t as though he would simply leave Earth at Norton''s request after all. Things were never that easy.


    And yet, that was one avenue we had, one big reason to keep Norton alive. When we were ready to begin Gold Morning, we could steer Norton to him, manipulate him into making the first move, a move we''d already planned for.


    And then there was Peter Pan. Nilbog. Jamie Rinke.


    I still hated meeting him. He was a complicated man and though complete isolation hadn''t regressed him to the mentality of a child playing god in his own sandbox kingdom, he wasn''t exactly the picture of mental health. Call it paranoia, but the very first thing I did with the Unsealed Spellbook was add the Cleanse spell to my Ymelo. If it could dispel Lulu''s polymorph, I didn''t doubt that it''d at least buy me time should Rinke turn hostile.


    And yet, for all the danger he posed in canon, I had to acknowledge that this Rinke, Peter Pan, was a different beast altogether. He loved his creations, as he had in canon, but he went beyond that. Nilbog was a petty king who surrounded himself in a selfish love, greed if I was being honest. He surrounded himself with his adoring subjects, fearing ever letting them go, fearing absolutely anything that could intrude into his perfect kingdom.


    Pan was not that. He didn''t just see himself as a king, but a chief, a friend to the lost. He adopted all Case-53s in his own Neverland, an area adjacent to my own Babylon. Every Case-53 that arrived was changed, made closer to human. Their monstrous traits could never be fully removed, there was always something that set them apart from baseline humans, but they could disguise themselves given a bit of effort and most saw an increase in control over their powers.


    Every new addition to his domain came with fragmented memories of spiraling Shards and a golden hand that left them the way they were.


    "The Great Other," Pan had taken to calling Scion.


    That was the doctor''s ultimate decision: Blame Scion for the creation of Case-53s. Use the Slug to implant a false trigger vision, one that would facilitate the cultivation of an avenging army for the "grand battle."


    At first, Pan was hesitant. He''d set up his own area as a refuge and shelter for the lost. But as more and more Case-53s appeared with these visions, his resolve firmed until he began to organize the more combat-oriented members on his own. His group would still provide refuge for Case-53s, but there was a sizable number who were dedicated to Scion''s demise.


    It was heartbreaking. Every time I read more about Pan''s activities, I felt as though I was being pulled in two directions.


    On one hand, Case-53s had an unequivocally better circumstance here than in canon. They had family and camaraderie here, a true community. Purpose and ambition that gave their lives meaning. Hell, that purpose was even a noble one, the salvation of all mankind across the multiverse.


    I did that. My heart swelled with pride knowing I arranged for that.


    On the other hand, we were lying to them. Controlling them like puppets knowing that the vast majority would die within moments of drawing Scion''s attention. Cauldron would not stop making more Case-53s until we had a better way; we simply couldn''t afford to stop, not when Scion actively turned his gaze away from Case-53s, away from our home base. Even so, the manipulation and loyalty induced by Pan''s power, the mastering, rubbed me the wrong way.


    Every time I met with Peter Pan, every time I saw the respect and awe in the eyes of the denizens of Neverland, I couldn''t help but be reminded of this duality.


    Thus, I loathed meeting him. He was a reminder that every success would be accompanied by a bitter pill to swallow, one I''d swallow anyway in the name of the greater good.


    It had only been a year and already I was having trouble distinguishing my failures from my successes.


    Author''s Note


    In the Paint the Town comic, a customer comes into Ziggs'' and Heimer''s workshop and complains that he bought some pyro-gel to clean out his chimney. Ziggs said "use a pinch," but the customer apparently blew apart his entire eastern wing. We don''t know how big that house was, but if he wasn''t exaggerating, it''s safe to say that Ziggs'' pyro-gel is really strong.


    Everything about Indonesia in this chapter was pulled from my ass. As far as I''m aware, Wildbow never mentioned Southeast Asian in any real detail. I wanted to highlight just one example of something Contessa might have done, and how she might use it to teach Andy a bit more about the art of weighing lives.


    Mt. Merapi is the most active volcano in Indonesia.


    Yogyakarta is the only city in Indonesia ruled by a monarchy and is given special political right to do so. It is a center of Balinese culture and fine art. As a highly traditional place, it''s also precisely the kind of place that a lunatic screaming about Batara Kala would come from.


    Yeah, Peter Pan¡­ Kinda fucked up, huh? But did you expect otherwise? I dislike fix-fics, though this technically is one. I dislike it when authors simplify Cauldron like they''re just cartoonishly evil. They''re not. They''re a complex organization with noble intentions and shit options.


    My professor of international relations once told me, "Politics is not about picking the best answer. It''s often about picking the one with the least shitty outcome." Truth is, as dissatisfying as "greater good" morality can be, it''s also not wrong.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.3 Omen

    Omen 6.3


    2001, September 22: Washington, DC


    I arrived back in my room wondering how many pans we could keep in the fire before we inevitably let something burn. Running a multi-dimensional conspiracy sometimes felt like juggling live grenades.


    Frustrated, I took a seat at my desk. I must not have been very good at hiding my annoyance with myself, because mom made a comment on it over dinner. I told her I was working on a teleportation device for her safety. I was, and it wasn''t as though I could tell her that I''d doomed two hundred people to a fiery grave.


    Before I knew it, I found my hands straying towards drawer with the Mask. I leveled an exasperated glare at the quasi-sentient object.


    "Why is it that you only want to be worked on when I''m in a mood?"


    No reply came, but the pair of blank eyes stared up at me expectantly. After meeting the Mask Mother, First Wave, and Last Wind, the mask was a half-finished thing of ominous beauty. Its eyeholes were rimmed in waves and clouds too small to determine with the naked eye. The bristlecone pinewood looked ancient, with twisting ripples that were once the origins of gnarled branches. They gave the illusion of motion, of some grand entity alive and stirring from ancient slumber.


    I wondered if it''d end up looking like a specific face. Lamb''s was the Wolf and Wolf''s was the Lamb after all. Or maybe, it''d end up retaining its perfectly oval shape. Or¡­ would I split in two and get my own spirit animal? That was a thought¡­


    I sighed and picked up Isolde. "Fine, let''s see who I''m to meet this time."


    With Isolde in hand, I began to carve. The blade ran careful lines across what would be the bridge of the nose and I allowed myself to sink into the rhythm of the action. Slowly, I could feel the mana build up in the mask, drawing me closer to whatever vision it wanted to show me. Just as the mana reached a crescendo, I was elsewhere.


    The first time was disorienting. The second was a mild surprise. The third was practically routine.


    I looked around to find myself in the foyer of a once luxurious mansion, though time had taken its toll on the furnishings. The building was a strange mix of roman and gothic architecture, with sweeping columns and ornate details carved into every arch and pillar. Beneath my feet, a crimson carpet extended up a Y-shaped stairway to rooms unknown. Up above, three flags hung down like unraveled scrolls.


    The one in the center was easy to recognize, a stylized black ax on a crimson background, the flag of Noxus. To either side were the flags of House Kythera and House Zaavan, not that they were familiar to me.


    They didn''t need to be. The spiderwebs large enough to hold grown men that hung from every shady corner were a damn good clue.


    "Guess I know who I''m meeting," I muttered.


    I wandered the empty foyer. Looking closer, I could see cracks in the foundation and the walls, the once pristine black marble tiles that made up the flooring now stained brown with what I was sure was not rust. I tried not to think about it and focused my attention elsewhere.


    My eyes were drawn to the paintings on the walls, though one in particular caught my eye. It was a man who could be considered handsome in that typical aristocratic way. He had high cheekbones and a strong, square jaw highlighted by his neatly trimmed mutton chops. His garb was militaristic, a dark-blue tunic under Noxus-red. "Emet Sassen," the small plaque beneath the painting read.


    For a moment, I thought I was mistaken. Perhaps I wasn''t in Elise''s mansion?


    Then I read the other plaques. Every name was different. Some lacked last names altogether, implying that they were not of the Noxian nobility.


    "Oh¡­ Shit¡­" I whispered. I remembered who Emet was. He was the Hapless Aristocrat in Legends of Runeterra, one of many Elise Zaavan charmed to his death by her allure. She traded his life and those of others'' for Vilemaw''s venom, all so she could retain her youth and beauty.


    Plus: I was exactly where I thought I was.


    Minus: I was exactly where I thought I was.


    Something stirred, a flicker of mana that warped the air as the Noxian aspect of death materialized behind me. "Is life so cheap?" I asked him without turning around. I traced a finger along Emet''s outfit. He wore a sword on his hip bearing a red jewel emblazoned with the crest of Noxus. It implied wealth, perhaps even an officer''s position in the Trifarian Legion.


    This was a man who had a future, had potential, and he''d lost it all in a single fool''s gambit.


    "It is not cheap," came the voice behind me. It echoed like all the others, though his voice held a silky, almost musical quality to it. It spoke of peace, of well-deserved rest after a hard-fought battle. "Life is not cheap, my friend, but it is fragile."


    The man, if he could be called a man, could only be the Soulspinner. He was tall and lanky, though with defined muscles that spoke of many lifetimes of refinement. His six arms were unexpectedly humanoid, not a bit of chitin to be found. The mask he wore sported four glowing eyes, with jagged, uneven cracks towards the chin that could be mistaken for mandibles. From his fingers, I could see strands of magical energy connect to every portrait in the room. It wasn''t mana alone, but an idea. Death. Destiny. The Tapestry.


    "So it is¡­"


    "Who are you?" he asked, as all the others had.


    "I suppose I am He Who Inspires, but I don''t think that''s the answer you want."


    "What is it you inspire?"


    I turned to face him fully. His eyes seemed to bore into my soul, which in hindsight might have been a far more literal description than usual. They burned with a haunting light that reminded me of the Black Mist and demanded a sincere answer.


    "I¡­ I don''t know," I spoke haltingly. "I thought it was new possibilities. Hope. But now¡­ Why is it that it feels like nothing''s changed?"


    "Everyone dies."


    "So the Last Wind told me."


    The Soulspinner raised a pair of hands out to me. A single strand was spread between his fingers, wrapping around them in an intricate pattern, much like a cat''s cradle. "What do you see, my friend?"


    "A spider''s thread. Is this what represents my life? That''s what this is, isn''t it? This entire place is a representation of Elise''s life and now you''re here to tell me I''m just one strand in the Grand Tapestry. Right?"


    "No," he spoke to my surprise. He nodded towards Emet''s portrait. "Once there was a hapless young man who thought to court a spider, never once suspecting he would end up in her web... You are not he."


    "Then what? I wish one of you would give me a straight answer."


    "This place belongs not to the Spider Queen, but to you. It is but one facet of the gem that is your soul, one reflection among countless more. One thread, one connection¡­ one knot¡­"


    I was starting to understand. "You''re saying that my soul''s connection to Runeterra is growing. It''s how you''re here, how all the others came to visit."


    "There are few who see the threads, and fewer still who can weave them."


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "I''m not one of them. I failed. I fail. Constantly."


    "Is death failure?"


    "Isn''t it?"


    "My friend, each strand is fragile. None are meant to last, but there is beauty in fragility." He walked up to the portrait. "His tale was one of love unrequited, enchanting because of its transience. And though he was but one of many who fell to the Spider Queen''s charms, that one strand now weaves the tapestry of her tale."


    He sounded so sincere, almost reverent in his care. It only made me angry. "Is that what people are to you? Just parts of someone else''s story?"


    "That is what we all are. One day, I will be but a strand in your tapestry, and you in another''s."


    That didn''t settle well with me. "I reject," I said after a long minute. "People aren''t just faceless mobs and extras in a play. Their lives have meaning beyond the privilege of acting a part in someone else''s story."


    "They do," he agreed, "to them. It is their lot to find some small meaning in their small roles within the Grand Tapestry, but it is not our lot to delight in them."


    "There is none fairer than Death, for Death comes for all."


    "Indeed. I treasure a beautiful tapestry, but it is my lot to collect them all, no matter their beauty."


    I looked into his eyes. "But I am not death. I am not one of the Kindred."


    "You are not, yet you will be, at least in part. So I will ask again, my friend: What will you inspire?"


    "I want to inspire hope. New paths and ideas. I want to make the world a brighter place. Is that too much to ask?"


    "Do not ask. Take. Weave." He spoke with the surety of a concept given form. I couldn''t help but envy it, that assuredness of purpose. "It is not an easy task, this thing you have set for yourself. There will be a great many knots to unravel."


    "But not impossible."


    "No, nothing ever is."


    "Then we''ll just have to see," I said, voice filled with a resolve I didn''t know I had.


    "We shall, He Who Inspires. What a wondrous tapestry you will weave. I for one am eager to be a part of your work, my friend."


    "¡­ Thank you¡­"


    The world around me broke apart as the mist covered us. Then, I was back.


    As always, meeting one of them was discomforting. They thought in such alien ways. Never once did the Soulspinner show a shred of empathy for young Emet''s fate. Instead, he admired Emet''s beauty, the beauty of life and love and loss. It was an alienness that I couldn''t reconcile with my own beliefs. I wasn''t sure I wanted to.


    A human ought to be empathetic, mom once said. When my pet rabbit died, she wiped away my tears and told me that those tears were a part of being human. To care is not weakness, but a sign of strength, for it takes great strength to be vulnerable.


    I took a shuddering breath. The Mask¡­ It would make me one of them, one of the Kindred. With it would come power, power like nothing else on this world. Perhaps even, the power to oppose Scion directly. But as with all things, power came at a price.


    I just had to make sure that price wasn''t my own humanity.


    No pressure.


    X


    2001, October 19: Washington, DC


    My birthday came and went without much fanfare. I took the day off from the Madhouse, though I spent two hours in Babylon under the pretext of going jogging just to make sure everything was going smoothly on that front. Although most of the manufacturing centers for Galio were incomplete, a smaller facility dedicated to the production of the less complicated Wrenchbot drones was finished. I set the Wrenchbots to help with further construction and materials-gathering efforts.


    After checking in, I spent the rest of the day with mom, baking enough pastries to stock a small bakery. Funnily enough, I woke up that morning to find a post-it note taped to the ceiling with a list of pastries Fortuna wanted by tomorrow. There was no explanation of why, only the list. I could either not make any and leave her dry or feed her burgeoning sweet tooth.


    But, if I didn''t, I could potentially interfere with the Path. There was a real possibility that she was planning on using one or all of these to social-fu her way to her objective, much as she did with Rinke.


    ''Or, she could have left no explanation to force me to feed her cravings knowing I''d think this way¡­ that sly bitch.''


    I sighed and resolved myself to being her personal cookie-dispenser.


    Still, dubious reasons aside, baking with mom was relaxing, especially since I got to bake my own birthday cake, a twist on a black forest cake using matcha and sweet plum wine instead of cocoa and kirsch. I still kept the dark cherries; those things were awesome.


    One of these days, I promised myself I''d figure out how to make a Biscuit of Everlasting Will on my own.


    I polished off the evening doing what every other ten year old did: opening presents. My mother came into the living room and set three boxes down on the coffee table before sitting on the couch.


    "It looks like your friends sent you something."


    I picked up a blue and red box decorated with cartoonish raccoons. "Yeah, looks like it." I shook it a little and smiled at the satisfying rattling sound.


    "Are you going to call them? You do that every Friday."


    "Sure, why not."


    I sent them a quick text to thank them for their gift and warned them to keep their masks on before sending a video invite.


    "Happy birthday, shorty," came Ranchero''s southern drawl, played up for my mom. "You any taller yet?"


    "Hey, I''m actually tall for my age," I whined.


    "Sure, chico, whatever you say," Hat Trick said as soon as she hopped on. "Is that your mama? Tell her we said you''re a little brat."


    "Mom, they said hey," I drawled in Korean. I flipped the screen and pointed each of them out. "The tall blonde is Stingray, my old Wards Leader. Hat Trick has a hat. Masked Bandit wears fluffy pajamas. Rancheros is the man with the tacky accent."


    "Why do I get the feeling he''s making fun of us?"


    "Because I am."


    "Oi!"


    I ducked a dope-slap from my mother. "I understand English fine," she said with a thick accent. "Thank you again for putting up with my son. He is much trouble."


    "Hehe, hello, Mrs. Kim," Stingray laughed, a little awkward at meeting my mother. "You''re very pretty."


    ''Yeah, Biscuits will do that,'' I thought. Mom was still in her early thirties and a combination of good genes and magic cookies made her look several years younger. "Don''t you know? Asians don''t age until we''re fifty, then we shrivel up like a nutsack and shrink like Yoda."


    "Yusung!"


    "What? It''s true, mom."


    "I sorry. I don''t know where gets his tongue."


    "Hero," I snarked. "The man swears like a sailor."


    "That''s okay, Mrs. Kim, we''re used to him," Bandit grinned. "He''s funny."


    "And it''s Mrs. Lee technically," I chimed in. "In Korea, women don''t change their last names after getting married so my dad was Mr. Kim, but mom is still Mrs. Lee."


    She flicked my ears chidingly. "I changed it to Kim."


    "Wait you did? When was this?"


    She looked for words in English but switched to rapid-fire Korean. "My American driver license says Kim. It was easier to take on American customs for citizenship, social security, and other reasons. There are fewer questions when our last names are the same."


    "Huh, news to me."


    "So, presents?" Bandit prodded. "Do you like my wrapping paper?"


    "It''s cute," mom said, "like you, pretty girl. My son is lucky to know so many pretty girls."


    "Heh, hear that, Andy? Your mom says we''re pretty."


    "You are," I said simply. I wasn''t ten, mentally. It''d end in far less embarrassment if I just went with it. "You''re all very pretty and fit because we''re heroes and we exercise as part of our jobs."


    "Psh, you''re no fun. You''re supposed to be embarrassed and think girls have cooties."


    "Oh? You want embarrass Yusung?" mom asked, a glint in her eyes. "When we were in Korea, he love the train show¡­ Thomas?"


    "Wait, Andy? Thomas the Tank Engine?" I could see the glee in Bandit''s eyes as she connected the dots.


    "Yes, funny train with face. In Korean. He watched it every day. Then, TV company¡­?"


    "Broadcasting station," I added for her, face turning red but resigned to my humiliation. "The broadcasting station canceled the show for some reason. I threw a fit and made mom call to figure out why it got canceled."


    "Oh my god, that''s adorable," Stingray grinned.


    "Yes, yes, I was a child once. Can we move on?"


    "Aww, but we want to hear more stories about you."


    "Sting, I swear I will send you a potion filled with the hottest pepper extract I can feasibly make. It will be hidden in a box with every other potion and you won''t know which until you breathe fire and piss blood."


    "Okay, okay. Presents. I hope you like it. We all contributed a little."


    I began to unravel the wrapping paper. "It really is cute. Where''d you find it?"


    "The PRT gift shop," Bandit said sheepishly. "But it''s cute!"


    "It is," I assured. I unwrapped it to reveal a nondescript box. I opened it to find¡­ another box. And another. And another. "Really?"


    "Hehehehe."


    "Don''t look at me," Ranchero said, "I just threw twenty bucks into the pot."


    "Hat Trick''s idea," Stingray said, happily throwing her junior under the bus.


    "Hey, you guys thought it''d be funny too."


    I ignored them as they descended into friendly squabbling. Two more boxes later, I finally arrived at a box the size of a wallet and twice as thick. When I opened that, I was greeted with a sturdy, steel pocketwatch. The exterior was decorated with the national Protectorate logo. Inside, one face was an analog watch while the other held a group picture of the five of us.


    "Thanks, it looks cool," I told them earnestly. I wasn''t the type to carry around accessories like this, but I appreciated it all the same.


    "Thank you," my mom said, "now my son can remember things. He so forgetful sometimes."


    "I''m not, I just hate being disturbed from tinkering."


    "That''s bad too."


    "Yes, mother."


    "It''s no problem, Mrs. Kim," Sting told her. "He already does a lot for us. He''s been sending boxes of potions every month so we wanted to do something nice for him."


    "Yeah, thanks, guys. I appreciate it," I said.


    I quickly opened the rest of the presents. There was a winter jacket from mom and a jazz CD from Eugene. I did a quick search of my room and found a simple cookbook from Contessa in the bottom drawer of my desk. No rare relics this time, it was probably for the best.


    Author''s Note


    Not gonna lie, I''m really enjoying writing these visions. If they seem uncertain, that''s because they''re supposed to be. Andy''s slowly figuring himself out. Wanted a fluffy end.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.4 Omen

    Omen 6.4


    2001, October 22: Washington, DC


    Three days after my tenth birthday, Canada made international headlines. They announced the results of a nationwide referendum: In a sixty-eight percent supermajority, Canadians voted to allow the expansion of the PRT into their borders. The PRT was officially an international organization. There was much more legalese involved and a whole lot more to do on the bureaucratic end, but that was the gist; the ball was rolling.


    I apparently had more to do with that discussion than expected. Or more specifically, my warning. The whole mess started early this year when Behemoth hit British Columbia. The endbringer''s target was Mica Dam, the third largest hydroelectric generator in Canada.


    Thanks to my warning, the PRT and the Guild worked in concert to identify potential targets in British Columbia and prepared accordingly. Unlike in Hyderabad, they guessed correctly and prevented the worst of the damage. There was still massive flooding and a chunk of the province was without power for a while, but it still came as a huge relief for the Canadian people. Tinkers quickly provided stopgaps to the damaged dam, allowing mundane construction crews to reinforce the superstructure in short order.


    All told, a manageable loss ameliorated by early warning and tinkertech.


    Preliminary discussions had taken place months ago and this referendum merely cemented ideas that were being brainstormed between the two countries. One of the concessions made by the United States was the extension of the Worldstone Network. As a sign of goodwill, I was to build Worldstones, pylons, and Wayfinders, for the most populous cities in Canada: Toronto and Montreal.


    That was November''s quota set then.


    Another point of contention was what to do with the Guild.


    The Guild was in a bit of an awkward place. On one hand, it was the Canadian answer to the Protectorate and that alone made them politically relevant. On the other hand, it was¡­ less than effective.


    Unlike the US, Canada lacked a civilian, unpowered federal agency dedicated to supporting their capes; there was no "PRT-Canada" until this point. They had an oversight committee that approved funding and conducted audits, but that wasn''t a replacement for nationwide support. This meant that they suffered from extensive response times and other logistical issues in local theaters.


    Just as important, they lacked banners. When people thought of the Protectorate, they thought of the Founders, capes who were so powerful that they could stagger endbringers. Rightly or wrongly, the Founders were seen as unfailing paragons of virtue and justice, the tangible proof that good will ultimately triumph. More than simple power, it was the gravitas of their status that shaped the Protectorate.


    The Guild didn''t have that. Most capes affiliated with them were nothing special. They were smalltown heroes and neighborhood celebrities, not nationwide cultural icons. Things were slowly turning around with the inclusion of Narwhal a month ago, but changing public perception was a difficult task for a lone woman.


    Besides, she had her own criticisms surrounding public indecency to deal with. It got hear a lot of fans of the male persuasion, but also plenty of flak from conservatives.


    I knew of course that the Guild would blossom. In ten years, they would be an international task force. Their mission would be to tackle A and S-class threats beyond the scope of local heroes. They would be peacekeepers and diplomats, neutral parties trained in conflict resolution and threat response. Narwhal, and eventually, Dragon would become symbols of peace, just as sure as the Triumvirate.


    But that wasn''t now. In the moment, opinions seemed to range between dissolving the Guild altogether to making them a subordinate branch of the Protectorate. I thought about what I wanted out of them, but truth be told, I didn''t know either.


    Dragon. Narwhal. And¡­ no one else, really. There was no one else of consequence that canon spoke favorably of. I was certain there were plenty in the background, but they weren''t critical to Taylor''s story so Wildbow never elaborated on them. And since Dragon wasn''t even active yet, I decided to let the chips fall where they may. If the Guild dissolved, I had no doubt that Narwhal would excel as a member of the Protectorate. She was a brilliant leader by all accounts; she''d excel wherever she ended up. If the Guild became what it was in canon, I was fine with that too.


    I scribbled a quick note to Fortuna and tossed it through a Doorway: "Narwhal = great leader. Second triggered, not Manton-limited. Cultivate. Andrew Richter = AI-tinker. Lives in Newfoundland. Makes (Will make?) ''Dragon'' AI. Powerful. Keep & progressively loosen restrictions. -H"


    X


    2001, November 22: Washington, DC


    It was Thanksgiving. Turkey Day. The Let''s-Pretend-Gran-Gran-isn''t-Racist-as-Fuck Day.


    Thankfully, that meant nothing to me or mom seeing how Chuseok, the Korean harvest festival and our Thanksgiving equivalent, was on the thirtieth of September. I helped mom make songpyeon and everything, though we didn''t exactly have any extended relatives anymore.


    It was a bittersweet evening. The holiday was a time to give thanks to our ancestors for a plentiful harvest. Of course, we were not farmers, but something about the holiday made us both think about dad. He loved the ocean so the two of us headed down to the waterfront in Old Town Alexandria. Mom and I stayed well away from the water, but we did get to watch the boats go by in the evening sun.


    All told, that meant that Thanksgiving was just an extended weekend for the two of us. We spent it watching a terrible translation of a Founders-inspired movie in Korean. It was a cheesy action-comedy involving a turkey-themed villain named the Gobbler trying to sabotage Thanksgiving by starting a turkey rebellion, only to be turned to the light through the power of friendship and given a presidential pardon. The Founders even made cameos and I''d never seen Becky look more awkward.


    All I got from that, besides plenty of things to tease Eugene over, was that the eighties was a different time.


    The two of us spent the rest of the morning trying to recreate the cheesy superhero soundtrack using her piano and my sax. It was apparently the only tolerable thing about the movie according to mom.


    One of these days, I was going to tell Keith she said his costume looked tackier than that the Gobbler''s.


    After a morning spent lazing around with mom, I headed to Babylon to look over the facilities. Most of it was finally finished and ready for large scale production. We were however still waiting to stockpile enough brightsteel. The brief delay did give me a chance to do two things: Make something else that wasn''t quite resource intensive and recalculate the resources necessary for the project.


    Galio, and his hextech cousin, stood at a gigantic one hundred sixty feet. Behemoth stood at forty-five. As hilarious as it would be to make something that could punt Behemoth like a field goal, actually using it to fight would be highly impractical. At that height, he''d just get in the way of other participants.


    No, I wasn''t building Hextech Galio to defeat Behemoth by itself. I was building Galio to act as a shield and protector. I wanted to drain Behemoth''s Shard of every external manifestation. No kill aura. No lightning blasts. No heatwaves that baked entire cities. No radiation that made the area uninhabitable. At the same time, I needed it to grab and hold Behemoth, keeping him immobile and away from his objective while either myself or Hero figured out a way to displace and disrupt his core.


    I didn''t need a hundred sixty feet of colossus. Just fifty-five feet would be fine, and still tower over Behemoth to provide that extra bit of leverage. That meant a proportional reduction in resources, and hopefully build time. It was still well over a thousand tons of materials, but definitely manageable.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The delay also gave me the chance to build something smaller, but equally mechanical.


    I looked up at it, my newest creation. Admittedly, I looked up at most things, being a hair shy of five feet tall and all, but that wasn''t the point. It was a Plaza Guardian, a card I was familiar with from Legends of Runeterra. Plaza Guardians were mechanical golems made of reinforced steel utilized by the Piltover Wardens to keep the peace. They were giant and mostly good for breaking up riots rather than catching individual purse-snatchers. The original was a donation from one mercantile clan or another, a shining proof of the clan''s "progress" compared to its competitors.


    Sure it was a prop in the giant dick-measuring contest between clans, but it was hard to argue with a twenty-foot tall steel golem. If nothing else, it looked suitably impressive and had the brute rating to match. It was also deceptively fast, easily exceeding thirty miles per hour. Best of all? It could be charged via conventional electricity, though a shit-ton of it.


    I caught the last Wrenchbot as it dropped down from the Guardian''s shoulder after soldering the faceplate in place. The Guardian''s faceplate, like the rest of its body, gleamed like bronze, an aesthetic choice common to the steampunk city-state. Five tubes extended from its head to a spherical torso, from which four large tanks sprouted. They in turn extended into four launchers, two wrapping around each shoulder. The tanks contained a fire-retardant foam that could be used to break up riots, quell fires, and herd crowds.


    I considered adjusting the Guardian by giving it shoulder-mounted guns but decided against it. The foam-launchers and its own ridiculous strength were plenty to do its job.


    I set the Wrenchbot to its preprogrammed task and let it go. It would go back to what it was doing before I conscripted it to finish the Plaza Guardian. I''d made enough of those things that I wasn''t sure exactly what, though either gardening or feeding the brightsteel foundry seemed likely.


    Behind me, I saw an unexpected guest enter my range.


    "Eugene, what can I do for you?" I called as my nominal boss walked into the factory. He had on his full armor, albeit without the large cannon he typically carried around on patrols.


    "Not much, just came to get you so you''re not late to the Thanksgiving dinner. You have an hour, but I know how you can get," he said as he dodged past another two Wrenchbots, these dragging a cart loaded down with Petricite branches harvested from the forest. He came to stand beside me and looked up at the Guardian. "So¡­ a robot¡­"


    "Hey, a giant robot is a tinker''s romance," I defended myself.


    "I''m not arguing with you, but wasn''t that what the Hextech Galio project is supposed to be?"


    "It is, but I wanted to make sure I could make something like that on a smaller scale, you know?"


    "Good plan." He rapped the Guardian''s shin. "What''s this made of? I assume it''s not bronze."


    "It''s just regular steel with a paintjob. Good steel, but nothing really special about it. I just wanted to make sure the fabricators were all configured right."


    "Right. And the four giant cannons? You know I can''t let you take this to DC, right? There''s no way we can pass it off as something you made at the Madhouse."


    "Yeah, I figured. The tanks have some fire-retardant foam. I''m thinking about letting it patrol the local forest. If a forest fire starts, it can put it out and we don''t need to worry about losing locals. Or Wrenchbots."


    "Makes sense. Good call. How''s the AI?"


    I grinned. "Pretty good. I mean, I started with the idea that it''d be a part of law enforcement, but then realized I couldn''t take it to Earth-Bet so I had to scrap the original programming in favor of forestry. It basically uses thermal recognition to identify fires and put them out. If someone starts a fire, it''ll gauge level of threat by taking stock of flammable materials in the area before demanding the fire be put out in twenty seconds if the level of threat exceeds acceptable levels, acceptable levels being basically a campfire."


    Eugene let out a low whistle. "Huh, I didn''t know you could code."


    I grinned smugly back at him. "That''s the beauty of it all: I can''t. More mana bullshit."


    And it was true. The likes of C# and JavaScript may as well be foreign languages to me. And yet, Piltover''s hextech creations had plenty of examples of artificial or otherwise altered intelligence, from Oriana and Viktor who replaced their very brains to Heimerdinger''s robotic assistants. Hell, there was even a scientist who swapped his mind with that of a cat.


    It took some doing, but I managed to make a Mana Crystal that contained one such AI. The crystal contained its various directives and sat in its skull. It wasn''t a true AI in that it could not grow. I''d need something on the level of a Brackern crystal if I wanted to make something resembling true life, but it was smart enough to follow commands and that was enough.


    "Have I ever mentioned how much I hate you sometimes?"


    "Jealous?"


    "Very, you smug brat. You plan on mass production?"


    "Of the Guardians? No way. I think we should focus on Galio. Then, if we can churn one or two a year, and see how it handles an endbringer¡­ maybe?"


    "Sounds good. Now come back to Bet so we can go to that charity dinner."


    I made a face. "Ugh. I don''t even celebrate Thanksgiving and turkeys are all dry, obese chickens."


    "Yeah, well, we''re stuck with the dinner. I have no living family and you don''t celebrate so there isn''t any private dinner for us to miss. Everyone else is taking a well-deserved break."


    "Fine, give me a minute¡­" I marched off to the shower like a man walking to my grave.


    "I swear, you''re somehow grumpier than Rebecca," Eugene quipped behind me.


    I flipped him off without looking back, only to get a round of mocking chuckles for my trouble.


    X


    In the end, Hero and I ended up arriving a full half an hour before the event started, something about being respectful. He was quickly ushered away by the organizer, leaving me alone to explore the venue.


    The charity dinner took place at the Renwick Gallery, part of the Smithsonian American Art Museum. It was an absolutely breathtaking building filled with contemporary art. I saw paintings, freestanding sculptures, and exhibits that made use of glass and LED lights to shower the walls in a rainbow of colors. I was no great connoisseur of the arts, but even I couldn''t help but feel a bit of awe as I wandered the marble halls.


    "First time?" an aging gentleman asked kindly, his salt and pepper beard hiding a bemused smile. "Andre Lubbock ¨C Gallery Curator," the brass nametag on his chest read.


    I collected myself and gave him a respectful bow. "Yes, sir. I visited the Museum of Natural History with family, but this is my first time in the Renwick Gallery."


    "Ah, I find that art can be just as educational as science." He stepped up to a painting in the corner. It looked suitably impressive and depicted a golden man descending from the clouds before an awestruck crowd. "For example, this one, Dawn of a New Age, was made by Grace Hawke. Is the name familiar to you, young man?"


    I shook my head. I didn''t know of anyone by that name. "No, sir."


    "Then perhaps¡­ Andrew Hawke?"


    "I don''t know any Hawkes¡­" The words died in my throat as an obscure bit of trivia came to mind. "Vikare¡­"


    He nodded solemnly. "Indeed. The second hero. Grace Hawke was his sister. She was there, you know. She met Scion alongside her brother as he descended. Having some talent with the brush, she put paint to canvas and gave us this exquisite piece."


    That¡­ I could see it now. Looking closer, the crowd was clearly on a boat, with a young man reaching out towards Scion, kept from falling into the water by a woman who was undoubtedly his sister. I thought that it was some clich¨¦ homage to the "greatest hero," but knowing who painted it certainly put it in a different light.


    The looks on the siblings'' faces were reverent, almost religious. In their positions, not knowing any better, I suspected most would feel the same.


    "This moment is what started it all," Lubbock said in a whisper. "Many exhibits have come and gone since I began working here, but this painting has remained, an homage to a new dawn."


    "It''s¡­ something, sir." I didn''t know what else to say. What else could I say? It was a stark reminder that should we ever be brought to the light, Cauldron would be vilified. To most, Scion was the greatest hero of all time, the hero.


    "It is. You''ll find art can stir something in the most callous of us."


    I allowed the man to lead me on a guided tour. Every piece was exquisite and Andre Lubbock really knew his stuff, but I found myself distracted. The contrast between the truth and what the world knew was a harsh one.


    I spent the rest of the evening sitting next to Hero as a representative of the Wards. We had turkey that did my best to choke down. Hero gave a speech about gratitude and the American spirit and sat around while people with more money than braincells talked at us. Still, I was grateful to be next to Hero. If nothing else, I was a passing curiosity at best.


    It was all to get the fat cats to donate to a fund that would be divvied up between several nonprofit organizations, all dedicated to relieving food shortages in low-income communities across the country. Noble cause, but horribly tedious dinner.


    I returned home with a newfound distaste for the "upper crust" life and swore once again that I''d never accept a position of command over a city.


    Author''s Note


    Originally, Canada becomes a part of the PRT network in 2002. Adding Canada to the network early was always the plan, but a reader on QQ helped me flush out the effects of Behemoth''s attack on BC. Shoutout to Blackshard on QQ; thanks for that comment.


    Has anyone else noticed how short the endbringers are? Behemoth is only 45 feet tall. Comparatively, Gypsy Danger (Pacific Rim) is said to be 260 feet tall, Godzilla (Planet of the Monsters) is 393 feet tall, the original Megazord (Power Rangers) is 333 feet tall, and even the original Gundam was registered as being about 59 feet tall. As far as city-busting kaiju go, Behemoth is surprisingly the runt of the litter.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.5 Omen

    Omen 6.5


    2001, November 22: Washington, DC


    After the charity dinner, I arrived at home and once again found myself being drawn to the Mask. What the curator said back then stuck with me. It wasn''t any one thing per se, more the dichotomy between what the public saw and what I knew to be the truth. There was a hidden history to this world and being aware of both could be exhausting.


    Per routine, I began to carve a bit more, only to be whisked away on yet another spirit journey.


    This time, I stood at the foot of a great mountain, its peak somewhere above the clouds. So wide was its face that if I didn''t know better, I''d have thought the world was as flat as a plate and I stood at the edge, looking up at a wall that encircled the world.


    I knew better. I knew where this was.


    I stood at the base of the holiest of mountains on Runeterra: Targon. Behind me was the Ring of the Mountain, a series of smaller peaks that surrounded the mountain. Cave systems speckled the mountainside, some carved by geological processes but just as many carved by human hands. The Rakkor people called them home.


    The scene was beautiful, if in a rugged sort of way.


    "Well, at least you didn''t keep me waiting," I mused as I saw an anthropomorphic fox step out of one such cave.


    She, for I knew her to be a she, had orange fur and wore the most unique-looking mask of all the various Kindred I''d met so far. The mask had no forehead nor snout, only two azure eyes and what would be cheekbones flared out to give the illusion of fur. From the mask''s brow sprouted what looked like the beginning of rabbit ears and from the cheekbones distended a jaw with prominent incisors that hung around her neck. It was odd, but no stranger than the series of necklaces that adorned her neck, the green tunic of erbok wool that covered her, or that she had opposable thumbs while still retaining the wicked-sharp claws of a predator.


    At her side was a floating spirit, one with two pronounced ears and a wooden fox''s mask. Perhaps this rabbit was the Wolf to the Fox''s Lamb. I wondered what sort of duality the two represented to the Rakkor.


    "I''m not the sort to keep my guests waiting," she said. Had I met her first, her echoing voice that sounded like a small harmony would have unnerved me. Now, after so many of her brethren, it was almost charming. It reminded me a little of the mic test in a karaoke room, though her voice was layered with age and promise and wisdom.


    "So you''re not. Are you going to ask me who I am?"


    "I''m afraid not, young one."


    "Oh? This is what you do, right? Ask me who I am then give me some cryptic advice that helps me figure out what I want?"


    "You are He Who Inspires. I am not here to tell you who you are."


    "Then what?"


    She smirked, a distinctly vulpine grin. Tattletale could take lessons from this one. "Why, I am here to meet my new brother-to-be." She turned and began to walk. "Care for a hike?"


    I looked up at the titanic column of stone and the clouds it pierced nervously. "Please don''t tell me you''re going to make me climb this."


    "No. The peak has not claimed you. Not yet. Walk with me, young one. There is much to see even at the base of Targon."


    "Oh, phew¡­ That''s good." Calling Targon "Runeterra''s Everest" didn''t do it justice. The mountain was steeped in magic, so saturated that no one knew how tall it really was. Some took a single day to climb to its peak while others took months. Most didn''t make it. I looked back at the Astral Fox and followed. We were silent for a while as she led me into the caverns. "Well¡­ sister¡­? Dispense upon me your wisdom."


    She snorted, a barking laugh that was half woman and half fox. "You are an amusing one, but it is not good to be impatient. What makes you think I have wisdom to give?"


    "You''re a millennia-old spirit of death who''s seen the rise and fall of countless Aspect Hosts. How many wars between the Solari and Lunari did you see? How many Demacians sentenced to the Crown of Stone did you guide? You probably even saw the death of Myisha, if not outright guided her soul beyond. Of all your fellow Kindred, you are the one who oversees the holiest of holies on Runeterra. I can''t even begin to guess at the things you''ve witnessed. If there''s anyone with the experience to lecture me, it''s you."


    "Hmm, my youngest brother is the humble sort; that is good. But brother dear, what makes you believe that this wisdom is free?"


    "Nothing is free," I agreed. The Astral Fox was an aspect of death in the end; there was an undeniable aura of finality around her. Not malice per se, but the feeling that should she wish it, all that I knew would come to an end. She was the aspect of death as the Rakkor envisioned her, though with far less focus on battle and bloodshed than I''d have expected. I got the impression that she would appreciate boldness. "But you are getting something."


    "And what is that, young one?"


    "The pleasure of my company. You called me to sate your curiosity, to ''meet a brother-to-be.''"


    "So I did, so I did." She turned and began walking. We headed down twists and turns, most hidden in the shadow of flickering torches. Soon, we arrived at a mural. It depicted a giant, circular gate of some sort, with what was obviously an altar in front of it. Beneath it was a set of inscriptions. "Do you know what this says?"


    "I don''t, but I recognize the temple. Marus Omegnum, the most sacred temple of the Lunari."


    "Yes, it does look rather distinctive, doesn''t it?"


    "Why show me this?"


    "You are much like this temple."


    "How so?"


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "You are an existence of conflicting dualities. One foot on your world, one foot on Runeterra. One hand reaches for the Mask while another seeks to save. The Mother beckons even as you chase the stars beyond. A mortal with the soul of a god is what you are."


    "I am no god."


    "No, you are not. And yet, eternity is yours, will be yours one day. Men with far less have claimed divinity throughout the ages."


    I scoffed. "Because they were power-hungry idiots. How many of them had a happy end? Are you saying the World Rune will make me immortal?"


    "Why would it not? It is infinite, therefore the perfect host should also be infinite."


    That was a disquieting thought. Everyone thought immortality would be fun until faced with the implications. Mom. The Phoenix Wards. Even Fortuna. One day, I''d leave them all behind. "Why is it that every one of you seems to give me something to think about?"


    "A matter of perspective."


    "Will I be ready?"


    "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Your ascension shall be a climb just as daunting as Targon''s. You will lose much. You will gain even more."


    I sighed. "Yeah, I was afraid you''d say that."


    "Cheer up, little brother. Your home is in the skies¡­ eventually. But for now, you have plenty of time to spare. Enjoy it. Cherish it. I for one think the Mask will suit you well."


    Then, with that same vulpine grin, she jabbed me in the chest, expelling me from the dream. When I emerged, I glanced down at the mask to find a curling fox on the left cheek, tail wrapped around its snout in cozy slumber. Like the winds and waves, the design blended so seamlessly with the natural groves of the bristlecone pine that it was impossible to find unless one knew to look for it.


    If I didn''t know better, I could''ve sworn that fox winked at me.


    X


    2001, December 2: Washington, DC


    The Mask was to be a masterwork, one comparable to my armor or Isolde, a weapon that defined my identity. It was also, unfortunately, the single most willful thing I''d ever worked on. I didn''t know how many other aspects of death I''d have to meet, certainly at least the Fading Icon, but they seemed to come and go at their leisure.


    Seeing how I couldn''t control when I got to work on the Mask, I decided to make something else in the Madhouse. Isolde was a more than adequate weapon in close-quarters and decent enough at range thanks to its spirit-needles. It even came with a passable stealth and defense option. I could feasibly coast on just it as my primary weapon for the rest of my hero career. It was powerful, versatile, and from the perspective of Powell, unique enough to be iconic and therefore marketable.


    But if there was something I absolutely lacked, it was a long-range nuke.


    My relic pistol was good, but it was still a pistol. Gravity didn''t matter, sure, but light still dispersed and its effective range ended up being comparable to that of any other high-end pistol, a few hundred yards. I wanted something that could be effective at a full mile away or better.


    The project I''d been working on for the past two weeks was Jhin''s shoulder-mounted coilgun, his Curtain Call. It was a collapsible module attached to his prosthetic right arm that looked like a simple protrusion or pauldron. When fully deployed, it unveiled four canisters, each filled with an incredible amount of energized mana. A secondary module provided a stock and extended the barrel of Whisper, his pistol, converting it into a sniper rifle.


    The idea was to do the same, but for the relic pistol. I''d already had plenty of practice converting mana into various forms: from my soul to light in the relic pistol, electricity in the Blitzshield, ice in my armor, and whatever spiritual nonsense that was Isolde''s Hallowed Mist. I intended to replace a pauldron on Winter''s Approach with a collapsed mass accelerator, and file down the ridiculous blue shoulder spikes while I was at it.


    When deployed, I could use a prepared Mana Crystal to fuel the relic pistol, turning its light bullet into a hyper-condensed mass of plasma that would not disperse until it hit something.


    I quickly ran into a problem: There were material limitations I had to account for. Jhin only carried four bullets. It wasn''t because the man couldn''t count past four, nor was it because the cannisters that held his energized rounds were heavy. It was because there was a limit to the stress his artificial limb could be put under and four was close to that maximum. Newton said energy had to go somewhere and Virtuoso or not, even Jhin was bound by the laws of physics.


    As was I.


    I smiled as I adjusted the rifle stock. It wasn''t one solid piece. I learned that layers of impact gel and beads could reduce the amount of force transferred into my shoulder so I''d been making a few mockups to see how that''d look. I even planned to reinforce the whole thing with copious uses of Barrier enchantments from the Unsealed Spellbook.


    As I worked, I thought about the most recent message I''d received from Fortuna: She found the Mathers vial candidate. Sonya Vasiliev was a beautiful young woman of twenty-four with honey-blonde hair that fell in gentle waves over her shoulders. She had long, thick lashes that framed soulful, green eyes. She was tall, leggy, and entrancing in all the right ways. I wouldn''t have been surprised to hear that she''d been a model.


    I wasn''t far off, she was a ballet dancer, one of the best from a neighboring world.


    I didn''t know much about her past, only that it was mired in tragedy. Fortuna found her, trained her, and offered her a new life. Sonya was a woman running from her past, one who decided to put a literal world between her and her memories.


    She also took on the name of Melpomene, the Muse of Tragedy, saying how she was sick and tired of dancing to someone else''s script, how she wanted to write her own.


    I chuckled at the notion. As with all interactions concerning her, it was a question of where personal agency ended and her manipulations began. As far as Cauldron was concerned, so long as Miss Vasiliev was content and saw Fortuna as a mentor and friend, that was enough.


    Her power was different from that of Christine Mathers, though still hitting the same general beats. At her core, her power was all about sympathetic memories. Upon thorough testing, it worked like a search engine that allowed her to pinpoint anyone who shared a similar memory as herself, such as an awareness of the organization called Cauldron. She had a secondary power, one that could be activated at will. It made her imperceptible to anyone with said memory in focus. So strong was this effect that even pictures and audio files were affected.


    She was undergoing final training. Eva and Fortuna intended to pair her up with the Slug. She could find targets who knew about Cauldron and the Slug could implant false memories via Doormaker.


    All things considered, Fortuna claimed that having Mel and the Slug around to help cover Cauldron''s tracks would streamline the Path. Things weren''t perfect, I didn''t miss the subtext of just how dependent Mel was on Fortuna''s approval, but for the moment, I was content.


    Author''s Note


    I decided that the Kindred is a title, not just a unique name given to the Lamb and the Wolf. Anyone who bears the Mask, anyone who represents Death on Runeterra is one of the Kindred. It''s a job title, much like the shinigami in Bleach, though with far greater authority than any lone shinigami would have.


    A bit more detail into the Mask. Andy isn''t making the Kindred, he''s making the thing the Mask Mother uses to anoint one of the Kindred.


    Yes, Jhin''s shoulder-mounted contraption he uses is a coilgun. Yes, he made it by himself. He''s not just a mass murderer; he''s legitimately a genius. Out of game, that would mean he has an effective range measured in miles.


    I could be completely wrong and I''m sure some military nerds will correct me, but stats I''m using for reference are as follows: A 120mm mortar has an effective range of 9,400 meters. DARPA predicts a roughly 30 percent increase in range if such a mortar is fired with a coilgun, or 12,220 meters.


    Granted of course, mortars are not shoulder-mounted. We don''t have any reference for what a shoulder-mounted coilgun that fires slugs of condensed plasma and mana might be like, so I decided to just quarter the value and come out at 3,055 meters or 1.9 miles, roughly the maximum range of a professional sniper as it turns out.


    I wanted the Mathers vial to be different, but equally useful. If it seems less focused on masters, that''s because the vial wasn''t influenced by Elijah/Valefor this time around.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.5.5 David Stabler

    Interlude 6.5.5: David Stabler


    2001, December 2: Houston, TX


    I looked at the cross on my wall and smiled. It was a bittersweet reminder. It had been in the family since my grandfather, the same gnarled old man who used to bounce me on his knee and read me stories of my namesake.


    He''d carved the cross himself out of rich mahogany, with grapevines twisting around the wood. At the base was a goblet and plaque that read, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you."


    Luke, chapter twenty-two, verse twenty. Of all the Bible verses, this was the one I associated most with gramps. He always told me that love was sacrifice, that as Christ sacrificed for us, we ought to do the same for others.


    I wondered what he''d think of me now.


    He was my hero, my personal eidolon. When my wheelchair broke and we were too poor to get a new one, he built me a frame from scratch. When I was turned down from the army, he took me skeet shooting until the crippled boy I was felt like a man. When I tried to end it all, he punched me hard enough to knock a tooth loose then called me a fucking coward before hugging me and breaking down crying.


    It was that look, the one of sheer, unrestrained fear in his eyes at the thought of losing me that made me swear to never reach for the gun again. It wouldn''t be a stretch to say he''s why I accepted the doctor''s offer in the end.


    I still had that wooden wheelchair somewhere, could never bring myself to scrap it.


    He wasn''t a fan of capes, said they were proof of the coming end times. He thought that most were squandering God''s gift.


    My phone buzzed, an alarm for therapy with Dr. O''Leary.


    God, I hated that word. I''d been in enough of those to last a lifetime. Still, she wasn''t terrible, all things considered. I sent off a quick prayer to a God I wasn''t sure was listening before calling a Doorway directly to her office.


    X


    I stepped into the office and gave it a cursory glance. No matter how many times I saw it, it didn''t mesh with what I imagined a shrink''s office to look like. Oh, sure, there was a comfy armchair and a set of couches surrounding a coffee table, but that was where the similarities ended.


    Dr. O''Leary''s office was a carefully curated disaster zone. It was one part bachelor pad and one part zen garden. Along one wall was an array of flags from college football teams, most of them bitter rivals. Along another wall was a shelf filled with bonsai trees that I knew she took care of personally. The coffee table was a refurbished foosball table and a minifridge decorated with a random assortment of flower stickers sat at her feet.


    Walking into the place was¡­ an experience. At first, I thought it was a bit too in-your-face for a therapist''s office, but I came to like the controlled chaos over time. Then again, perhaps that was what she wanted, to create a space that utterly defies expectations.


    "Hello, David," the good doctor said. She was sitting on the plush armchair, a binder in hand. She insisted on calling me that, and being called Rachel in turn, a transparent attempt to forge familiarity. Over a year of therapy sessions later, she''d succeeded.


    "Hello, Rachel," I obliged her with a polite smile.


    Dr. Rachel O''Leary, much like her office, was not what I''d expected when Rebecca convinced me to see a psychologist. She was tall, probably a hair above six feet, with bright red hair and blue eyes. She was slightly chubby but not unfit, with broad shoulders she confessed had made her insecure as a young girl. No one would call her beautiful, but she was striking, the kind of person who''d leave an impression no matter where she went.


    To be fair, I wasn''t what most thought of when they heard "strongest hero" either. For a time, I tried to get in shape, but it fell to the wayside when I realized just how little difference personal fitness would make compared to the powers I already had.


    "Come, sit. Tea?" she asked with a knowing smirk.


    "Keep your soggy leaf juice."


    She dug around the minifridge by her seat and withdrew a can of Mountain Dew before tossing it to me with a grin. "Fine, here''s your sugared piss."


    "It''s heroic sugared piss," I jabbed back, finishing our months-old ritual. When I first arrived, I couldn''t get over the fact that Rebecca arranged a psychologist for me. I was a bitter, uncooperative ass who took out his frustrations on the doctor.


    In one of the pettiest acts of revenge I''d ever experienced, when she realized I didn''t like tea, she stocked the damn fridge with nothing but Eidolon-brand Mountain Dew. It pissed me off to no end. I still didn''t know why I didn''t just storm out of there.


    ''Pride mostly,'' I admitted. ''Pride, and maybe I liked having a civilian who wouldn''t bend over for me.''


    That was what it was in many ways. I kept coming back because¡­ because she didn''t get it. She had no fucking clue what it was like to be me, and she didn''t pretend otherwise. She was privileged to know the man behind Eidolon, and content to leave it at that. A link between the man and the mask, Rebecca had called it.


    I popped the can and winced as the soda filled my mouth. It tasted vaguely of artificial melon-flavored sweet tea, if the whole thing was carbonated to hell and back. I still had no idea what PR was thinking, slapping my image on this piss.


    She shot me a triumphant smirk at the look on my face before taking a sip of her tea. "So, how''ve you been?"


    "Not too bad, doc. Grabbed a drink with Legend and Hero the other night. You?"


    "Went holiday shopping with my husband and his extended family. Mother-in-law''s still a raging cunt. I have no idea how she''s allowed in the mall anymore."


    "A fat wallet."


    "Point. Now, do you remember what we talked about last week?"


    "We were all over the place."


    "Yes, but what sticks out to you?"


    I shrugged ambivalently. "I dunno, you said something about how cuckoo birds have their own egg-laying mafia."


    "Really? That''s what you remember?" she snorted. "Guess mighty Eidolon is as human as the rest of us."


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    "What does that have to do with anything?"


    "Humans have this irritating habit of remembering all the meaningless bullshit."


    I couldn''t suppress a laugh at that. "True that."


    "Self-worth, David. We talked about self-worth."


    "Right. You asked me if a cuckoo bird would have any sense of self-worth knowing it murdered other eggs to lay its own and I said no because it''s a fucking bird and you can stop trying to improv an Aesop''s fable out of your ass."


    "Yes, and I said you had no appreciation for the classics. I also asked you to think about it. Did you?"


    I sighed. "What do you want from me, Rachel? What am I supposed to say? Should a bird have self-worth because it''s a criminal? If we''re humanizing birds, can''t it take pride in something even if it''s a crime since it''s for the sake of survival?"


    "I suppose it can. What people take pride in varies from person to person. Me? I love my bonsai collection and Hank still collects baseball cards like the lovable dweeb he is."


    "Wonderful. I''m glad you get along with your husband."


    "My point," she stressed, "is that you should figure out what you take pride in. That''s generally what determines your self-worth."


    "I know what gives me worth. I''m Eidolon, what more is there to say?"


    "Plenty. For starters, why? Why Eidolon? You could just as easily have become anything at all. With the kind of power you have, everything from a movie star with your own built-in special effects to a villainous warlord with his own country was possible. But you chose to be a hero."


    "Who wouldn''t want to be a hero?" I asked rhetorically. I stared at her like she''d grown a second head. "If you have the power to help, shouldn''t you? That''s just common sense."


    "Most capes seem to eschew common sense then. And that''s with the stellar examples you four have set for the rest of us. Back then? When you first came onto the scene? There was no Protectorate. There was no PRT. No national oversight. No obligations. No glitz and glamor of the hero''s life. You could have chosen any other path, but you chose this one. You had every reason to be selfish, plenty of people with far less power certainly make excuses for themselves. It''s even in the name: Eidolon. A paragon. An example. What I want to know, is why? Why become that example for the rest of us?"


    "I¡­" She was right. And for all my self-reflection, it shamed me to say this was the first time I really thought about the answer. Back then, when the doctor told me about Scion, her only request was that I help her kill him. I didn''t need to be a hero. Hell, you could even argue that until us four founded the Protectorate, the profession of "hero" simply didn''t exist, certainly no one who could do it for a living. I¡­ I chose this. I could have just as easily hidden out in some luxurious estate, waiting for the final battle.


    I thought about the cross my grandfather carved, the old wheelchair in a storage shed back in Houston. I thought about the look in his eyes as he read me the story of David''s ascension to king of Israel. "I did it because of my grandfather."


    "Oh?"


    "I was a cripple, you know. I was wheelchair-bound for most of my life. I was such a burden that even my own mother couldn''t find it in herself to give a damn about me. I''m not saying she didn''t care, I think she did, it''s just¡­ It''s hard. Love." I remembered the way mom held me, how her hugs became less frequent. A little colder each time. A little more distant. I couldn''t even recall the last time I heard her tell me she loved me. Letting out a shuddering breath, I continued. "I think¡­ I think she just¡­ ran out. Ran out of love. Squeezed empty like a tube of toothpaste. Does that make sense?"


    Rachel''s normally cavalier eyes softened. "Yes, yes it does."


    "Yeah, well, gramps took me in when she got tired of it all. He took me to school. Introduced me to his church. Showed me how to skeet shoot and carve wood. Taught me to appreciate good barbeque and football. He showed me how to treat a lady right and slapped some manners into me when I said something stupid. He taught me everything that makes me who I am."


    "He sounds like a good man."


    "The best. That''s why, why I''m Eidolon. I wanted to be someone he could be proud of."


    "I think he''d be proud."


    That made me laugh a little. Would he? It was easy for Rachel to say that, she was my shrink. Hell, clearance or not, she didn''t know half the crap I had to do for Cauldron. "I don''t know about that," I whispered.


    "Why do you say that?"


    "He was¡­ He was a simple man. The kind that stood up for the little guy, you know? He''d sit you down and hear out your problems. He used to tell me that no one''s problem is small to them so the least he could do is lend an ear."


    "And you don''t? Didn''t you douse a fire yesterday? And stop a bank robbery the day before that? Not exactly world-ending threats, but they damn sure mattered to the people involved."


    "I don''t do enough."


    "Then do more," she said simply. I blinked. That wasn''t the response I expected and I told her so. "What? Were you expecting me to give you some platitude about how you''re already doing so much? Maybe tell you that you''re only one man and shouldn''t have to shoulder the world''s burdens?"


    "I¡­ yeah."


    "Well, that''s all true, but you don''t need to hear it from me. No, instead, let me ask you a question: When''s the last time you enjoyed being a hero?"


    "Excuse me?"


    "Look, David, we''ve gotten to know each other for a year now and I''ve come to realize something: You don''t like being Eidolon."


    "What? That''s not-"


    "You don''t," she spoke over me. "And it''s no surprise. Being Eidolon is everything to you, but it''s everything because it''s your duty, not because you enjoy the limelight or the money or the authority. It''s noble. You''re noble. In a way that few men truly are. But just because you fight for a noble cause doesn''t mean it''s your passion. It might define you, but that doesn''t mean you can''t burn out like the rest of us."


    "I''m not burning out," I snapped crossly.


    "Are you certain? Have you ever wondered what it''d be like to hang up the mantle? To retire?"


    "I''m not going to retire."


    "Of course not. And frankly, I think I''d lose my job if I somehow convinced you to. No, I''m saying you''re tired and you have every reason to be. Under all your power, you''re still a man."


    I thought about it, truly thought about what she was saying. The last time I was happy being Eidolon was before I knew I was getting weaker. A cape planned to make a name for herself by turning the Astrodome into a glass crater. She succeeded, only for me to reverse time in a localized area, rebuilding the iconic building brick by brick. I''d even slowed it down so people could take videos of the building seemingly magically regenerating from the ground up. That was a good day.


    Rachel was wrong. I did delight in the fame. There was a time when I loved the adulations of the crowd, until it all turned to ash in my mouth. I''d set an impossible standard for myself, only to realize I''d never each my peak again. How I wished I could revisit those days.


    "I¡­ It''s been a long time since I enjoyed being Eidolon," I admitted quietly.


    "You told me you became a hero for your grandfather. Have you considered passing the torch? I don''t mean retiring. I mean taking an apprentice."


    "I have Exalt-"


    "Oh, please. We both know you don''t mentor so much as drive them into the ground with your workaholic ways," she laughed. "I mean take a bit of time off being Eidolon the savior and try out being Eidolon the teacher."


    "No one can do what I do."


    "Arrogant¡­ And I hate that you might be the one person in the world who merits that arrogance. I don''t know much about the Protectorate roster, but are you telling me that there is no one? If I asked you to name an heir right now, who comes to mind?"


    Chevalier. Rime. Myrrdin. Royalle. My mind switched through names like flipping pages in a book, but they all fell short. None of them could do more than scratch an endbringer, never mind Scion. "No," I said finally. "I can''t mentor anyone."


    "If you say so. But David, I want you to think about what I said for next week. Find out something about Eidolon that you enjoy. And maybe, a small vacation to indulge in a forgotten hobby isn''t a bad idea, hmm? You deserve happiness too."


    "Me? Vacation?"


    "The world won''t burn down just because you''re away from the wheel for a few days," Rachel smiled sardonically. "You have capable peers and subordinates. Trust them."


    "I¡­ Maybe¡­ Thank you, Rachel."


    "Until Next week, David."


    Author''s Note


    Obligatory disclaimer: I''ve never attended a therapy session. I don''t actually know what a session is like beyond entry-level psychology textbooks from undergrad. It''s why I decided to include this interlude so late into David''s therapy. That initial trust-building phase? I wouldn''t have a damn clue where to start.


    I did have a teacher who liked to teach me life lessons through convoluted analogies though.


    David''s progress so far seems largely that he''s willing to hear the doctor out. He''s still very much stuck on the idea that he''s the only hope against Scion. It''s¡­ not an unreasonable expectation¡­ so he has a hard time deviating from matters.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.6 Omen

    Omen 6.6


    2001, December 3: Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia


    Most of my days began in the salt flats of Bolivia. When I didn''t have an early morning spar against Armsmaster or some Cauldron emergency meeting, I found the mirror-like surface to be a balm to soothe my soul. It was peaceful here, a refuge away from my responsibilities.


    Here, I could table the concerns in my life for a while and focus on personal improvement to the exclusion of everything else. There was something about this moving meditation that made me seek it out, even when there were arguably better uses of my time.


    I swept Isolde up, slashing an imaginary foe from left hip to right shoulder before flowing with that momentum into a spinning kick that was more for show than substance. Halfway through the kick, I allowed my standing knee to buckle, switching targets from the temple to the kidney. In my hand, Isolde extended an extra foot, gaining mass and acting as a counterweight to keep me balanced through the maneuver.


    The motions themselves weren''t as important anymore. When I first began, I started with a foundation of Shojin kenpo, rigidly going through the basic forms as though they were religious dogma. I didn''t deviate from a single strike or stance for fear that I''d do something wrong. Maybe there was some deep, inherited secret behind why Lee moved his hand this specific way. Maybe it was the best way to channel mana to reinforce my body and any other way would ruin my development or something.


    It was stupid; my life wasn''t a xianxia manhua, but I couldn''t help but carry those worries anyway. It wasn''t as though there was anyone else learning magic kung fu I could go to for advice.


    Every time I tried a new stance, I would meditate for hours prior, searching through the experiences of masters and acolytes alike for some secret I might have missed.


    Over time, I grew bolder. I started to realize that in the end, magic kung fu was still kung fu. Forms were taught in structured formats to acolytes, but it was all but expected that as they grew, they''d develop their own styles and idiosyncrasies. Some were more aggressive and direct while others were passive or elusive. From the Eye to the Scales to the Claws and Horns, everyone built on the same foundation in different ways.


    And so, as the months passed, I did what no one else could: I adopted different styles. It was practically heresy to a purist, but there was no one to tell me no. I picked up the basics of Wuju from Yi, the same type of movement technique he taught to Wukong. I doubted I''d ever be as naturally agile as one of the Shimon vastaya, but seeing how I shamelessly ripped off his cloud-striding boots, I didn''t see why I shouldn''t learn to move like him.


    Seeing how both our weapons extended and contracted at will, I also learned to balance in similar ways, making up for my lack of a tail with whirling arms and spontaneously forming ice to act as counterweights. Before I knew it, though I''d initially searched for Yi''s experiences to learn the sword, I ended up looking a bit like a strange mix of Lee, Yi, and Wu.


    I couldn''t call myself a master, far from it. If any of them could critique my style, it''d probably look slapdash to their eyes. But even so, this style was my own and one day, I swore I''d be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with them.


    I flipped through the air, the mass accelerator prototype weighing heavy on my shoulder. It wasn''t ready so it was mostly there for me to get accustomed to the weight. I threw out three spirit-needles with my right hand and whirled in the opposite direction with my left, sending my body into a small spiral.


    Turning, I fired another salvo of spirit needles in a different direction even as my fingers clawed at the mist beneath me. The ice crystalized over my left hand and the sudden weight dropped my momentum downward for a moment, slowing my rotation and stabilizing me in the air. I released the ice and watched as it scattered into snowflakes on the wind.


    I kicked off the air and dashed forward, punching downward with Isolde''s handle acting as brass knuckles. The punch turned into a front kick, then Isolde extended rapidly, stabbing into the ground as my other foot rose towards my imaginary opponent''s temple, the ice forming into a wicked hook that would have taken someone''s head clean off.


    Armsmaster was right. Just because I had a weapon didn''t mean I should neglect the rest of my body.


    I settled down and let out a deep breath. Looking around, I saw that the six needles I fired were about where I expected, though not where I wanted them to be.


    I''d taken to using the spirit-threads that connected me to each needle to try and control their trajectory. I could manage three, but six was a bit much at the moment.


    With a flourish, Isolde parted like the jaws of a great beast. I swept the threads in between its blades before twirling and shutting it to snip the threads. One day, I wanted to use these threads to trap or cut my opponents, perhaps even use Isolde''s opened form to parry attacks from unorthodox angles.


    X


    It didn''t take me long to return my armor to the locker in the Madhouse and head home to freshen up.


    I let out a satisfied sigh as the heated water fell on me, soothing the burning in my muscles. The water was turned as hot as the faucets allowed. Scalding for anyone else, quite pleasant for an Iceborn. I stepped out of the shower and tossed a Biscuit out the window only to watch it vanish into a Doorway. I didn''t think I''d ever get one on Fortuna; this was more of a game than anything now, though she promised she''d make me step on Legos for the rest of my life if I soaked a Biscuit in pickle juice again.


    I believed her. Fortuna could be remarkably petty.


    "Morning, mom," I greeted as I wandered into the kitchen. I could smell seaweed soup boiling in a pot and mom rolling an omelet with diced spam, onions, and scallions on a square frying pan. Over the months, we came to an understanding: She did the cooking; I did the baking.


    "Start setting the table, Yusung. Rice is almost ready."


    I opened the cabinets and handed her two bowls for the rice, two for the soup, and one larger plate for the omelet. "Mom, do we not have water in the fridge?"


    "We do, it''s the yellow bottle."


    "That''s barley tea."


    "That''s water."


    I made a face. Second life or not, I couldn''t get used to the stuff. "Why¡­"


    "It''s good for you."


    "The Biscuits keep us in perfect health anyway."


    "Well now you''ll be in even better health," she said in that finite way all moms could.


    I sighed but didn''t argue. The last time I did that, mom made a cold-brew tea out of onion peels. It just wasn''t worth it.


    The two of us enjoyed our breakfast of rice, soup, and omelet. Seaweed soup sounded strange to a lot of people, but it was a cultural dish, so much so that it was always served on birthdays. Dad used to say that you couldn''t count yourself as having aged a year if you didn''t eat a bowl of this on your birthday.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    It tasted a bit briny thanks to the seaweed and clams, but that saltiness added to the warm, soothing sensation of the soup. It was a little odd to eat omelet with ketchup and seaweed soup, all over rice, but I wouldn''t have it any other way.


    I smiled as I saw my mom''s hand. Adorned on each of her four fingers was a set of simple, silver bands, each engraved with a complex set of runes from the Unsealed Spellbook: Teleport, Cleanse, Heal, and Barrier. I considered talismans, but rings were a lot harder to misplace or steal.


    Every ring was attuned to her soul and arranged to siphon mana without needing to be manipulated, much like Hero''s Wayfinder. She couldn''t activate them voluntarily, but that didn''t matter. Thanks to her constant diet of Biscuits, she had enough mana to trigger the runes. They were an emergency evacuation device, set to move her to my lab in Babylon. The Custodian had instructions on what to do should that happen, along with a few vials of the Elixir of Life and spare living quarters.


    I made Fortuna promise to keep mom alive. It was one of the conditions for my cooperation, but there was always the possibility of an accident. One bad trigger and even the Eye of Abaddon would be helpless. Fortuna''s protection meant a great deal, but it wasn''t absolute so this was just an extra safety net to be sure.


    X


    I stepped into the Madhouse and made a beeline for my workstation. There, I removed the yet unnamed mass accelerator from my armor and deployed it onto my table. It was almost complete. As it was, if I fired it, the light bullet would travel nearly two miles before losing cohesion. The recoil would then travel through the modified stock and into my shoulder before passing through the pauldron and out into the larger, wing-like piece behind.


    It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the four cannisters arranged like a wing on his back weren''t just ammunition; those things were designed to balance him while he was shooting and shunt some of that kinetic energy away from his body. It was akin to skyscrapers that had heavy pendulums at higher floors. The recoil was the wind, the stock and ammo-wing-thingy was the pendulum, and Jhin was the building. Simple.


    I wasn''t thinking much, so I didn''t build with that in mind. I had to go back and reassemble the whole damn thing, but at least it solved my recoil problem. I wouldn''t be dislocating my own arm firing a coilgun anytime soon.


    This, hopefully, would be the final prototype. In the future, I could work on unique ammunition cells instead of just an enhanced version of Lucian''s Piercing Light.


    After getting that squared away, I thought about Penelope, Stingray. Not that I''d built an emergency evacuation device for mom, I wanted to build something unique for each of the Phoenix Wards. Not only was she my former Leader, she also had a December birthday.


    She was also the easiest to build for. After all, her power was shockingly simple. She was a minor brute with a blaster power centered around thrusting and drilling motions. She was no Lily with her bullshit, multi-dimensional all-pierce, but she boasted some respectable firepower at decent range. She once bragged that she could punch a hole through a car door if I remembered right. She also loved superhero comics and even named her finisher the "Stingray Straight" and her emergency electric baton the "Stinger."


    Yes, she was that kind of girl. She graduated to the Protectorate, but last I heard, she was still happily shouting cheesy one-liners and making boxing puns. If nothing else, it probably helped a lot with marketing.


    She reminded me of another law enforcement officer, one who was also quite punch-happy and had a snarky, sarcastic streak a mile wide. Back in Phoenix, I couldn''t make her Vi''s Atlas Gauntlets because I lacked the infrastructure to build hextech. Back then, I was still Rubedo and had yet to "second trigger."


    Now, with the resources available to me, the gauntlets would be the work of a single week at most even with me having other commitments. There were a lot of little parts to make each finger as dexterous as an organic hand and installing a Barrier module could be tricky, but in the grand scheme of things, the Atlas gauntlets weren''t all that complicated.


    They were remodeled versions of the chem-powered pulverizer gauntlets used in Zaun''s mines. They moved heavy things, crushed large rocks, and otherwise augmented the wearer''s strength to make a hard day beneath the earth a little more bearable. The Atlas variants could store mana via a hextech battery and release enough thrust to crumple a vault door, but none of the principles behind them were difficult, nothing like the mass accelerator or Galio.


    The most complicated part of the gauntlets was a tricky bit of engineering that balanced the weight of the gauntlets mid-punch, reducing the strain put on Vi''s shoulders.


    I''d have to leave Penny precise instructions on how to attune it to herself so that she could trigger the thrust Vi was so known for. Better yet, I''d just guide her through the process during our weekly movie night. Given she had no Biscuit nor an Elixir of Sorcery, her soul probably wouldn''t be able to fuel more than a few charged hits per day, but the gauntlets would be significant even without active mana input.


    Best of all, with the additional firepower, she should be more than capable of duking it out the local heavy hitters if it came down to it.


    X


    2001, December 4: Washington, DC


    I wasn''t surprised to find myself in the temple of my soul. It had been a full six months since I unlocked Unsealed Spellbook and though I hadn''t completed any new standalone projects, I''d done plenty to progress. Since June, I added twelve cities to the Worldstone Network, expanding into Canada. I also started mass production of brightsteel in preparation for Galio, designed and built miniature prototypes of the golem''s power source and cooling system, built the Plaza Guardian as a proof of concept, and was all but finished with the mass accelerator. Finally, I''d taken to enchanting various pieces of my gear with spells from the Unsealed Spellbook and using them as jumping off points for additional studies.


    As I progressed from an alchemist to an industrialist, I was starting to realize that the act of creation didn''t necessarily have easily defined starts and stops. I initially thought that the World Rune activated only when I made a certain number of new creations, but tonight proved me wrong. Progress was the constant application of new and old ideas in different configurations. From the cooling system to the Guardian''s AI, everything had been done before, but it was the usage that marked it as something different, something new.


    And of course, there was the Mask. Of the more prominent aspects of death, only the Fading Icon and the Lamb and Wolf were left. It was nearing completion and I could feel an aura of finality simply by being around it. Immortality was something I still wrestled with, but one way or another, it was something I knew I''d need to come to grips with.


    If I wanted the strength to oppose the endbringers and Scion, if I wanted the slightest chance at ending the Cycle, then I couldn''t shy away from my potential. Whether through the Mask Mother or another means, one way or another, the World Rune would make me more than human.


    I smiled up at the dais where the World Rune spun merrily. Its twelve nodes reflected a dizzying array of constellations across the sky outside, like the hand of some cosmic deity painting with stars and nebulae. It took my breath away, every time like the first time. I wondered if this was at all similar to what people saw at the peak of Targon.


    I''d be sure to ask the Astral Fox if I ever saw her again.


    "Wonder what it is this time? Approach Velocity? Perfect Timing? Future''s Market?" I walked up the steps, giddy and shaking with anticipation. It had almost become a game of sorts. The World Rune seemed to have an ironic sense of humor, especially for something that didn''t talk at all.


    When I made my relic pistol, it gave me the Minion Dematerializer as if to say, "Meh, I can do better."


    When I was stuck with the Crips, it gave me Hextech Flashtraption, but with enough restrictions on it as to make escape unlikely.


    When I felt overwhelmed and cornered by the looming threat of Leviathan and Hero''s death, it gave me Biscuit Delivery as if to tell me to relax.


    I didn''t know if it had some kind of sentience or if my soul was subconsciously reaching for what I needed most at the moment, but I did know that the boons tended to be timely and useful, even if they never solved my problems outright.


    I reached out even as one of the four lesser runes leapt to my hand. It reminded me almost of an eager puppy, happy to be adopted. My hand touched the star and¡­ nothing happened.


    I felt a smile split my face from ear to ear.


    Normally, lesser nodes felt like the fiery warmth of mana, like I''d drank nothing but energy drinks all day. Keystones hurt, as expected of anything that fundamentally reshaped my body and soul. This one, this one felt like nothing because nothing needed to change. The rune slotted into my soul like a puzzle piece I never knew I was missing.


    Right here, in this moment, was Perfect Timing.


    Author''s Note


    Shimon is Wukong''s tribe of monkey vastaya.


    In Korean, "bap," or "rice," is also used almost universally to replace "meal" or "food" in a tableside context. I''m told that''s not unusual in other Asian countries either. Rice really does mean that much to us.


    Barley tea is often consumed like water in a lot of households. The onion peel tea thing is something my mom actually did for a while until dad put his foot down. It tasted¡­ not terrible, which is about as much as I can say about it.


    Fabled''s Random Animal Fact: Rattlesnakes rattles are not maracas. They do not have a pouch filled with hard bits that they shake around. Rattles are actually specially formed scales that fit over each other. Also, they''re getting quieter because people are more likely to hunt down rattlers that stand out. Humanity is accidentally breeding for stealthed rattlesnakes.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.7 Omen

    Omen 6.7


    2001, December 4: Washington, DC


    Perfect Timing did exactly as I remembered: It gave me a Commencing Stopwatch. Or rather, it taught me how I could enchant one.


    My immediate thought was to build as many as I could by cleaning out every antique shop of every pocketwatch ever made. Even if it only worked for three seconds, that was a three second safety net that could handle absolute anything, Scion included. Perhaps I could wear a dozen of them in a jury-rigged ammo belt?


    I snorted at the ridiculous image. As funny as that could be, it wasn''t feasible.


    The artifact was called the Commencing Stopwatch because that''s exactly what it was: the beginning. It was the World Rune''s boon to me, inviolable and immutable. Also, utterly unique. Once I made it, that was it. It was as unbreakable as the Ymelo, its integrity guaranteed by a fragment of infinity.


    Unlike most of my creations, this watch had a direct connection to the World Rune. I wished I could describe the physics of exiting time and what made this golden trinket so much better than Grey Boy''s power, but I couldn''t. I couldn''t not because I failed to understand dimensional physics or concepts of relativity, but because there just wasn''t any physical law that the watch corresponded to.


    The watch was, after all, a cessation of progress in every form. It was what happened when the World Rune told the universe to take a breather. There wasn''t an explanation because this was a smaller, bastardized form of the signature spell of perhaps the most powerful of Aspects. This was Bard''s Tempered Fate in miniature, a sample of what lay beyond my fingertips.


    It was also the first lesson, the start of a whole new school of magic. How curious, that as I wrestled with the possibility of eternity, I also gained something to stop time in its tracks, if only for a single breath.


    If I had to be honest with myself, it scared me as much as it excited me.


    The morning after igniting the lesser rune, I locked myself in my workstation, hunched over a familiar pocketwatch. Not for the first time, I wondered if Inspiration gave me Perfect Timing as a response to this specific watch.


    Could it be telling me that no matter the eternity that stretched before me, I should take care to treasure the loved ones I had? That I ought to save a memento of them forever in time?


    ''Nah,'' I let out a snort coupled with a mental scoff. ''Probably not. Then again¡­''


    Then again, the enchantment came easier. I wasn''t sure if this was because I felt personally invested in the birthday gift or because the Commencing Stopwatch was something directly provided by the World Rune, but I was glad for it.


    It was still eleven in the morning when I leaned back with a satisfied smile. There was no need to examine the watch, but I found my gaze drawn to it anyway. Somewhere along the line, it had changed color to warm gold. The face of the analog clock had been rearranged, moving it to the top of the clamshell lid.


    I knew that no matter where I was or what I put this thing through, its blue face would always tell me the local time accurately.


    Inside the pocketwatch were two pictures. The first was a photo of the Phoenix Wards, the one they included in their gift. The second was of course, of mom.


    I was brought out of my musings by a beeping sound that came from my laptop. It was a notification bell we all had for non-emergency matters. In this case, it was a request asking me to head down to the mailroom to pick up the supplies I''d ordered.


    As I was walking downstairs, I ran into a tall, big-boned woman in an ice-blue suit of armor. It wasn''t quite power armor, there was no exoskeleton that made her stronger, but it was well made. I glanced at the gun on her hip. It had both a beam setting that formed a layer of ice over whatever it hit and a snowball setting that crystalized the water molecules around the muzzle before launching it at a target.


    "Hey, Glace," I called with a chipper grin on my face. "You look tired. What''s up?"


    She shot me an annoyed frown but fell in step with me. "I just spent three hours showing off for a bunch of middle schoolers."


    I winced in sympathy. "School tour?"


    "School tour. How come you don''t have to do one of these?"


    "I''m busy."


    She raised a skeptical brow. "You?"


    It annoyed me, but I had to remind myself that she had no idea how much work I actually put in. As far as most of the others were concerned, I was a Ward and therefore didn''t put in the hours at the Madhouse that they did. I didn''t think they held it against me, I was a recently turned ten year old to them, but they did tend to expect less of me.


    Understandable, if frustrating.


    The only ones who treated me like an adult were Eugene, who knew the truth, and Colin, who seemed to accept that I was an anomaly and sparred with me as a serious opponent.


    "Is it that surprising to find I have demands on my time?"


    "Maybe not, but we''re all busy."


    "True," I acquiesced, "maybe Mr. Powell doesn''t want me to host the guided tours because I look too young. If they see the most junior member, someone who''s even younger than the students, they might think that we don''t value their time."


    She grunted at that. Glace was a taciturn woman, though she was typically friendlier than this. Whereas Just-Ice made his persona off terrible puns and corny one-liners, Glace had the traditional "ice queen" demeanor down pat. Ever since her Ward days, she was constantly paired with Pyrotechnical so she was always cast as the straight-man of the pair.


    "So what happened to Warptek?" I asked. He was a former member of the Madhouse who was tapped for leadership in Milwaukee. That was before my arrival, but he''d designed a network of teleportation plates that made moving materials and machinery around the compound a breeze. This was actually the first time I''d been down to the mail room because I''d never needed to before now.


    "He passed away," she replied, tone more gentle now. "He volunteered in Hyderabad for relief operations."


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    "Shit, I''m sorry. I didn''t know things got that bad."


    "It wasn''t. I was there too. It was just a freak accident. A fresh trigger knocked him out and no one knew to look for him before he¡­ There''s a lot of water."


    I could draw the conclusions. A trigger event disabled any and all capes in an area. It was also the kind of event that was just chaotic enough to lose someone in for a few minutes. And if said disabled cape happened to crash face-first into water¡­


    It wasn''t the noblest way to die, but this world didn''t give much of a damn about that.


    "Weren''t you building some kind of long-range gun?" she asked in a blatant bid to change the subject. I let her.


    "I''m finished. I just need a final test¡­ kind of. I''m certain the gun works as planned, but said range is two miles. I''m going to figure out a way to see that far away."


    "A really good scope?"


    "I''m thinking more a drone," I admitted. A scope wouldn''t help me anyway, not with the way my eyes worked. Instead, I wanted to make a hextech drone of some sort. Then, I could tie it to my eyes as my familiar. I left room in the rune matrices for this reason after all. "What do you think? A mecha-hawk sounds cool, right?"


    "A hawk?"


    "Yeah, too clich¨¦ maybe. Besides, avian wing designs aren''t good for hovering. Maybe a dragonfly? That way, I could have more than one hovering around me to expand my visual range."


    "Sure, Hyunmu. You do you," Glace said, well-used to my eccentricity by now. "Say, mind if I get more of that True Ice?"


    "I don''t mind, but why?"


    "Because it''s the single weirdest substance I''ve ever seen. Every single scan tells me it''s water, but it''s obviously not. It has a standing temperature colder than liquid nitrogen, somehow does not melt, yet transfers the sensation of cold, which implies that it''s absorbing heat. Just touching it for a few seconds was enough to give me frostbite even through my gloves. I''ve been using a drone to manipulate it since. I don''t know if my power''s missing something, but I can''t make heads or tails of it."


    "Good, you know it''s dangerous. So why do you want more of it?"


    "I''m having a lot of fun playing around with it," she said, smiling. She looked a bit more energetic at the prospect of the mystery substance. "Who knows? Maybe if I get Pyro to help out, we can melt it for real. I''m thinking about running an experiment. I''ll keep one out as control and a few more samples in different conditions to see if anything changes."


    I nodded affably. When I first gave her a snowball''s worth of True Ice, I was excited at the possibility of her building some kind of super freeze ray, not that I had any idea what that might look like. It turned out that she was as limited as Fortuna when it came to metaphysical concepts. I should have expected as much. Even Armsmaster, though he made a tranquilizer dart out of Petricite Elixir, hadn''t really changed the elixir in any way, merely added it to a solution in varying ratios until he got what he wanted.


    It had become something of a game among the tinkers of the Madhouse to figure out ways to use the things I made. Metalmaru and Neo-Petricite didn''t count for similar reasons as Armsmaster''s tranquilizers.


    The two of us shot the breeze in the mailroom for a bit before I picked up the delivery of magnesium and silicon carbide. This wasn''t the first time I''d considered expanding my vision and I heard from Metalmaru that some of the hardest but lightest alloys could be made from magnesium.


    X


    I laid down in my bed, flipping through my phone. It still caught me off guard how quickly tech on Earth-Bet advanced. In the world I remembered, iPhones came out in 2007, kickstarting the age of smartphones. Here, smartphones arrived a full decade sooner thanks to the prevalence of tinkers. While most tinkertech was black-boxed by the Shards, enough trickled through to jumpstart innovation.


    The simple fact that humans could build teleporters, ray guns, and hovercars stirred the hopes and dreams of mundane inventors and investors. Back when Hero first stepped onto the scene, there were dozens of startups claiming they''d be the first to "crack tinkertech" and "usher in a technological utopia" or somesuch.


    Such dreams evaporated like the morning mist with the arrival of Leviathan and the collapse of global shipping, but there were still some who were stubborn enough to invest in mundane startups that aimed to rival tinkertech through plain science and human grit. These days, most of them focused on a futuristic aesthetic to ape tinkertech, but some had real substance.


    It was why Rubedo''s mass production of potions was such a big deal, and how smartphones were already a thing six years before the iPhone.


    When shitposting on PHO as He Who Inspires and arguing with myself using multiple accounts got boring, I started to thumb through the emails I didn''t get around to reading. If emails from Powell got overlooked for a day or five because I was in a fugue, who could correct me? After all, the compulsion was just a part of my power. If it was truly important, Hero would give me a heads up.


    That was my story and I was sticking to it.


    Unfortunately, the intentional distance I placed between myself and PRT operations meant I didn''t always get the chance to veto something I didn''t like. Case in point:


    To: hyunmu protectorate_


    From: prt_


    Date: November 19, 2001


    Subject: Holiday Merchandising Opportunities


    Hyunmu,


    It has come to my attention that you have been suspended from patrols indefinitely. This comes at an unfortunate time in the public relations cycle of a hero. Heroes who market themselves well, particularly through leveraging the holiday season, show quantifiably better results in public perception polls. I do not believe I need to tell you why this is important.


    Unfortunately, Chief Director Costa-Brown has not seen fit to overturn her decision despite my urgings. And this even in light of your online popularity. Videos of your speech and fight against the now defunct Stage Crew are still being distributed regularly. Well done. In a single evening, you have achieved what many marketing professionals strive to accomplish over the course of months and years: organic growth.


    Thanks to your online popularity, I believe that it is prudent to develop a list of marketable merchandise for the holiday season. Even with your lack of patrols, I have reason to believe they will sell respectably well. And of course, Rubedo will get his own merchandise.


    I have taken the liberty of including the ideas our department has come up with. See them below and provide feedback as you deem necessary.


    Isolde-shaped scissors: Self-explanatory, though I still feel that naming your weapon of choice after an Arthurian princess is too off-brand compared to the rest of your aesthetic. Really, why scissors? Have you considered your own line of art supplies? How are you at origami?


    Cloud-brand hiking boots: We''ve partnered with an athletic footwear company to make hiking boots modeled after your shoes. "To the Skies!" is the name of the marketing campaign. Say it as a slogan when you can.


    LED light-up shield: The footage of your EMP blast is perfect. It''s flashy, causes minimal collateral damage, and highly effective. It''s also easily marketable to children. We made Christmas toys out of your shield. It can also be thrown like a frisbee. You can do that, right?


    Turtle-brand apparel: We''ve got jackets, sweaters, and skiing gear to go with your ice theme. Of course, since turtles invoke a sense of protection, we''ve also commissioned helmets, deodorant, and feminine hygiene products.


    ¡­


    I look forward to hearing your thoughts.


    Regards,


    Travis Powell


    Director of Public Relations


    PS: If I do not receive a response in a week, I will go ahead and greenlight the projects with the assumption of approval.


    I paled as I read through the contents of the list. Then I checked the date, then the post script.


    "Son of a bitch!"


    Author''s Note


    Filler chapter is filler. Magnesium silicon carbide really is up there as far as light, sturdy shit goes though. I just thought it''d be a fun plug. Yes, I''m that much of a nerd.


    Did I write a scene just to make fun of Armsmaster''s logo on Taylor''s crotch? Yes, because I have the humor of a twelve year old.


    In lieu of plot development, have an animal fact: Beaver teeth are orange because of iron. Yes, that''s right. Beavers are good at cutting trees because their incisors are literal ax heads. They organically form iron deposits in the front layer of their incisors. This means that when the gnaw on things, the back layer of the incisor wears down faster than the front (because it''s partly metal), naturally wearing down the incisors into a wedge shape and sharpening them.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.8 Omen

    Omen 6.8


    2001, December 21: Washington, DC


    I let out an annoyed sigh as I made the four dragonfly drones do loop-the-loops in the air, one after the other. The lead and the third split off from the second and fourth so they could fly in spirals that sent light trails through the air. Each drone was the size of my hand and were the same gray and cobalt-blue of my costume. They had been rigged with LED lights for the minor display.


    They were the only reason I agreed to this bit of PR. I could test my drones in the city, the kids could have something to go gawk at, parents could pretend they enjoyed holiday shopping, and Powell could get me to sign the toy shields.


    ''At least the pads were a joke,'' I grumbled in my head. I thought so, but with Armsmaster''s logo on the queen''s crotch, I didn''t want to make assumptions I scribbled something onto a toy shield and gave some kid a fist bump before his mom waved him along.


    "Someone''s popular," Gold Rush said, nudging me with her foot. We had a brief lull in the lines as Frosty the Snowman ambled by.


    "Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn''t have kicked Stage Crew''s asses that hard," I muttered under my breath, making sure to not be overheard.


    "I''m surprised you got to avoid this for so long honestly."


    "I had more important things to do. Even today''s more of a favor to Powell than anything."


    "You tinkers have it good," she pouted. "If any of us pulled something like that, we''d be on nothing but PR and volunteer work to try and clean up our image."


    "We do. It doesn''t hurt that I really did need to build more Worldstones." That was my excuse and I was sticking to it.


    Brickhouse tapped us both on the shoulder. "Look alive. We''ve got more people. Oh, and good job with the multitasking. I didn''t know you could move your drones like that."


    "They''re mostly interfaced with my armor," I shrugged, the fib coming out easy. My eyes were directly connected to my optic nerve and there were entire runic matrices carved into the surface to make information processing easier. Intent-based runes were awesome. Up above, one of the drones stuttered a bit because I got it confused with another for a second. "Still need a bit more practice."


    Off a ways, Verdeer was rocking the single most ridiculous Rudolph the Reindeer costume I''d ever seen, glowing LED nose and all. He at least didn''t seem to mind letting kids hang off his antlers. Next to him, even Whiteout was out and about today, signing some movie case or other that was the Earth-Bet equivalent of Die Hard, or the third installment of it, where he got to have a small cameo.


    We Wards were alone. The original event was meant to be a Protectorate-Wards cooperation thing, but Powell decided last minute that we would be on our own because Eugene headed off on a tour of the major departments alongside the other Founders. PR must have figured that not having our glorious leader would look too awkward.


    I for one was glad for it. From what I heard, David, Eugene, Rebecca, and Keith were also taking the chance to catch up, something they didn''t get nearly enough chances to do.


    All told, the winter holidays were proving to be a peaceful season.


    X


    I''d begged off movie night with the Phoenix Wards. Today was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year. Just because the Tear of the Goddess was embedded into Winter''s Approach didn''t mean I stopped charging it. If anything, it required more mana than ever, like a cocoon getting ready to metamorphose into a butterfly. It was only thanks to my increased connection to the World Rune and the second Keystone that I had the mana to burn like this.


    Technically speaking, Winter''s Approach would gather enough mana and "evolve" for lack of a better word into Fimbulwinter, or Fimbulvetr if you were feeling particularly Nordic. All that was required was that I wear it often, imprinting my memories and experiences onto it along with my magic similar to how Avarosa''s bow seemed to have a mind of its own. The main reason I was in such a rush was because I wanted that change to come during the winter solstice.


    I didn''t need a formalized ritual or anything, but I felt that it was a good chance to try something on my end. So far, the Kindred and the Mask Mother were all creatures whose impressions bled through into my soul. With each meeting, I could feel their experiences and powers imprinting onto the Mask.


    I didn''t really get a say in our meetings once I decided to make the Mask. Now, I wanted to use the opportunity to contact another powerful spirit-god, to seek her blessing.


    Anivia, the Cryophoenix. Frostbringer. The Undying Eagle.


    She wasn''t just some magic turkey with ice powers. For Freljordians, she was the goddess who embodied the concepts of life, death, and rebirth, the endless changing of the seasons, and the all-consuming winter that their region was so known for. She was the Frostbringer, but also the one who ushered in a new spring. Though she was not the eldest of the Firstborn, it could be said that she more than any of her siblings embodied the Freljord itself.


    She was their goddess of hope, for she was the one who nurtured humanity when the first tribes found themselves in the northern wastes.


    She was also the creator of True Ice, the very power I''d been so indulging in thus far. I made a few hundred pounds of the stuff by now. Anivia? She made glaciers at will.


    I didn''t need to, but it felt only right to call on her on the winter solstice. Surely if the Mask Mother''s influence could bleed through, then the most benevolent of all the Firstborn wouldn''t deny me a conversation?


    With that thought, I stepped out into the rooftop of the main facility in Babylon. December in Ukraine was a bitter, miserable thing. The people who dwelled here, both Peter Pan''s host and the human tribes who were migrated from other worlds, had long since sheltered in the homes we''d constructed for them. By now, the Garden of Babylon was entirely overseen by three Guardian robots and countless Wrenchbots, hardened against the frigid air.


    Tonight was a clear night, with the moon and stars out in full and not a single light on earth to pollute the view. It had snowed for days prior and my feet made satisfying crunching noises against the rooftop.


    The ritual, if it could be called that, was one I''d been working on ever since I first touched the Mask and realized what was happening. My insight into our connection grew with every member of the Kindred I met until I finally felt ready to attempt to replicate it.


    To start, I required a medium. The unfinished Mask was enough to act as the bridge. Here, my own armor, constructed with True Ice, would play the same role.


    Second, I needed the right environment, to set the stage for lack of a better comparison. The winter solstice in a heavily magical forest of my own creation? That''d suffice.


    I sat cross-legged on the roof in three inches of snow and began to meditate.


    I''d been doing this for so long that it only took me a moment to sink into a focused trance. Inside, the mana surged up to greet me like an old friend and my body was filled with the warmth of a comforting fire despite the winter chill.


    There were dozens of tribes in the Freljord, and hundreds more that either died out or moved southward to warmer pastures over the millennia. Everyone knew the big three: Avarosa, Winter''s Claw, and the Frostguard. Most weren''t like that. Lesser tribes tended to be tight-knit family units comprised of a single warmother and perhaps up to her second or third cousins. Every last one of them had their own traditions and rituals in the same way that not every Native American tribe told stories about the rainbow crow or the wendigo.


    But there were some commonalities. Some stories were universal. After all, to them, the spirit-gods were not simply characters from fables to be passed down, but tangible entities who shaped the world around them. Their influence could be seen in every spell and potion, every shard of True Ice. There was a bridge over the Howling Abyss that stood testament to their existence. It wouldn''t do to forget their tales.


    Most tribes sang and danced, beating out deep, undulating rhythms on one-sided drums made of walrus bladder or dr¨¹vask or eln¨¹k hides as the elder or shaman of the tribe told tales of their gods. Some included medicinal herbs and incense, others did not; it depended on where the tribes lived and how common they were. For one and all, these ceremonial gatherings around the fire were sacred, a blend of community, religion, and oral history that escaped modern definition.


    I had no one to beat a drum for me, nor would anyone hear tales of Anivia here. I could have made some incense, but I wanted my mind clear for this. The humans here called me the god of the harvest, but it was a title I emphatically rejected. Nor would I dare claim godhood before Anivia. Perhaps someday, I would have the right to greet her as an Aspect, but I sure as hell wasn''t her equal now.


    So, I made do and stood, flowing into a dance of my own making. It was nothing like my normal moving meditations and certainly nothing like the rapid exchange of blows between Armsmaster and I.


    This dance was more rugged, meant to be performed by people who''d never considered a formal tradition in the arts. Each footstep of mine stomped into the rooftop, packing snow into ice and generating a ripple of frozen spikes around my feet. I''d have likened it to a wartime march, but it lacked the rigidity of military discipline.


    And yet, despite the unrefined nature of it, or perhaps because it was so wild and raw, I found myself losing control. I felt the winds pick up, blowing through the Petricite trees all around the facility. They started to howl and whistle, as though providing me with accompaniment.


    The mana stirred from within, reinforcing more than my body. Ribbons of icy energy flowed from my fingertips as I clawed and punched the air. I found myself mystified even as I used my whole body to weave the spell. After a certain point, I couldn''t tell if I was weaving the spell or if the spell had taken me over.


    I stopped when I felt the first snow land on my hand. Then two. Then a descending flurry as mana coalesced and rose into the sky. I stood on that rooftop, breathing heavily despite my enhanced stamina, and waited.


    And then there was silence. Somewhere in the middle, the wind had died and I failed to notice.


    Then I felt it. Her presence was a paradox, massive yet fleeting, frigid yet warm, judging yet compassionate. She was here, yet not. It only took me a moment to realize that like with the aspects of death, she was a mere avatar of herself, a pale reflection of who she truly was.


    I looked up and met violet eyes like gemstones, a single amethyst orb larger than this entire facility. It was said her wings could stretch past the horizon. Even as barely more than an illusion, it was a breathtaking sight. Every flight feather could dwarf a Petricite tree. Her beak and talons were easily hundreds of feet long.


    I swore to myself then that one day, I''d travel to Runeterra and meet the real deal. I''d seek out all the Firstborn and earn their acknowledgement. The thought filled me with an electric thrill.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Anivia," I breathed, the name misting into the night sky.


    "I am, fledgling. And called to such a foreign land, too," she mused. Her voice made the very air tremble, as though the winds feared to move without their mistress'' leave. Despite the obvious power in her voice, it was almost caressing in its tenderness. Of all her siblings, she had always been the kindest to mortals.


    By this time, I had seen several members of the Kindred, those who bore the Mask Mother''s gift and acted as agents of death on Runeterra. They were, all without fail, so much younger than this Firstborn.


    The aspects of death, each mask, was crafted in regard to a legend. So great did Elise''s presence loom over Noxus that the Soulspinner came to be. So great was the legend of the Kinkou and their philosophy of balance that the First Wave and Last Wind came to be. By that token, these aspects of death were no older than the civilizations whose legends they embodied. Mighty? Yes. Dangerous? Without question. But oh so young in the grand scheme of things.


    Anivia was different. She was there with her siblings at the dawn of the world, born alongside the first winter. It was her wings that sheltered the first tribes from the winter winds. She was the one who guided them to the few habitable sanctuaries in the Freljord, oases among a desert of barren ice.


    Her presence felt heavy, ancient in ways I could scarce imagine. There was experience in her amethyst eyes, the kind that could not be bridged by power alone. Only the Mask Mother compared in the sheer worldliness she exuded.


    "Have you no words for me now that I am here, fledgling?" the great eagle asked, mildly chiding.


    I had a speech ready and memorized. I had a list of requests and things I wanted to bargain with. Words fled my mind and I spat out the first thing that I could think of. "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"


    "Actually, I came first," she cooed. It was delightful to hear, something halfway between a laugh and a chirp.


    I stood there, feeling like a fucking idiot. I''d laugh at the meme when I wasn''t so close to pissing myself. Still, the joke helped me catch my breath and center myself. "Is¡­ Is it true that you burned your brother''s house down?"


    She¡­ squawked with surprise and annoyance. "I did no such thing!"


    "Didn''t you tickle Ornn''s nose when he was sleeping?"


    "Well, it was certainly not I who set fire to that ball of kindling he called a house. And if he did not wish for a sister''s vengeance, perhaps he should not have cut down my favorite perching tree."


    Regaining a bit of courage, I smiled wryly. "A house that runs the length of three valleys is kindling, she says... Of course. It was just karmic justice."


    "Quite. He is not to hear of this. He''s still so very proud of Horn-Hall. Oh, he won''t say it, saying how pride ruined his work, but what is stubbornness if not pride of a sort?"


    The two of us shared a conspiratorial smirk. Amusingly enough, that great blaze was also how Anivia made the first snow, or so went the Freljordian fable. Of the many tales about the Firstborn, that was among my favorites. Their sibling squabbles made them seem so¡­ human.


    "Anivia, are you real?"


    "I am as real as the winter, as true as the newfallen snow."


    "I mean... here. You''re the guardian of the Freljord and this is¡­ not the Freljord."


    "But it is winter, is it not? It was you who called to me on this longest night." A single, massive wing reached out and touched the crystal embedded into my chestplate. That lightest brush nearly stopped my heart, such was the cold. A reminder. A gentle rebuke. "And with such a powerful artifact to anchor my presence here. True Ice is mine, fledgling. It will not melt so long as I live. It has not melted, thus I must be real."


    I nodded and chose to ignore that bit of circular reasoning. "And that connection was enough to draw you to me."


    "No. That connection and your lovely little dance was enough to draw me to you," she spoke, every word the part of some great melody only she could hear. "So here I am, fledgling. You have called and I have answered. What is it you seek?"


    "Power," I said, bolder now. That initial blaze of awe hadn''t gone away, but it had simmered a little before her motherly friendliness. "I want power. I want your blessing."


    "You demand much."


    "I demand nothing that has not been granted before. You led the first tribes to sanctuary. You granted Avarosa her bow. You protected Ulla Shatter-Spear for a hundred winters until age caught up to her and she finally chose to die in combat, old and storied. Of all your siblings, you''ve always been a friend to humanity."


    "I did all those things. The Three Sisters gave me a grand treasure in turn, a united Freljord, whole and strong. And yet, even their legacy fractured and fell away. Tell me, fledgling, why do you seek power?"


    "I want what Avarosa wanted. I want to protect my people. It just so happens that ''my people'' is a lot bigger than a tribe or dozen."


    "You seek to do what she could not. Many have promised to be different. Many a great warmother has pledged to unite the Freljord, only to fall short, by choice or circumstance."


    ''What makes you any different?'' I heard the unspoken query. This wasn''t going as well as I''d expected. Truth be told, I''d been na?ve to think she''d just give me what I wanted. Benevolent or no, she was a millennia-old goddess who had likely forgotten more than I''d ever learn.


    I wracked my mind for an answer, anything to earn her blessing. Winter''s Approach could be turned into Fimbulwinter without her, but it''d be lesser for it. Now, when the armor was being enchanted anew, was the best time to add a spark of divinity to the mix.


    I did the only thing I could think of. Slowly, I pulled the Ymelo from the air beside me and offered it to her. "I''m different," I said firmly. "I don''t seek your power for my own gain. There is a threat I cannot overcome on my own, a threat that will consume this world and so many others should I fail."


    "A repository of memories."


    "See for yourself, then judge me."


    "My, aren''t you a bold fledgling," she spoke with a knowing smile. The wind stirred the gently falling snow into spirals around the Ymelo. As though on invisible hands, it rose into the air until it floated at eye-level with the great eagle. "It''s well crafted. Perhaps my brother could say more, but such creations have never held my interest. Still, I can see that he would have been delighted to call you Hearthblood."


    "Thank you, Anivia," I said respectfully. The Hearthblood were disciples of Ornn who traveled from all across Runeterra to learn from the god of the forge. They dedicated themselves to bettering their craft, until they were one day caught between Ornn and Valhir. Knowing that Ornn himself would have respected my craft was both humbling and uplifting.


    The Ymelo burst into azure flames as Anivia began to delve within the memory bank. The winds stilled and the snow died down as she saw through my eyes. She saw how I arrived, how I came to possess the World Rune, and how I became a killer at the tender age of eight. She saw Cauldron in all its successes and failures, Scion in his apathetic altruism, and the Mask Mother''s influence on me.


    I stood there for what seemed like hours, heart pounding in my chest. This was quite literally divine judgment, one I volunteered for. It was a wonder I remembered to breathe.


    Finally, she turned her gaze from the Ymelo. It floated down to land in my hands.


    "Oh, fledgling¡­" Her voice was tender still, but filled with sorrow. "You bear heavy burdens."


    "I do. That''s why I need your power, Anivia. I don''t know if I can do this on my own, but I hope I don''t have to. Even if you''re just an avatar of your true self¡­ even if this world isn''t Runeterra¡­ I want your blessing over my armor. Protect me like you protected Avarosa and Ulla and Ashe. Give me the strength to inspire hope."


    "A brave soul in one so young¡­ You seek the protection I granted to Ulla Shatter-Spear so that is what you shall have. So long as you remain true, fear not the winter night, for the snow and winds shall ever be your friends." So saying, she reached down and touched my armor again.


    That was the trigger. Mana colder anything I''d ever felt before flooded Winter''s Approach. I could feel my blood chill from my proximity to her magic. Had I not been Iceborn or had she been crueler, I knew my very blood would have frozen into jagged barbs, rending every vein and artery in my body. Even prepared as I was, the cold raced through my body, leaving behind electric numbness that made breathing difficult.


    Then the twin orbs of True Ice in my skull reacted with Anivia''s mana and my world became pain.


    True Ice was dangerous. It could kill a normal man on contact. Different Iceborn had varying degrees of resistance to the substance, with the likes of Ashe and Sejuani capable of wielding True Ice weapons with barely a grimace. It was only the combination of Glacial Augment and the elixir crafted using the Veraza azaleas in Babylon that kept my body from thoroughly rejecting the enchanted eyes.


    Anivia''s mana completely overrode both protections. For a moment, my vision was consumed by hallucinations of what seemed like every winter there had ever been since the dawn of the Freljord. In that moment, I saw every snowstorm, the formation of every glacier and snowbank. I felt every clattering teeth and every pang of starvation.


    For a moment that stretched out into an eternity, I got to experience both the breathtaking majesty and raw terror of the Freljord.


    There was something else amidst that pain, a spark of potential. It was the memories of my own experiences. I relived them all, from the very first shard of True Ice I''d crafted back in Phoenix to every practice session and sparring match against Armsmaster to the way I''d steamrolled through Stage Crew. It was as though the memories of my interactions with Winter''s Approach was locked in the ice itself.


    They became my anchor in the storm, keeping me grounded as the weight of Anivia''s magic, her own memories, threatened to strip away my very identity. The clarity they offered gave me the chance to push back against the goddess'' presence. Inspiration flared and I heard the great eagle let out an impressed hum. As I pushed back, I felt her concede and withdraw her will, handing me the reins of the magic that swirled inside of me.


    Her frost was slowly subsumed by the World Rune before being shoved outward towards my armor, enacting the changes I envisioned. I could feel the armor molding into a new shape around me even as I fell to my hands and knees.


    Eventually, the pain faded and I looked myself over. Fimbulwinter looked nothing like the armor I remembered from the game. That armor was impractical at best, meant for a towering raider and designed to intimidate. That armor had jagged spikes of True Ice that sprouted from its pauldrons and a helmet with honest to god bull horns like the historically inaccurate Vikings in popular media. This was not that.


    My new armor kept to the same thematic colors of black, gray, and cobalt-blue but that was where the similarities ended. It was lean, with a complex matrix of blue scales making up the base layer. Overlapping plates of matte-gray covered my chest, left shoulder, forearms, and shins. If I didn''t trust the quality of my work or the blessing of a Firstborn, I''d have had concerns about leaving so much of my body covered in only scale.


    The chestplate still held a shard of True Ice, but I''d removed the long spikes on my pauldrons. The last thing I needed was some idiot impaling himself on my shoulder and dying because his blood got frozen over via magic icicle. The right pauldron was much smaller than the left, leaving a gap meant to house the mass accelerator and dragonfly familiars.


    Over it all, I had a form-fitting white cloak with a large hood I could drape over my head. The sleeves, hem, and hood were trimmed with black fur that seemed to amplify the shadows. I''d made it with expectations of one day wearing the Mask. Mask on and hood pulled up, I wanted to look like the fucking grim reaper. The back of my cloak displayed my personal sigil, a stylized drawing of the thirteen scutes of a turtle.


    Hoarfrost clung to the armor and so potent was the ice magic locked inside that I couldn''t will it to thaw. Tiny icicles dripped from my pauldrons, hands, and the hem of my cloak.


    "Holy hell, that hurt," I groaned.


    "You are a gifted Iceborn. Be proud. Being in such proximity to my magic would have killed most."


    "Ugh, well, I don''t feel particularly gifted now."


    "Pain is how you know you are alive," Anivia clucked chidingly, "Or that is what my brother likes to say."


    I swallowed to keep myself from saying some less-than-charitable things about the storm god. "What exactly did you give me?" I asked. "I could feel your magic. I saw how the armor changed to fit my image, but the enchantments themselves¡­"


    "I told you, the snow and winds shall ever be your friends. Call on them and neither flame nor steel will reach you."


    I remembered the tales. Once, a southern king claimed he would conquer the Freljord. He paid no heed to the traditions of the tribes. He disregarded the warnings of shamans. In his arrogance, he believed he could hold the Freljord. Worse, he believed he could shackle the wild magics of the land for himself. It was the first and last time a mortal so brazenly challenged Anivia.


    Anivia sent a storm to freeze him in his tracks. The cold made hardened steel more brittle than glass and the winds shattered the king''s army to unrecognizable pieces. So enraged was the great eagle that she did not let the storm die for a century and a day. The tribes still called the place the Scouring Plain and icy rocks could still be found dotted throughout, the last remnants of that army.


    "Anivia¡­ I can''t use that kind of power. I''d kill everyone around me indiscriminately."


    "Then you''d better start practicing. Your armor contains a taste of my experiences. Make them your own."


    "Is¡­ Is it even possible to control that?"


    "I do. All the time," she chirped out a laugh.


    "You''re a goddess."


    "And you''re not so far off. Is the World Rune a mere trinket that you underestimate it so? Perhaps it''s time you start to truly utilize the immense magic that dwells within you."


    "I¡­ Yeah, that''s¡­"


    "I look forward to seeing you take flight, fledgling. When you have your wings, perhaps you can visit me next time."


    And with that, she was gone.


    I sat there in the snow, breath ragged and feeling like I went a few rounds with Rebecca.


    "Well¡­ that could have gone worse."


    Author''s Note


    At sea level, the horizon is three miles away, giving Anivia a wingspan of over six miles. She''s a big bird. Hopefully I gave her the respect she''s due. The Firstborn are some of my favorite characters in League.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.9 Omen

    <div>


    Omen 6.9


    2001, December 22: Sahara Desert, Africa


    My new armor drew more than a few glances in the Madhouse. Other than the coat, it was vaguely similar enough to Winter''s Approach that I tried to pass it off as something I''d been working on intermittently, but I could tell I wasn''t fooling anyone. It was abundantly clear to my cohorts that I was building outside the lab.


    A home lab wasn''t a good excuse given my Ward status, but no one cared to make an issue of it when Eugene and Rebecca stepped in to reinforce the claim. I could only thank the lacking tinker-related regulations. Somehow, I doubted that Kid Win would be permitted a home lab in 2011.


    Still, I sure as hell couldn''t test out my new armor in DC.


    "I was under the impression that you loathed the heat," came Rebecca''s dry remark. "You complained enough in DC."


    "I can stand the temperature; it''s the humidity that pisses me off. Arid heat''s fine."


    Rebecca hovered next to me as I stood on a cloud beneath my feet. She was in her full Alexandria getup, intimidating blacked out helmet included. I remembered giving her an Elixir of Rejuvenation once I proved I could implant eyes and more. I thought that it was what really set us on the path to being more than colleagues. She wore a backpack filled with both mundane and tinkertech gadgets.


    ''Friends. With Alexandria,'' I mused a sardonic smile on my lips. I could practically taste the salt of the collective Worm fandom at the notion.


    "Why are we here, Andy?"


    "I need to test out what this armor can do," I told her. "And maybe come up with a name for it. I was thinking Fimbulwinter, but it doesn''t sound right to me."


    "The last winter before Ragnarok?"


    I raised a brow at that. "You read the Eddas?"


    "Once, back before Cauldron," she shrugged. "You can only do so much from a hospital bed and I used to love stories of ancient heroes. When I recovered, I went back and reread everything I ever touched."


    "To remember?"


    "Indeed. None of it''s useful, but they remind me of who Rebecca was before she became Alexandria."


    I hopped down to the ground and smiled as a tan serpent rapidly hid beneath the sand. It was good to remember that even the chrono-static woman had hidden depths. "Rebecca sounds like an interesting person," I told her. "You should let her out more often."


    "Perhaps. The reference is poetic, possibly even pertinent given our ultimate mission, but it doesn''t suit your theme. How does Polaris sound?" I made a face at that. "No? I''ll have Powell''s team workshop it."


    "Nope. No. No way in hell. Keep his grubby paws off my IP."


    "Then don''t name it at all. It''s just a costume."


    I let out a mock gasp. "It''s just a- Do you hear yourself?"


    She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Do what you want, but let''s get on with this. I''m a busy woman, Andy. For that matter, so are you."


    "A busy woman?" I grinned at the dirty look she shot me. "Fine, fine. This armor. It has an ability that lets me create an arctic storm around myself. The storm is so powerful that it can shatter steel through the temperature difference alone. In fact, I''m pretty sure laser weapons would just fizzle out because the storm would instantly rob it of all heat. The idea is for it to drain an area of all heat then use said energy to permanently power a forcefield around myself, a forcefield that regenerates constantly so long as there is someone or something in the radius that is hotter than the storm''s ambient temperature."


    "You want me to test the ability."


    "Yup. You''re the person least likely to die. But just in case, fly out a few miles and approach. Use a rangefinder to figure out the radius of the storm, then Eugene''s old pistol to see how lasers react inside it. Then, assuming you''re not affected, come closer until you rejoin me or start getting frostbite."


    "The cold doesn''t bother me," she scoffed.


    I wagged a finger her way. "You say that now, Elsa, but if there''s any ice magic that can make you eat your words, it''s this one."


    "Tinkertech isn''t magic."


    "Sure, and Manton''s a well-adjusted man with zero hang-ups whatsoever. Now shoo. Didn''t you say you were busy?" She shot me an admonishing glare but flew off anyway. The sonic boom she left behind sent sand everywhere. I grumbled as I dusted the sand from my hair. "Bitch."


    A minute later, my communicator blared to life. "Ready?"


    "Ready. How far are you right now?"


    "Fourteen miles out."


    "What happened to ''Cold doesn''t bother me anyway?''"


    "You seemed serious."


    I grinned. "So I am. Starting in five."


    "Understood."


    My connection to the as of yet unnamed armor was similar to my connection to Isolde. Even when it wasn''t active, I could feel a tether between it and the World Rune, a valve that I could twist open at any moment to power its enchantments. I reached out for the connection and paused. I could feel the magic pulsing, baying like a hound set to be released, and I immediately noticed a problem.


    It was too strong.


    Anivia''s blessing effectively let me use her authority over ice and wind in a localized area, but this was an authority that far superseded my own. Without my armor, I could make a few compact snowballs, maybe an icicle shiv or a handful of throwing knives. With Winter''s Approach, I was effectively a tactile cryokinetic who could create and mold ice in my immediate vicinity.


    I jumped from that, to "I made a hailstorm that lasted a century."


    The mana that flowed into the armor surged like a tidal wave. If tapping into the World Rune normally felt like drawing a bowl of water from a well, this was akin to switching on a water drill rated for diamonds. It felt like I had collared and mounted a typhoon. So great was the magic of the Firstborn that it overwhelmed my protections, leaving me with an uncomfortable chill. I doubted even I could keep this up forever.


    I did my best to take stock of my surroundings. My armor was completely covered in hoarfrost now, making it look like it had gained a crystalline outer layer.


    Hurricane-force winds ripped through the desert, kicking up a whirlwind of sand and ice with enough force to strip flesh from bone. It was not lost on me that in the arid environment, creating this much ice shouldn''t have been possible. I chalked it up to Anivia''s bullshit magic.


    Not fifty feet away, I spied a cactus literally shatter into dust, its stored water frozen and ground apart by the sand and ice crystals carried upon the wind. In seconds, enough of the sand was kicked up to expose what few animals called this place home. Every last one of them had flash-frozen to death the moment I activated Anivia''s blessing and granular chunks of wildlife joined the hailstorm orbiting me.


    I stood in the eye of the storm, lightly shivering as the Sahara Desert experienced its first introduction to Anivia''s frost. I patted myself down. Lucky for me, everything that I owned was untouched. I pulled out the communicator. It was designed by Eugene to be able to contact Cauldron operatives across dimensions, something about higher-dimensional wavelengths and sympathetic subatomic motion that flew over my head. As cold as it was, a simple storm wouldn''t be enough to hamper the device.


    "Becky, can you hear me?"


    "I can," she replied. "Have you moved from your starting location?"


    "No."


    "Then it seems the storm has a radius of slightly less than three miles, remarkably small for a storm and nothing like a supercell."


    "Well, sorry my best defense is merely a city-wiping storm. I''ll shoot for half a continent next time," I shot back.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    She gamely ignored my snark and pressed on. "Doing a flyover now. Have you noticed that your storm has no eye?"


    "It does¡­ kind of. It''s more like a marble than a column of calm air though. This storm is a dome around my person so the area I''m occupying is quite peaceful. It takes heat from an area and empowers a forcefield around me."


    "How big is this forcefield?"


    I did some quick napkin math. "Five feet or so in any direction. I think I can draw it in though to close the gap."


    "So you could protect someone?"


    "Maybe. Everything around me died from the initial release. Pretty sure that''s a piece of some rodent skull that just flew by¡­ If someone teleported to my side right now, they''d be safe until I withdrew the forcefield or kicked them out of it."


    "Pity. It''s as you suspected. Lasers don''t travel more than three feet in the area of your storm. It''s as though something is increasing the rate of dispersion of light."


    "Just roll with it. The storm is cold. Ergo nothing hot can exist in its domain."


    "Very well. I''m going to try entering the storm now." I heard nothing back for several seconds. "No change. I seem to be immune."


    There was some satisfaction in her voice, though I supposed it was deserved. Literally anyone else, including the rest of the Founders, would have died. Keith could turn to light to mitigate damage, but that sounded like a horrible idea given what Anivia''s storm did to Eugene''s laser. He might be able to escape if he pulls out all the stops and focuses on flying out of the area of effect. Eugene and David wouldn''t be able to approach at all unless they teched specifically for it.


    I suspected that Rebecca''s separate-dimension-but-not-really power was protecting her from the ice. Several seconds later, I saw her enter my visual range. She landed in the eye soon after.


    "You can still fight in this, right?" I asked. "If I were to counter Behemoth''s killing aura with this¡­"


    "Impractical," she shot me down. "I don''t think this does anything against radiation, unless you know different?"


    "No, you''re right."


    "Even if it did, I had trouble breathing in that storm. The air pressure is too great and it was a struggle just to see where I was going."


    "Shit. It''s not like I want to depopulate a city every time I use this either."


    "Can you control it? Underpower it somehow?"


    I nodded, rubbing my arms to keep warm. "Yeah, but it''ll take time. I''m hoping that I can make it selective. Get it to ignore allies."


    "Is that possible?"


    "Yeah." I gestured to the Ymelo. "It seems to ignore things I own."


    "Work on learning to control your armor as a high priority."


    "You don''t have to tell me. I''m going to kick you out of my field now. Try to punch through?"


    "Understood."


    Making the eye constrict around me took barely any effort at all, probably because I had been focused on the concept of protection when I made it. Once she was out of the sphere, I nodded.


    Rebecca drew her fist back and punched. I felt nothing. Shrugging, she flew up and began to throw herself against the forcefield. Wherever she struck, fractals of mana formed snowflake-like patterns, only to disperse rapidly. I grinned at that. By this point, everything in the area besides Rebecca herself was dead. If she was unaffected by the cold, it stood to reason that she wasn''t contributing any heat either. And that meant that the energy that kept replenishing this shield had to come from somewhere.


    "The sun," I whispered. The World Rune kept the storm active, which in turn drained all heat in an area, sunlight included. It certainly explained why the world looked to be in grayscale. Before long, Rebecca began to tap her nose. "Oh, right. Breath."


    Letting the storm disperse was as simple as cutting off the fuel.


    When the winds died down and we could hear each other normally again, there was clear satisfaction in her voice. "That is a very sturdy forcefield."


    "It is. It''s too bad that control''s so difficult."


    "That just means you have something worth mastering."


    "Yeah, thanks for helping me test this."


    "You''re welcome." She opened a Door back to Earth-Bet to her private quarters so she could change back into a business suit. She looked back. "And Andy? Welcome to the big leagues."


    X


    When I returned home, it was to find an email from Penelope.


    Andy,


    You weren''t picking up, so I decided to send an email.


    Thankyouthankyouthankyou!


    I got your birthday gift this morning and they''re awesome! Here''s a pic. Jazz calls me Fat Hands now but whatevs. She''s super jelly and she says she expects something equally badass. How''d you get them to fit my hands though?


    I kind of feel bad because the scarf I sent you looks kind of lame next to freaking tinkertech boxing gauntlets.


    I''ll be stuck in power testing for the next few days, but so worth.


    Thanks again,


    Penelope


    PS: Sorry you missed out on movie night. It''s your turn to pick one next week.


    I smiled at that. Even from a letter, Penny''s good cheer was infectious. I scrolled down to find three more emails from my friends, wishing me happy holidays and giving me a wish list of their own for any tinkertech devices in the future.


    Alongside their emails was one I hadn''t expected but should have. "Of course Director Lyons wants to chat," I muttered.


    Hyunmu,


    It has come to my attention that you still keep in contact with your old Wards team. While I''m glad you five have formed such strong friendships, I am somewhat concerned about just what gets shared over your weekly movie nights.


    Particularly, note that it is in no way appropriate to send fully operational tinkertech devices over the mail. No matter how well they augment Stingray''s abilities, gauntlets capable of crumpling vault doors like aluminum foil are not appropriate Christmas gifts. I do not care that it included a biometric lock requiring a blood sample. That was highly irresponsible and Chief Director Costa-Brown has been notified.


    Don''t get me wrong. I''m delighted that you think so highly of Stingray and admire your faith in the integrity of our postal service, but your gift has kicked over the hornet''s nest here in Phoenix. I have been approached by four different heroes wanting tinkertech loadouts of their own. Both the research and PR departments will be quite busy over the holidays because of you.


    I''m halfway tempted to allow Gyroscope to dismantle your gauntlets to study them.


    I''d tell you to reflect, but knowing you, you consider the above chaos a badge of honor.


    Regardless of your disposition, you are to let me know if and when you intend to provide any of my team with tinkertech. You no doubt intend to gift Hat Trick and Masked Bandit with similar devices.


    Better yet, I''d appreciate it if you hold off on doing so until the girls graduate from the Wards. It is much more difficult to overhaul their image while they are Wards and if we time their graduation, we can claim their graduation is the cause for such changes.


    If that does not convince you, know that I fear giving Wards powerful weapons. While both Hat Trick and Masked Bandit are mature young ladies, I worry that possessing powerful tinkertech will give them a confidence they do not deserve. They may seek out conflict they are unprepared for. You know the gangs here are not kind to isolated Wards.


    Respectfully,


    Amelia Lyons


    Director of the PRT


    prt_phoenix .gov


    PS: I have contacted Director Keller Watson in Albuquerque as I know you are most likely to make something for Ranchero. You can be his headache.


    PPS: Regardless of this mistake, I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued potions supply. They have given the Phoenix PRT a reputation for being one of the best-prepared departments in the country.


    PPPS: Know that I am wholly committed to taking in as many refugees as possible in your Worldstone Network project should the worst come to pass. The mayor is a politician through and through and is unaware of your connection to Rubedo, but I will continue to pressure him as I am able.


    I sat back. I wasn''t expecting a letter of that length from my former director. From what I recalled, Director Lyons rose up from the ranks as a researcher first before hanging up her white coat for an administrative role. I remembered her as a fair and responsible woman, if perhaps a little inexperienced in the law enforcement side of things.


    Her threat of letting Gyroscope dismantle the Atlas Gauntlets was uncalled for, but she did have a point. As much as I wanted to kit Jazz and Raq in some of my best works, it might make them look for fights to "test the goods." I sent back an email apologizing and promising not to make them anything without at least giving her a heads up soon.


    I then sent an email back to the group letting them know that Ranchero was next by seniority and that I was expected to speak with Director Watson first.


    The door to my room opened and mom stepped inside with a plate of yakgwa and barley tea. She set them down and ruffled my hair. I scrunched my nose at the drink but made no comment of it.


    "What are you doing, son?" she asked with a smile


    "Just writing some emails to Phoenix."


    "Good. It''s good to stay in touch with friends. Thank them for their Christmas gifts."


    "Yes, mother."


    "And when you''re done eating, bring the plate down."


    "Of course, mother." I picked up a yakgwa, a traditional Korean honey cookie mom picked up in Annandale, and bit into it. I savored the mildly sweet flavor and the crunch of toasted pine nuts. "Mmm, these are good."


    "I know, right? An unni at the bank makes them for fun. She gave everyone a tray."


    "Nice, can I get the recipe?"


    "I''ll ask when I see her after New Year''s. Don''t stay up too late."


    "I won''t, mom."


    Author''s Note


    I think I briefly mentioned somewhere that Alexandria can be affected by potions. It came up in a chat about what it''d take to de-power her via Petricite I think. Like other breaker effects, drinking the Petricite Elixir would be enough. I considered making her immune outright, but that didn''t seem right seeing how she needs to breathe and all.


    It''s kind of funny how big the jump in power is with Worm. You have characters who can maybe devastate a few city blocks like Kaiser and then immediately leap from that to characters who can wipe out said cities in a whim like the Triumvirate. I think most people forget just how large the Indian subcontinent is and what kind of force it''d take to blow it up as Behemoth''s death did in canon.


    In context, Andy''s two-mile range on his mass accelerator and six miles of ice-based kill aura isn''t much. But, he is finally a "city-buster" as much as I hate battleboarding terms.


    Jinx calls Vi "Fat Hands" in League. I thought it was a cute add-in and fit Yasmine''s character.


    "Unni" means "older sister" but can be used to refer to a close acquaintance or friend. Even adults often address their seniors as unni or hyung in Korea.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.10 Omen

    Omen 6.10


    2001, December 22: Washington, DC


    I laid back in bed, admiring the Mask. It was, near as I could tell, nearly complete. There was a wholeness there that it lacked before. The gnarled bristlecone pinewood was roiling with magic. I would have said it was brimming with life if the notion wasn''t so paradoxical to its nature. Then again, the First Wave and Last Wind taught me that the two concepts were never so distinct as we mortals liked to assume.


    I ran my fingers over the rippling patterns on the wood. The Mask was a dark brown, almost black, and the patterns I''d carved were hard to see unless someone had my eyes. They wouldn''t be able to see at all from a distance. The waves and billowing clouds that made a crude yin-yang symbol over the eye. The weblike etchings that framed the Mask and looked so elegant and brutal in equal measure. The prancing fox and rabbit that played across the forehead.


    Balance. Perspective. Eternity.


    They were heavy lessons and as the mana within the Mask reached a familiar crescendo, I wondered what new lesson the Kindred would impart upon me.


    When I next opened my eyes, it was to the sight of a crumbling city, half buried in sand. I was standing now, despite having been lounging in bed moments earlier. I stood at the summit of a great hill that overlooked the ruined metropolis. The city itself seemed to be built into twin gorges, though perhaps the gorges had been made with magic around the city. Far below, I could spot a great, gaping maw from whence water flowed.


    So vast was the complex that it took me a moment to realize what I was standing on wasn''t a hill, but a singular palace. Deep below my feet, I could see what used to be countless rooms and caverns. Some were living quarters, with beds and fabrics long eaten by moths and vermin. Others were offices, meeting rooms, and lounges. I thought I spied a war room even, a table carved with the map of what was once Shurima at its height.


    To my left and right, two crumbling towers stretched towards the sky. They were ruined, but I could see that if I were to slot the broken pieces together like Legos, they''d form a giant "U" with my location as the trough.


    Behind me was the Sun Disc itself, the legendary artifact of Targon that allowed for the creation of the Ascended. This singular artifact allowed Shurima to thrive despite the harsh desert. With it, its emperors conquered the entire continent and defined an entire era, so much so that the very continent and desert were named for the empire. I felt a wave of sorrow as I saw it buried in sand. It wasn''t alive or anything, but I felt that something with that much history deserved to be treated better.


    I looked around and sighed. I knew where I was, which also meant I knew who I was meeting.


    "Well, let''s go find the Fading Icon," I muttered.


    "No need, little one," came an echoing voice. It sounded masculine, but raspy and distant, like the last of a flickering candle.


    I turned to face the insectoid Kindred. He carried with him a twisted staff of some unknown wood that curled on itself into a spiral on one end. From the spiral hung the desiccated corpses of different creatures. I spied a beetle, some kind of bird, and even a frog dangling by the leg.


    The entity was short and wore a mask like all the others. His mask boasted a wide mouth and twin antennae that reminded me of a weevil. His body was that of a man, though he only had three toes. Odd, seeing how he had five fingers. His green skin was like rusted bronze and his only garments were tattered bits of cloth around his waist and a ragged mantle that split in two halves with designs like insect wings.


    "You are¡­ very green."


    "That is not the worst thing I''ve been called. To be called at all, there is merit in that, my young friend, for the greatest terror is to be forgotten."


    "I suppose," I said cautiously. His magic was¡­ sickly. There was no other way to put it; he felt like a man gasping his last breaths. All the other aspects of death were powerful, robust. Their very presence stirred the air with magic I couldn''t yet tame. I couldn''t help but compare him to Anivia. Where time seemed to make her strong, it took its toll on the insectoid aspect. "Humans say being forgotten is the second death."


    "It is," the Fading Icon agreed. "Now, who are you?"


    "Who am I now? Or, are you asking who I''d like to be remembered as?"


    "Who are you?"


    "Thanks, real helpful." Lacking any other answer, I went with what I knew. "I am He Who Inspires."


    The beetle-man-entity let out a shuddering laugh. It sounded like the autumn wind, breathy yet fragile. "All inspirations fade. You will one day be as I am."


    "Are you warning me or mocking me?"


    "Why not both? Humans are such fleeting creatures with fleeting memories."


    "Yeah, well, one of us doesn''t have to base his existence on the memories of a dead civilization," I scoffed. I had the World Rune. It was a unique advantage among the Kindred. I couldn''t simply be forgotten because the World Rune existed before humanity. Never would I fall to the Etherfiend.


    He bowed seemingly in thought and the shadows cast his mask in a sinister glow. "Yes, you are not like us," he shuddered out. "Why? Why you?"


    "Luck," I shrugged. As much as I wanted to claim otherwise, that''s what it boiled down to. "I was lucky to be born to a mother who loves me, lucky to find the World Rune, lucky for Inspiration to choose me as its partner, lucky to be given time to grow, lucky to have the intelligence to use that time, and lucky to have gained Fortuna''s friendship. Sure, there was work involved. I spent countless nights studying the memories of those who''d gone before. I worked daily to master the martial arts of Ionia. But in the end, it''s luck that set the foundation and luck that gave me the opportunity."


    "Yes¡­ You are fortunate beyond compare."


    "Is that what you wanted to teach me?" I asked him. He looked at me with glowing blue eyes. "All the aspects seemed to want to teach me something or remind me of my convictions. The Waves and Winds told me that death is an inseparable part of life. The Soulspinner told me that there is beauty in each strand, no matter how fragile, and that it''s up to us to see that beauty. The Astral Fox reminded me of my immortality and the climb to come. What about you? Are you here to tell me how lucky I am? How absurdly blessed I am? Because I know that already."


    "Must there be a lesson, little one?"


    "Then why are you here?"


    "I wished to see the newest to take the Mask Mother''s gift. You will not fade, but eternity is a lonely road."


    "Yeah, so the Fox said." I looked at him, truly looked, and felt a burst of pity. "Tell me, was it worth it?"


    "Hmm?"


    "Being one of the Kindred. Being the aspect of death for all of Shurima. Now that you''re at the end, was the journey worth it?"


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "I¡­ I do not know," he said. His voice echoed with anguished sorrow. "I do not know for I do not know my name."


    And there was the true cruelty behind the Fading Icon''s fate. He wasn''t just someone who was destined to cease to exist. If it was only that, I could have brushed him off, perhaps I would have even mocked him. After all, everyone dies and an aspect of death bitching that it''s his time seemed more than a little hypocritical.


    That wasn''t his fate. His fate was to fade, not merely vanish. Slowly, piece by piece, memory by memory. Like a puzzle being torn apart, it was his destiny to watch as everything he was turned to ashes in the breeze.


    The two of us looked out over the crumbling ruins of the once grand city. "What''s the last you remember?"


    "I¡­ I remember the Ascensions. Some came broken, from some battle or other. Others were proud and stalwart¡­ Twins¡­ Yes, there was a pair of twins who greeted the Sun Disc together."


    "You remember the Ascensions? Not the deaths?"


    "Is it not a death in itself? It was death, and a rebirth, for never again were they the same."


    "Fair point."


    "Even those memories dim."


    I swallowed. "I think it was worth it," I told him. He looked at me quizzically. "This. Shurima. The Empire. Your tenure as their aspect of death. I think it was worth it."


    "How so, little one?"


    I shrugged. "The Soulspinner told me that mortals give meaning to our own lives independent of fate. The end is inevitable, but that doesn''t mean the journey is meaningless. He found beauty in every strand. Maybe you can too?"


    "Even if I remember nothing? Even if all that I remember will become nothing?"


    "Even then. There is beauty in transience. You grieve for what you lost and that alone is proof that it was worth having at all."


    "Perhaps. Such curious creatures, mortals. So weak, yet so much greater for it."


    "Mortals gave birth to you. I''d say mortals can be plenty strong."


    "Perhaps, little one. Perhaps." He was silent for a long time. "Is it lonelier to be forgotten or to carry on?"


    "Does it matter? I refuse to count tragedies like coins."


    "You are right. A final lesson¡­ pity I will not remember this one."


    "Then I will in your stead," I promised.


    Before I could say more, he began to crumble, becoming dust in the breeze, much like his city. His mask was the last to go and as I felt the world shift around me, I thought I could spot a grateful smile.


    I found myself in bed again, the Mask in hand. It was, as far as I could tell, unchanged. Appropriate for the Fading Icon to leave no trace of our encounter.


    Looking deeper, I could feel traces of his magic lurking beneath the surface. It was faint, but I could feel it stirring. It was only much later that I realized what I''d witnessed.


    I just saw a god die, not with a bang, but with a whimper.


    X


    2001, December 25: Sahara Desert, Africa


    I decided to call my armor Anivia''s Grace. I tossed around a lot of names like "Polaris," "Seven Stars," or some other celestial reference but ultimately decided against them. In the end, it was Anivia''s blessing that helped me finish this masterpiece. It was only right that I name it, and the spell, in her honor.


    Besides, as a rule, the Firstborn were pretty big on respect.


    I practiced with the armor every chance I got. We didn''t have any satellite imaging in Cauldron''s Earth, but I suspected that if anyone looked down on the Sahara, there would be little polka dots of freshwater lakes left over from my training exercises. What that''d do for the environment, I didn''t have the foggiest clue.


    I was more concerned with trying to get some measure of control over it. At the moment, it was a rabid, uncontrollable beast, an all or nothing with the barest consideration granted for my possessions. Anyone near me that didn''t have Shard-backed dimensional hijinks to protect them died. The impact of the falling hail alone was enough to make anything frozen by the storm fracture and scatter. It wasn''t impossible that the likes of Armsmaster or Metalmaru could come up with a suit that won''t freeze and break apart, but that would require careful testing.


    Rebecca and Fortuna both agreed that learning to use my new armor to its full potential would be a priority, but neither could do much to help me. The best they could do for me was to acquire enough lab rats to feed all of India''s snake population.


    I cast an apologetic glance towards Lily #33, or the single crystalized paw and the few fragments of cheap plastic that made up her cage. She died swiftly.


    "Door," I spoke into the wind, only now starting to die down now that I wasn''t powering it. I ignored the slight chill in my muscles and stepped inside the Cauldron facility to retrieve Lily #34. If¡­ If I could create the storm without killing a rat, then I could move on to monkeys, then perhaps a high-end brute Case-53 volunteer.


    Lily #34 looked up at me and let out a happy little squeak. I dug in my pocket and gave her one final treat, a dried raisin. Grapes weren''t good for rats, but that likely wouldn''t be a concern for her. I dropped a few more raisins into the cage and watched her nibble at them hungrily.


    "I''m sorry," I whispered before placing the cage on the desert floor. The Doorway closed behind me as I took a seat. Maybe it was just a familiarity thing, but it helped to take a meditative posture. Gingerly, I reached inward and felt my connection to the armor. By now, the mounting pressure was a familiar one.


    I could feel it in my bones; Anivia''s Grace was not beyond my ability to control, if not now then in the future. Like falling snow settling into place, I could feel the Firstborn''s magic syncing with me with every use. Someday, this fragment of the Firstborn''s power would belong to me. It was only a matter of time and will.


    I turned the valve and did my best to hold back the snowstorm. To be brutally honest with myself, Lily #1 through #17 died for nothing. Back then, I threw myself against the rising swell of mana like an idiot, as though my intent alone would be enough to stem the power of a goddess, however diminished it may be. I failed predictably.


    It wasn''t until further reflection that I realized what was going on. In the end, I was a creator. The World Rune was the Rune of Inspiration. Throwing myself blindly forward wasn''t good enough to harness its power, to be the counterweight against Anivia''s magic.


    I thought back to the Dream Blossom Censer. To this day, it was among my favorite pieces, not because it allowed Fortuna to operate in total anonymity or because it was such a cheat weapon that most capes simply lacked a response to it. No, it was because the creation of it was inspired. I took chamomile, dried daisies, and turned it into a branch of the God-Willow.


    When I made it, I wasn''t in a good place mentally. I was desperate to escape, desperate to rein in my thoughts, desperate to master myself. It was true what people said: Necessity really was the mother of invention.


    I imagined. I saw every twisting vine, every blushing blossom that decorated Lilia''s censer. I copied her masterwork and offered up a piece of myself into the crafting process. If I didn''t have that to work on, I was sure I''d have gone insane in the Red Sands.


    ''A pity then, that it took me so long to remember such a vital lesson: Inspiration is imagination,'' I thought wanly.


    I felt the rising mana tinged with the divine and¡­ let go. I stopped holding it back, stopped trying to collar the winter winds like a stray dog. Instead, I began to imagine.


    Rather than bar its way, I guided the mana into my hands. Atop my crossed legs, my hands formed a familiar circle. Within it, the first of many violent snowflakes bloomed to life. It sat there, waiting, begging for me to give it shape.


    There was only one who embodied the winter winds.


    In my hands, the snow crystalized into an egg. And as though on fast forward, the egg hatched into an eagle with the purest blue plumage. It was heavy, weighty in a way that defied description. I shivered. Being in contact with a crystallization of Anivia''s power was¡­ an experience. Phantom pains wracked my body, reminders of just what the Undying Eagle''s power really felt like.


    When I could hold it no longer, I let it fly. It soared to a record height and just before it vanished from my gaze, it exploded, bathing the world in a violent storm.


    That was the end of Lily #34.


    "Well¡­ shit," I muttered. Looking around, I could see larger chunks of the adorable lab rat.


    X


    I didn''t know how long I practiced for, but at Lily #82, I finally had a survivor¡­ for a while. She died a few minutes later of hypothermia, but she was in one piece, which was more than I could say thus far.


    Finally having had enough of murdering lab rats, I called a Doorway back to the Madhouse. I was about to head to my locker to change out of my costume when my phone started to buzz.


    "Hyunmu," I spoke.


    Eugene''s voice came through the line, utterly devoid of his usual cheer. "Describe the third endbringer."


    "What?"


    "Now," he stressed.


    "Naked angel lady. Many wings. Asymmetrical."


    "Yeah, I was afraid you''d say that. Evacuate. Get your mom out of here!"


    "What''s going o-" He hung up before I could finish the question. A second later, my phone buzzed again, a picture this time. It was the Capitol Building flanked by the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress to either side, a skyline I''d seen dozens of times before. Unlike those times, there was a figure who floated above, looking for all the world like Archangel Gabriel here to sing the first noel. "Fuck¡­"


    The Simurgh had arrived, a year early.


    Author''s Note


    In LoR, the Fading Icon has a much more desperate set of lines. I initially wanted to do the same, but I ended up with this. His encounter sounds a lot like a man dying of some terminal illness but that''s because he kind of is.


    I think I mentioned it before, but I had a lab rat in social psychology during university named Lily. She was cute. And probably smarter than me.


    Cliffhanger? What''s that? Nothing here. No siree.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.11 Omen

    Preface


    I wrote this sequence of chapters almost a year ago, 6.11 through 6.14. It''s a four-part endbringer battle and looking back, I still point to it as the sequence of chapters of I am proudest of.


    Honestly? I thought about ending the arc at 6.10, mostly because it fit the arc title of Omen well. Then I realized that ending an arc on an absurd cliffhanger was exactly the thing I said I wouldn''t do so here''s the whole fight. Aren''t I a gracious spider?


    Because of the chaos of an endbringer fight, I''m going to be jumping perspectives to try and capture a better picture of what''s happening. Do keep track of who''s perspective you''re seeing through.


    Omen 6.11


    Andy Yusung Kim


    2001, December 25: Washington, DC


    The phone trembled in my hands as I tried to come to grips with what was happening. I tried to reconcile what I was seeing with what I knew and came up short. Two plus two made thirteen and I had no fucking clue how.


    ''Except, you do,'' a traitorous part of me whispered. ''You know exactly why she''s here, why she''s early.''


    I did. The Madhouse. The Worldstones. My potions. My predictions. Hell, maybe even me dropping hints off PHO. Too much. There was real potential for safety and stability in this iteration of Earth-Bet and she couldn''t have that. The Cycle couldn''t allow that.


    She was the Hopekiller, the opposite of everything I was, everything I sought to be.


    I looked down at that photograph and shivered as a profound sense of wrongness filled me. I wasn''t Christian, I didn''t think I could call myself that anymore, but there was something deeply wrong about her arrival today. Christmas, the holy of holy days. I knew that the world would never think of today the same.


    The wail of sirens broke me from my stupor.


    ''Mom.''


    That single thought consumed my mind. Mana filled my veins with arctic clarity and I was off. "Door! Home!" I roared.


    I crashed through my living room like a focused typhoon. She was upstairs, polishing the bow of her violin.


    Spikes of jagged ice sprouted from my feet, lifting me just that much faster as I ran straight through the kitchen island. I ignored the stairs entirely and stomped the ground, hurling myself through the ceiling towards mom. It didn''t matter. The house wouldn''t matter soon enough.


    "Andy? Wha-"


    "No time. Door, Babylon!"


    I tuned out her surprised squawking and dumped her into a lounge set aside for my use. "Custodian, take care of her," I shouted as I ran through another Doorway into the Madhouse. There, I heard Rebecca''s voice through the intercoms.


    "This is not a drill. The entity in the sky above the Capitol Building has been identified by thinkers as a third endbringer. I repeat, that is the third endbringer. Do not approach. All Protectorate personnel, initiate evacuation protocols along the Worldstone Network. All other combatants and volunteers are to report to the Arlington branch of the PRT for organization. This is not a dri-"


    I tuned it out as the message began to repeat. This wasn''t supposed to happen, but we were as prepared as we could be. I knew that Protectorate members would be taking up stations at evacuation sites, each with their own Wayfinders and each Wayfinder tuned to a different city. Zero Day would organize the broader evacuation efforts while Hero himself would make sure to evacuate VIPs.


    I Hexflashed to my locker before tossing everything I didn''t need through a Door to Babylon. I was confident the Simurgh couldn''t use my tech, mana baffled Shards, but there was no point in taking chances. The last thing we needed was my Dream Blossom Censer going off mid-fight.


    There was too much going on. As soon as I''d emptied my locker, I took another Door to my room, where I picked up the Mask. It was finished, or close enough. Carefully, I clipped it to my belt. I knew that once I put it on, it wouldn''t be just me fighting.


    And then I froze.


    I didn''t need to go. Strictly speaking, I could just¡­ leave. Two words and a single step would take me to Babylon, with mom. I could be away from all this fighting, away from the most dangerous endbringer. DC had more than its fair share of potions. The Worldstone Network would ensure large-scale evacuation in however much time we had before her song.


    The words were on my lips, but I hesitated. I remembered the aftermath of every endbringer battle thus far. I remembered the sorrow and the helplessness. I remembered feeling like I''d never matter, nothing I do would ever matter.


    I glanced at the Mask. Balance. Perspective. Eternity. Finality. "Is this part of the climb, Fox?" I wondered aloud. As if to answer me, or perhaps because it could sense the death drawing near, the Mask pulsed with eagerness. "I won''t be helpless ever again. I won''t sit on the sidelines ever again. Door, Arlington PRT."


    X


    The Arlington office stood only four blocks from the Pentagon and not much further from my own house. I''d only visited it once before, but I remembered it as a bastion of military professionalism. Perhaps because their office was so close to the Pentagon, most of their senior staff came either from the military or from a defense contracting company in the private sector. In other words, a revolving door. A highly sophisticated revolving door with many moving parts, but still a revolving door.


    Now?


    Now it was absolute chaos. The Doorway winked out behind me as I took stock of the crowd. Most were part of the local cape community and they looked suitably terrified. The vast majority had never seen an endbringer before and no one was looking forward to being the first to test the waters.


    ''Brave,'' I thought. My respect for both the local indies and villains rose up several notches, as did my relief when I failed to spot Just-Ice and the rest of the Arlington Wards.


    Off in the parking lot, I saw some kind of tinkertech airship land, crunching several cars out of the way. It opened up to unload a dozen capes before immediately taking off again in a new direction. Judging by the sigil and the naked horned lady amongst their number, the Guild. I wished Narwhal the best of luck. If she survived, I knew she''d go on to do great things.


    A person in scaled white body armor and antlered helm appeared suddenly in a flash of light, depositing a team of people in the main atrium. Kirin White of the Moonwalkers if I recalled correctly. He was formerly of the Sentai-Elite. Before I could get a good look at him, he vanished again, presumably to pick up more teams. He wasn''t featured in the main story, having come before Taylor''s time, but I recognized him as the sole mover-eleven on record.


    The name "Moonwalkers" was a very literal designation. It made sense that the hero turned merc would be tapped to pull a Strider.


    Legend, Alexandria, Eidolon, and their respective teams were already here, probably given priority transport for obvious reasons.


    It was¡­ a disappointing number. We had maybe three dozen, as opposed to hundreds in a normal endbringer fight. I noticed that not a single Kingsman, Meister, or Custodes showed.


    ''They just started to ring the sirens,'' I told myself.


    But I knew the depressing truth: Most would look for any reason to not be here, to not be the first to test a new endbringer. I understood, and loathed them for it.


    I stalked through the pandemonium towards Masamune, another former member of the Sentai Elite, before snatching a comms bracelet. There was no bomb in it and the AI was rather primitive compared to Dragon, but Masamune provided these to keep in touch during endbringer battles. I didn''t give anyone a chance to comment on my youth before I was already away.


    I kept walking until I caught up with my colleagues. Even Alexandria looked taken aback by my presence. Two rapid blinks. Practically shrieking with her.


    "Andy, what the hell are you doing here?" Legend began.


    "Hyunmu," I snapped. "And what else would I be doing? I''m fighting too."


    "You can''t-"


    "I can. Right now, Lexi and I are the only two people who are completely immune to her song."


    "That doesn''t mean you can handle this," Eidolon chimed in. There was real anger in his voice, anger tinged with genuine concern. For all that people liked to give him shit, he did care. No, it might be that his problem was caring too much. His hood glowed with an emerald light and I might have been more intimidated if I didn''t know it was a set of LED lights sewn into the hood. "An endbringer battle is nothing like you''ve seen."


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Can. Must." I unclipped the Mask and hung it over my head, slightly skewed to one side. Its magic was almost alive, and it beckoned me to pull it over my face, to revel in the carnage to come. I stomped down the urge with iron discipline. "This? This is the Mask of the Kindred. It might help us kill the Simurgh but even if it doesn''t, it''ll be enough to give her a hell of a fight. Have you told them about the song and the time limit?"


    Alexandria looked at me and nodded sharply. There was worry there, but also acceptance, acknowledgement that I was not a burden to protect but an ally to fight beside. "No, we have not. Any additions?"


    "No, just make sure that all Wayfinder portals shut at half an hour after she starts singing. If the fight goes on longer than that, any cape still in the radius needs to rotate out. In fact, rotate at twenty. Any civilian¡­ is to be left behind¡­ Don''t expose yourself to the song for longer than you need to."


    "She tore up the PRT building and she''s building something from the remnants. Any ideas what?"


    A pit formed in my stomach. There was a lot in the Madhouse even without some of my more destructive projects. Pyrotechnical, Glace, Armsmaster, Zero Day, Bluesong, Metalmaru, and Hero. Not to mention Warptek and other tinkers who used to work here but had moved on. "Give me footage."


    She tossed me a portable communicator, another of Masamune''s creations from the logo. It was impossible to discern exactly what the Simurgh was doing, none of our drones could get close enough, but between the whirlwind of orbiting debris, the tech she was scrapping for materials was easy enough to identify. I''d seen it often enough; it was Bluesong''s, a set of giant stereos she brought out for major PR stunts.


    She was building a mic. But before I could say so, I heard a low drone in my ears. Behind me, the Ymelo began to pulse a faint blue.


    "Speakers. Gives her song range."


    "Yeah, we figured," Eidolon growled.


    By unspoken agreement, we turned to face the crowd.


    Alexandria began barking out instructions. The plan was simple enough. We had half an hour before we needed to withdraw out of range of her song. The stereos were a priority in order to hamper her range. Otherwise, we were to focus on evacuation of civilians. Support staff would fill capes in as they arrived.


    "Go!" she barked, flying off towards the nearest stereo. Eidolon followed quickly behind her.


    Legend was about to leave but turned and placed a concerned hand on my shoulder. "You don''t need to do this."


    I smiled wanly up at him. "Heh, always so noble¡­"


    "Can you keep yourself safe?"


    "You''ll just have to trust me. Hey, I''m Cauldron too, and saving the world is what we do."


    "Be careful."


    With that, he was off.


    I took a deep breath and forced a vicious grin as I reached for the Mask. "Well, let''s see if angels can die."


    The Mask covered my face and the world faded to black.


    X


    David Stabler


    If I had any lingering doubts about the value of Contessa''s new prot¨¦g¨¦, they were gone now. She was here, the third endbringer, and with all the bells and whistles Hyunmu predicted. She was early, but we were ready. I flew ahead on crystalline wings to engage the Simurgh, leaving Exalt behind to rally the troops.


    That was my job, the big damn hero who faced the demon alone. I felt my blood boil and sing. Here, I wasn''t David Stabler. Here, I was Eidolon, strongest hero alive. There was a pang of guilt at the battle-high that flowed through me, but I dismissed it with practiced ease. My powers slotted into place smoothly, charging to full potency just as the Simurgh began to sing.


    They were all strong, jackpots even. Matter disintegration ray, crystal manipulation with a side of flight, and a sphere that turned my immediate surroundings into a blackbox against masters and thinkers alike. I was ready; it was as though a higher power was smiling down on me, telling me to strike down this disgusting mockery of an angel.


    I''d gladly oblige.


    The Simurgh launched a barrage of debris at me. Rebar, concrete, and broken masonry flew towards me at near bullet speeds. With a wave of my hand, a crystalline shield formed around me, weathering the attack with contemptuous ease.


    I flew forward, slapping aside more of her salvo. The more of her satellites she sent against me, the easier it would be to draw a bead on her. I withstood several more salvos before taking aim and returning fire. A black beam that seemed to eat up all light lanced out from my hand. She dodged out of the way at the last second, turning what would have been a body shot to a glancing blow on a small wing on her left arm.


    I smiled grimly as the wing began to visibly rot away, dissolving into flecks of microscopic sand. This was one of the strongest powers I''d seen in a while; I''d be sure to make it count.


    ''She can see any attack after it leaves the blackbox,'' I realized.


    Just then, the radio crackled to life. "All blasters, target the stereos. Brutes will run interference," came Alexandria''s voice.


    It was as good a plan as any.


    Off in the distance, I could make out Legend and his cohorts. It was hard to see amidst the pandemonium, but my friend always had a habit of standing out. No matter the situation, Keith had a certain magnetic charisma that drew the eye. This was even truer as Legend. A corona of azure light surrounded the man, making him a literal beacon for others to follow. It was intentional; he was one of the few who could provide some semblance of coordination in such a chaotic battlefield.


    Not for the first time, I wondered if powers had minds of their own. Or perhaps they were influenced by the personalities of their owners?


    I shook the thought from my head. That was a mystery best left for the good doctor. Now, now was game time.


    I made a beeline for one of the other stereos, confident in my friend''s ability to destroy his own target. The stereo was almost in range of my disintegration ray when the Simurgh began to retaliate in truth.


    Half the materials orbiting her formed into a single, massive hand. It was large enough to have entire cars as fingernails. It reached for me in an effort to swat me out of the sky.


    I fired, the black beam of light striking the palm. It was too thick. Six cubic feet of material dissolved in an instant, but more took its place. Left no other option, I retreated a ways before launching a crystalline dagger towards the stereo. If I could break her tinkertech, we''d still come out ahead.


    The crystal stopped in midair, a mere inch from its target. She took telekinetic control over something moving at well past the speed of sound.


    I wasn''t sure what I was expecting, but I was disappointed in myself anyway. Just because I was the creator didn''t mean the material was beyond her telekinesis. I''d clearly underestimated her awareness if she managed to pick out a single shiv amidst the entire battle.


    And then the hand was on me again, leaving me no room to think. What had to be hundreds of tons of masonry and metal reached for me with grasping fingers.


    I raised shields upon shields of emerald crystal. Each had diamond-like durability and I knew that even the thinnest pane would stop a bullet. The first shattered like glass.


    The second too.


    Then I wised up and remembered something Hero used to ramble on about. He was fond of talking our ears off about one super-science or another and though most of it went in one ear and out the other, I wasn''t incapable of learning.


    The third shield was a series of convex, oblong shells, similar to half of a sunflower seed. They stacked on top of each other to form a flower that took the incoming weight at an angle. Every hit sent peals of thunder through the city as first dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of scales scalloped themselves against the endbringer''s assault.


    Hundreds shattered, but that didn''t matter in the grand scheme of things. The rain of crystal shards was turned into my own counterassault, a hail of projectiles leaving behind a thousand sonic booms in the air.


    It sounded a bit like the pattering of raindrops.


    My return barrage ripped straight through her diminished shields. I grinned as I saw the attack about to hit her, only for her to tuck in her wings and spin like a corkscrew, deflecting every one of them away with her own feathers.


    I growled in frustration. By now, I could see even without Hyunmu''s preliminary analysis that she was far, far more intelligent than her brothers. I still thought my disintegration ray could deal the finishing blow against her, but I''d need a way to penetrate her defenses and keep her distracted.


    Just as I was wondering how I''d manage that, I heard the earth-shaking bang of Legend''s unrestrained attack.


    I''d seen him cut loose dozens of times now. Even so, it still took a moment for my mind to associate my kindly best friend to the blue nova of destruction he became. There was nothing fancy about his lasers now. No freezing effects. No electricity. No rainbow of colors meant to wow the public. The beams swerved from his hands like the many heads of a hydra and struck with pure, unmitigated force, turning whatever they hit to a cloud of dust.


    The blasters cheered at their leader''s power. And then, I saw the false angel smirk.


    She shot me a cocksure grin, before extending a long, almost dainty hand. Every speck of dust and splinter froze in the air. Then, with a flick of her finger, she sent it all down into the crowds below.


    It was horrific. The cloud descended with the speed of bullets, effectively sandblasting the civilians trying to evacuate. I saw flesh ripped from bone as they were scoured with the impromptu sandstorm. The ones who were lucky enough to not get hit immediately choked on the strangling cloud, their lungs torn to ribbons by millions of cuts and abrasions from within.


    I imagined I could hear my friend''s anguished cry. He always cared too much. No matter how many of these fights we led, he took every civilian casualty as a personal failing. In my battle-high, I experienced a moment of perfect clarity brought on by my familiarity with the man.


    I drew myself away from the stereo I was originally targeting. There was no point in splitting off if she could divide her attention the way she''d been doing so far. Instead, I drew closer to my friend. I could see Alexandria lead her team to flank the Simurgh. She and her brutes made a flying pass at the Simurgh. They weren''t able to grab a hold of her, but they did manage to harry the endbringer.


    With the kind of coordination that could only come from decades of cooperation, Legend and I fired as one. Both of our attacks struck her rings, filling the sky with a tremendous explosion.


    Then, I heard someone on Alexandria''s side shriek in pain and terror. She''d stuck around just a little too long and received a face full of superheated sand. Apparently, she''d grossly overestimated her own brute rating because she dropped like a stone.


    "Night Owl down," my bracelet spoke.


    I remembered her vaguely. She was a recent vial recipient who joined the Baltimore Protectorate. There wasn''t anything special about her as far as I was aware, but she stuck out in my mind because she practically worshiped the ground Alexandria walked on. Even her costume was a copy of her idol''s, with the only difference being a stylized owl instead of a tower.


    "Night Owl deceased," my bracelet spoke again. She apparently didn''t survive the fall.


    Legend and I glanced at each other before turning as one to strike down Legend''s original target. The Simurgh sent a wave of debris to block his laser, but I generated a crystalline wall of my own to counter it.


    The destruction of the first of six stereos got a cheer out of the combatants, but it was short-lived. There was simply too much going on. My bracelet came alive with a litany of downed and deceased capes as I rejoined the fray with a scowl.


    Author''s Note


    HERE WE GO! I can finish this up and drop the story, as is tradition.


    Did the Simurgh only start singing after Eidolon locked in and charged his powers? Why yes, it''s almost like it''s her directive to provide him a foil.


    Some capes introduced are canon, others are not. Kirin White for example was introduced in Wildbow''s PHO Sunday.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.12 Omen

    Omen 6.12


    Andy Yusung Kim


    2001, December 25: Washington, DC


    The darkness I found myself in was unlike the other spirit visions. I could feel the dirt beneath my feet and the crunching of branches and leaves, but there was not a single identifying mark, something to tell me where on Runeterra I was. With my enchanted eyes, I could see that I was in some type of forest, but the canopy was so overgrown that not a single speck of light passed through the gaps.


    It was in that inky darkness I heard two voices. One was that of a woman, haunting and melodic in its serenity. The other was masculine, with a deep, bestial growl that spoke of hunger and the thrill of the hunt.


    "A guest," the beast rumbled.


    "My, you''ve kept us waiting, He Who Inspires," came the woman''s voice. It had been years since I heard her voice and the voice actress failed to do her justice, but she was impossible to misidentify. She and her partner stepped out from behind a tree, their eyes shining with an eerie green light.


    Some called them Ina and Ani, others Farya and Wolyo. Still others referred to them simply as the Lamb and the Wolf, the Eternal Hunters.


    All who bore the Mask Mother''s gift could be counted amongst the Kindred, but they were the two who came to mind. Across Valoran, from Ionia to Demacia, from the Freljord to Piltover and Zaun, they were known. They were unique in that unlike their brethren, their legend crossed every people and culture and tongue. They weren''t just aspects, they were paragons.


    "Lamb. Wolf," I greeted respectfully. I had hoped for this. I met each and every one of the Kindred, but had yet to greet the two most iconic. More than any other, more than even the Mask Mother, they were the two I was most familiar with, and so the two whose power I sought to borrow.


    Shimmering light shone from her bow, illuminating her snow-white fur in waves of haunting blue. Her mask, the mask of the Wolf, hid soulful green eyes. Just behind, I could see shadows curling as though alive. Where the Lamb went, the Wolf was not far behind.


    "You know us."


    "I do."


    "Yet you would seek to become like us?"


    "If it means gaining the power to survive what''s coming? In a heartbeat. Please, give me the strength to protect."


    This time, it was the Wolf who spoke. His voice was growling and rasping, though with an undercurrent of curiosity. "All lights fade, little flame."


    "So you''ve all taught me. But that doesn''t mean they are meaningless. Each transient life gives meaning unto itself. I want to give them time."


    "You seek to delay the inevitable," Lamb warned.


    "Is that monstrosity out there a part of destiny? The entities? The endbringers? This twisted Cycle of suffering and misery? I refuse. I refuse to believe that this is how things ought to be. Death is a part of life, but I''ll decide what form it takes. And if this is what the Grand Tapestry is, then I''ll tear it apart and weave something anew," I spoke heatedly. I held out my hand and presented Isolde to them, hilt first. "Will you help me?"


    "You would greet every flame?"


    "If that''s what it takes."


    The Lamb faltered at the conviction in my voice. The Wolf looked down at me, his hunger curbed aside for the moment. I was reminded that once, they were one. They became the hunters not out of necessity, but desire for companionship. "Will¡­ Will you walk by our side?"


    "So long as you walk by mine. A piece of you. A part of me. Until my soul passes on. Perhaps a thousand years, perhaps until the very stars burn to cosmic dust."


    She glanced at her partner. They spoke without words and with a nod, came to an agreement. Gingerly, she placed a hand on mine, grasping at my chosen weapon. "I am Farya, the Educated Lamb of Light."


    "I, Wolyo, the Great Black Wolf."


    "I am Yusung, Wielder of the Rune of Inspiration."


    "Then let two become three."


    As soon as those words left her mouth, I could feel my soul shift and change. It wasn''t quite as painful as a Keystone, but I couldn''t help the gasp that tore itself through gritted teeth. When the pain subsided, I could feel them lodged within my soul, a room not dissimilar to the altar where the World Rune shone. I knew then that I could call upon them. They, this singular iteration of the Kindred, were a part of me as I was a part of them.


    The wolf snarled a mocking grin. "A gift. A hunt."


    "Let us delight in the chase," Lamb whispered as the two began to fade from the darkness. Faded, but not gone. Somewhere within my soul, I heard her. "For ours will be a magnificent song."


    X


    When I came to, I glanced down at my phone to see that only a single minute had passed. The capes, both those local and those who''d just arrived, gave me a wide berth. My eyes were glowing a haunting green, just like Lamb''s. Anivia''s Grace was covered with hoarfrost and spikes of ice gathered around me. Every crevice and fold of my cloak cast an unnaturally dark shadow and the Hallowed Mist wafted from Isolde to form an impassible curtain around my person.


    Nest to me, hazy mirages of the Lamb and Wolf took shape from the mist. If Anivia was a vision of nature''s majesty, they were its finality. They were the unknowable, the lurking shadows that made early man draw near the campfire.


    The biggest change was the mana itself. Normally, magic wasn''t something people could feel, especially in this magic-starved world. Most people saw my creations and thought, "fantasy tinker with trump-like effects." There was no way for these same people to bridge the gap between their misconceptions and the magic of the Kindred that flowed from me.


    To them, I must have felt like death. There was no other word for it. There was an aura of finality that clung to me. It triggered every alarm in their lizard brains and screamed that approaching me would be the end. Mine was more than the fear aura Victoria Dallon would be known for. This, this was existential dread, the kind that came from meeting a concept given form, an entity both inescapable and utterly alien to the human mind.


    I found my own perspective shifting. Death is a part of life, an end to the struggle, a door to a new adventure. A sixth sense bloomed as I became intimately aware of every single thing that lived in the city. From the least significant rat to Hero ushering the presidential cabinet through his Wayfinder. They shone like candles, flickering flames that danced in the breeze.


    It was overwhelming.


    Suddenly becoming aware of every living thing in my vicinity was like being thrust into the center of a tornado. If I hadn''t started my life here with the Oracle''s Elixir, I doubted I''d have been able to remain conscious. As it was, even with my experience with overstimulation, the souls of so many danced around me in a dizzying array.


    "Calm yourself," I heard the Lamb whisper. "You are Kindred now. Those who live are of no concern of ours."


    I took a fortifying breath and drew on the Mask. It acted as a medium between me and the Kindred. I let their presence overtake my awareness, removing some of the strain of my new abilities. "Holy shit¡­ Is this¡­ Is this what you normally see?"


    "This and more. You cannot wield our power for long, nor can we leave your side."


    I nodded before popping my slew of pills. They weren''t much before an endbringer, but I''d take every advantage and be grateful for it. Hopefully, a sturdier body would help me sustain them long enough to make a difference. "Yeah, let''s go."


    "Aerobat deceased," came the call from my bracelet just as one soul was snuffed out.


    I put the voice out of mind and ran, straight up into the air. I left behind footprints of cloud and frosted mist. Soon, we were above the rooftops of the Pentagon City neighborhood. I looked out over the Potomac River and Theodore Roosevelt Island and I couldn''t help but marvel at the view.


    "I''ve never been this high up before."


    "Gawk later," the Wolf growled. "There is a hunt to be had!"


    Power filled me, along with the restless anticipation of the more bestial of the pair. I rushed forward, and it wasn''t until I heard the bang of collapsing air behind me that I realized I''d shattered the sound barrier.


    "Holy shit," I gasped.


    More souls were snuffed out. A moment later, the robotic voice of Masamune''s communicator spoke, "Thunder Rex deceased. Runtime deceased. Diamondtooth down. Tankmorph down."


    "You have much to do if you wish to stop the false angel," Lamb urged. Her footsteps were light. She ran on nothing and I could feel the souls of the dying reach towards her, like flowers chasing the sun.


    "Yeah, let''s go." Newly determined, I poured the Kindred''s power into my legs.


    "Why do you run?"


    "Not the time for philosophical lessons, Lamb."


    Deep in my soul, she did something. I got the impression of her twisting her bow just so, followed by an almost playful nudge. Then, another soul was snuffed out.


    I didn''t hear the announcement. I couldn''t. It was as though everyone around me had vanished, leaving just me and this newly deceased soul. A connection formed between us, tethering us. Had Kirin White teleported the corpse to the moon or Doormaker whisked it away to some other earth, I would have known. Nothing and no one could part me from this soul for here in this moment, I was death. I was their psychopomp, their guide to the next life.


    "All that lives is our domain. How much more so then, all who are ready to pass? We are the Eternal Hunters, dear friend," her ghostly voice soothed the tension caused by the alienness of her power. Then, her voice became raw, vicious, in a way I''d only associated with the Wolf before. "The Mark has been bestowed. Let us hunt!"


    Knowledge. Experience. Memories. The essence of the Kindred, everything that made them the boogeymen of Valoran welled up from my soul and I knew that for however long I could wear this Mask, they would fight by my side.


    Death was everywhere. And now, so was I. With the slightest flex of my newfound power, I stood over the mangled body of a woman dressed in gray spandex with a stylized owl as her emblem Her head had been caved in, presumably from the fall, but the opaque visor and cut of her outfit was unmistakable.


    ''Pity she could only copy Becky''s outfit,'' I thought grimly. Behind me, the Ymelo shone a brilliant blue and I felt its warmth wash away the fear and sorrow. The closer to the song I was, the brighter it burned. It reminded me a bit of a lighthouse that lit the way on stormy nights.


    Now that I was closer to the action, I took stock of everything going on.


    The Simurgh floated above the Capitol Building, seemingly not having moved at all. There was a swarm of debris around her that reminded me of the rings of Saturn. Floating in front of her was an oversized device that looked like a cross between a tuning fork and a microphone. She hovered there, like some kind of eldritch pop star holding a concert that no one asked for.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Six stereos hovered around her person. They were shaped like hexagons and stood thrice as tall as a grown man. I frowned. Bluesong''s tech was made to help people, to make people laugh. Her work was critical to the establishment of a sonar network that kept tabs on Leviathan. Watching it be used to mask the Simurgh''s song made me furious.


    The Ymelo blazed bright and I turned away. I could see Legend, Alexandria, and Eidolon leading their strike teams. As much as I wanted to join them, my attention was claimed by what was happening on the ground.


    I didn''t know if the Simurgh was jobbing or there was some protocol in place to make sure Eidolon could look his best, but she only began singing after she finished building her speakers. To the best of my knowledge, that meant I still had something in the ballpark of twenty-five, twenty-seven minutes before I had to forcibly lock down the Worldstone Network.


    It was inevitable. Someone, somewhere would get left behind. But until that very last second, I swore I''d keep the portals open. That meant saving as many as I could.


    I leapt towards the nearest group of civilians before grabbing one in each arm and taking to the skies. An instant later, I was at the closest evacuation point, this one managed by Metalmaru. A squadron of PRT officers held up a barricade as they ushered people in.


    "Evacuate in an orderly fashion!" the captain shouted into a megaphone. "Do not run! You will get through!"


    It was like trying to shout down a stampede. Herd mentality had fully set in. By now, the reality of a third endbringer had fully set in and they were panicking. That panic turned into a riot that the squad of PRT agents were hard pressed to stop even with the Elixir of Iron to help them out. They were being pushed back by the sheer desperation of the crowd.


    I realized that picking people up manually was a mistake. I landed in front of the portal and shoved them through as quickly as I could before facing the crowd. My deathly aura was at least good for drawing attention.


    "Hyunmu? What the hell are you doing here?" Metalmaru shouted over the din.


    "Cooling them off."


    I clapped my hands, forming a flurry of ice in my palms. It was not Anivia''s Grace, I had no intention of killing them all. I just wanted to shock them out of their stupor in the same way riot police used water cannons and pepper spray. Once herd mentality kicked in, people followed crowds until presented with a strong enough negative stimulus that broke them from this mentality.


    A localized hailstorm certainly sufficed.


    "Get the crowd under control, Metal," I barked. The haunting echoes of the Mask brought him up short, stopping any burgeoning argument.


    Before he could respond, I jumped into the air and extended Isolde, smashing aside a falling car with Wrath-assisted strength. I deployed my familiars, hextech golems in the shape of dragonflies, and began to scout the area.


    The Kindred allowed me to see life, but not the specifics of ongoing crises. I almost wished I hadn''t. The Simurgh gathered the dust and debris made by Legend''s explosive lasers and fired them at the ground below. It was like watching a hail of arrows and I felt one of the Wayfinders wink out as Outreach''s death was announced.


    How many dozens died in that one attack? How many thousands would now riot as they made their way for the nearest portal?


    I cheered with the rest when the first of six stereos were broken by a well-placed salvo of lasers from Legend and Eidolon.


    Then, the Simurgh tossed out her arm like an imperious queen and titanic screech filled the air. The sound of tortured rebar and shattering concrete pillars was unmistakable. Before, she''d picked at the Madhouse. Now, she ripped the whole thing off the ground in a terrifying demonstration of telekinetic power.


    I did my best to keep track of what was going on even as I stood above Metalmaru''s evacuation point deflecting incoming hazards from the public. I used the Hallowed Mist that Isolde created like a veil, but even I couldn''t keep some from bypassing me altogether.


    The expanded range of the drones allowed me to peak into the Madhouse.


    "Shit," I swore. Not even three minutes and things were already going to hell in a handbasket. I tapped my comms bracelet and shouted, "Target the Madhouse. She''s building something inside!"


    No reply came, but I saw Alexandria veering off, leading her squad of flying bricks in V-formation like a flock of geese.


    I looked down towards Metalmaru and the Wayfinder portal. Even now, an endless stream of civilians were rushing to evacuate. Metalmaru was good, but he was a support-oriented tinker and area denial wasn''t his strong suit. If I left, the people would be vulnerable, but I could see the Simurgh making something using Pyro''s tech in the Madhouse.


    I frowned and pulled my relic pistol before shooting down another incoming barrage, this time a shopping cart and some street signs of all things. The telekinetic winds picked up and I drew Isolde before spinning it like a helicopter blade. The Hallowed Mist bloomed out, forming a shield above the people. I could feel the Kindred stir restlessly.


    "If you kill her, this would all be over," Wolf growled.


    "Can'' you kill her before they all die?"


    Silence was my answer. I could leave, chase the Simurgh in the hopes of landing that one critical strike, but¡­ but it''d mean leaving them behind. Cauldron was about the greater good, sacrifice the few for the many. They clung so desperately to that ideology that no sacrifice became too great.


    I didn''t want to end up like that. I remembered why I was so hellbent on mass producing potions, why I bothered with the Worldstone Network. The whole reason for joining an endbringer fight, for donning the Mask, was so I could buy these people time. Time to leave. Time to live.


    "They will have time if she dies."


    He wasn''t wrong there either. But what if I wasn''t good enough? I had no delusions that I was as powerful as the Kindred were in Valoran. This wasn''t Valoran. Like Anivia, they were diminished. The thought that I''d get in the way, or worse, get myself killed and waste the power granted to me, paralyzed me.


    Just as I was looking for anything I could do, a stone wall twelve feet tall rose up out of the ground. Brickhouse hurled himself over it with a pilar, landing a few feet to my left. It was the sight of a familiar face that drew me back to the present.


    "Hyunmu!"


    "Brickhouse, what the hell are you doing here?"


    "I should be asking you that! Who is the sheepgirl?"


    I shook my head as the Ymelo blazed. It didn''t matter. My doubts didn''t matter. Someone else had arrived to protect them. My choice was made for me. "Cover the civilians!" I shouted back as I jumped up towards my old lab.


    He was about to chase after me, Jonathan always did have a strong big brother vibe, but had to dodge out of the way as two flying capes careened into the spot where he''d just been.


    "Thunderbird deceased. Majestique deceased," our bracelets read out in mechanical synchro.


    I ignored it all and pulled out the mass accelerator. My right pauldron twisted outward into a semblance of an outstretched wing as I alighted on a rooftop for balance. I sheathed Isolde into its holster and swapped the relic pistol to my dominant hand.


    One of my dragonfly drones had made it near the Madhouse, giving me better vision inside. One look had me swearing under my breath.


    This was bad. I had no greater insight into the works of my fellows than anyone else, but some of what the Simurgh was messing with had been explained to me. I remembered Bluesong and Zero Day chatting amicably over lunch about their ocean detection program: her sonar, his programming.


    I remembered Pyro bragging that some of his dumbed down designs were being used to inspire automobile manufacturers, his work helping to pioneer expensive, but hyper-efficient engines. I remembered his gun turrets that, while not as good at dealing with esoteric defenses as Hero''s, could easily outperform any conventional firearm several times over. I remembered Glace and her frosted mirrors, defenses she hoped could reflect all sorts of energy projectiles.


    All of this and more I couldn''t recognize off the cuff were being mashed together and it didn''t bode well.


    Outside, Alexandria and her team were bashing their way against the walls, but their progress was too slow. The Madhouse was built to contain some of the best tinkers in the country along with tech confiscated from major criminals and its security reflected that. Every time Alexandria peeled apart a set of blast doors like an onion, the Simurgh would turn the box like a Rubik''s Cube or bat her aside to a different section of the building, presenting her with a more fortified face.


    I lined up my shot and allowed myself a grim smile as my mana leapt to my hand. Behind me, my wing began to glow as the mana coiled tightly. Up above, I targeted whatever looked most important. It was a type of fabricator, one that seemingly chewed up its surroundings to manufacture drones. Already, a dozen of them were buzzing inside the Madhouse, a line of superheated plasma stretching between them like a net.


    "I have a bead on the Madhouse," I spoke with two taps into the bracelet. "The Simurgh has a drone-maker inside. Every drone has some of Pyrotechnical''s tech."


    I saw Alexandria lock eyes with me a second later. A second later, her voice came through my comms. "I see you. Take the shot, Hyunmu."


    Even as we spoke, more of the interior was consumed, resulting in more drones. She was up to twenty-eight now and rapidly growing her army.


    "Understood. Curtain Call in four. Three. Two. One."


    The superheated plasma was unlike anything else I''d fired before. I saw the air around me begin to shimmer, such was the residual heat given off by my magical coilgun. The heat licked at me but Anivia''s Grace was more than up to the task of keeping me insulated. Even so, the gun was more than heat; it was force too. The kickback nearly toppled me and if it weren''t for the counterweights built into the wing, I didn''t doubt that my ass would be on the ground. As it was, my foot dug deep furrows into the rooftop.


    The Lamb stared at the gun curiously and I wondered what she made of it.


    The beam that exited my relic pistol was several times as wide as my normal light bullets. It was almost as wide as I was tall, though to be fair that wasn''t saying much. So fast was it that there was no delay between me pulling the trigger and the beam ripping a hole through the Madhouse walls, clear through the fabricator.


    I grinned as I saw it fall apart. My attack had pierced what I could guess was its memory bank. Even if it could make more drones, they would be empty husks, lacking the complex programming necessary to operate independently. There wasn''t a cool, dramatic explosion like from a Saturday morning cartoon, but I''d take what I could get.


    "Fabricator down. Thirty drones remaining. Do not come between two drones; they''ve got Pyro''s thermal lance configured between them."


    "Understood, how many more rounds do you have?"


    "Three."


    The robotic voice of the bracelet''s AI interrupted us. "Master Muscle deceased."


    "Idiot," I heard Alexandria swear. It made me smile darkly to hear her swear. "Is there anything else in the lab you should break?"


    I thought about it. "Maybe. I''m not familiar with everything my peers built."


    "Keep an eye on it."


    "Roger."


    I saw the brute squad withdraw from the Madhouse and rejoin the fight for the sky.


    X


    Olivia Turner


    ''Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,'' I thought as I flew through the sky. I wasn''t ready for this. I just¡­ I wasn''t ready.


    I remembered two months ago when I graduated into the Protectorate. The director asked me if I''d be willing to volunteer for the crisis response team now that I was a full-time hero. I felt so goddamn proud when he clasped me on the shoulder and said I could do great things. Like the fucking cocky brat I was, I said yes. I did the one thing everyone told me I should never do: I bought into my own hype.


    The branding. The PR. I was Philadelphia''s best flygirl. I was a blaster who could make glaciers on demand. People compared me to Legend.


    I let out a hysterical laugh as the greatest blaster in the world duked it out with the new endbringer. A set of explosions made my teeth clatter. I couldn''t even get close to that dogfight without feeling my bones creak from the shockwaves.


    Legend-lite? Like fucking hell I was. Just being in his vicinity was enough to make me fear for my life.


    The world exploded around me for the millionth time and I shrieked as I tossed a fractal in front of me. It bloomed into a cocoon around me, shielding me from the worst of the blast. And then, I dropped.


    I couldn''t do this. When I graduated, I was sworn in like every other Protectorate hero. I swore on my honor, before God Almighty, to never betray my integrity. To be brave. To protect the public. To uphold the values of my community. To defend the Constitution.


    I thought I was ready. When Chevalier called the crisis response team to arms, I stood proud with the rest of the team. So proud. So fucking na?ve.


    Another terrified laugh tore itself from my throat as tears stung my eyes. God, I was such a fucking idiot.


    I felt myself crash down onto some park fountain, my supernaturally tough ice chipping away at the decorative statue. I uncurled and found that I was near one of those evacuation points.


    A barrage of debris rained down and a boy in white jumped onto a cloud before spinning a pair of oversized scissors like helicopter blades. A wall of mist and ice that reminded me of my own power formed to deflect the rain away from the evacuating civilians. Next to him, a wolf''s head and some kind of lamb Case-53 danced among the barrage, a seemingly endless rain of arrows shooting debris out of the air.


    "Hyunmu!" I heard someone shout. Was that his name? He was either a midget or younger than my baby brother. What the hell was someone like that doing here? He had to be a local, too brave to know better.


    "Brickhouse, what the hell are you doing here?" I heard him shout back. His voice had a weird cadence to it, echoes that seemed to amplify in the weird mist.


    The one he was shouting at was someone about my age. He was a beefy boy with brick masonry for armor. With a stomp and grunt of exertion, a wall of cement rose up from the ground to provide the people shelter.


    "I should be asking you that!"


    I didn''t catch whatever Hyunmu said as he darted off somewhere. Instead, I was forced to take a long, hard look at myself. He didn''t choose this, some local Ward stuck in a fight for his life. I did. I¡­ I couldn''t do anything up there but¡­ as I looked around at Brickhouse''s shelters, I firmed my resolve.


    This. This, I could do.


    I shot into the sky and allowed ice fractals to form in my palms. I didn''t need to fight an endbringer; there were lives to save.


    My first shot struck the ground at the far edge of the crowd, forming a glacier of ice that stretched as wide as a city block. Subsequent bolts of ice formed a giant, multi-layered shell. I heard the people let out a collective sigh of relief and allowed myself a proud smile.


    Maybe, maybe I could do this after all¡­


    Author''s Note


    Remember, this all takes place within the first five minutes of the fight.


    Yes, making Andy a trio with the Kindred was always part of the plan. Their abilities are never quite elaborated upon so it''ll be my take on what a "death god" should be able to do, but having the Lamb and Wolf show up on a regular basis as Andy''s partners was always the goal.


    Olivia Turner is Rime if that wasn''t obvious. There isn''t a civilian name for her, so I just made one. She''s most commonly associated with Los Angeles, but she actually was a member of the Philadelphia Protectorate with Chevalier before taking over for Alexandria. The oath she''s talking about is also one commonly attributed to the police.


    For better or worse, a lot of public offices have people swear before God. "With God as my witness¡­" "So help me God¡­"


    In Taylor''s time, Rime, alongside Exalt and Chevalier, were some of the capes that could have led the fight against Behemoth in New Delhi. This is obviously a very different Rime. She had to have gotten that experience somehow after all.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.13 Omen

    Omen 6.13


    Noah Sutherland


    2001, December 25: Washington, DC


    The Arlington PRT had begun to recover some semblance of order. Lexington, leader of the Arlington Protectorate, was shouting orders, doing his best to corral the staff. I remembered him, we''d had a few cooperative training sessions between our departments back before he was assigned here. He was a competent enough thinker and we''d taken some of the same leadership seminars. Seeing him take charge of background logistics gave me some confidence that this wouldn''t be too much of a shitshow.


    "Lexington," I called when he had a spare second. "Been a while."


    "It has, Exalt," he replied with a grim smile. He tipped his tricorn hat and offered me a handshake. "Thank you for coming."


    I looked back at my team: Dispatch was newly raised form the Wards, but I had faith in him. Greathawk was almost as swift a flier as me. Blue Comet was nearly unbeatable in a straight line. Every name that I could put to their faces made me swell with pride. Houston wasn''t just Eidolon''s team. We housed the best training facilities in the nation and our crisis response team reflected that.


    "Houston will always answer the call. Where do you need us?"


    We were then broken up by Lexington into teams, several of us going to reinforce evacuation points while others headed to join either Legend''s blasters or Alexandria''s brutes. It wasn''t a perfect system. In an idea world, small squads of capes would be formed with specific power synergies and objectives in mind. In the chaos of an endbringer fight though, this generalized system was the best we could hope to manage.


    I listened to Alexandria give a speech about the capabilities of this new endbringer and wondered just where this in-depth thinker analysis came from. It gave credence to the rumors that someone predicted the previous few endbringer attacks. I could see that I wasn''t the only one who wanted a name, but none of us called her on it, not now.


    Then, speech over, they were off.


    I sighed as I saw Eidolon splitting off to do his own thing. That was him, the big damn hero. I wasn''t sure what irritated me more, that he thought we were in the way, or that he was probably right.


    I remained behind. It stuck in my craw to do nothing, so I helped the brave troopers with everything from triage to hauling crates of potions. I was an aerokinetic, one of the most powerful in the nation. But¡­ But it came with a charge time. Normally, it took hours or even days before my power ramped up fully, but something about the chaos of an endbringer fight reduced this time to mere minutes. When I had a charge stored up, I could take over the city''s entire airspace. Until then, I could be more helpful putting my leadership training to good use.


    I sent off the Chicago team and turned to face the newest arrivals from Seattle. These Worldstones were proving to be a godsend as other leaders began to move their teams to the city in droves. This kind of mobilization would have taken fifteen minutes or longer. Now, it was the work of seconds.


    Soon, I was the last major cape remaining on the ground. I hated it, hated feeling helpless. I hated sitting my ass down only to watch others wrestle with an endbringer. I should be up there, protecting my team.


    I felt the Simurgh begin her song, the screeching a low drone at this distance. Just one more time crunch.


    Then, I felt my power hit its peak.


    With barely a nod towards Lexington, I took to the sky.


    I blasted off towards the thickest of the fighting like a rocket. All around me, I could feel my awareness expand. I imagined wings, wings so large as to cover the entire city.


    It was as though she was waiting for me. She turned my way and I thought I could spy a growing smirk on her face. I''d be happy to wipe it off for her. I gathered myself and let out a roar, thrusting my hands forward. I imagined that my wings were all beating towards her, each carrying a stormfront''s worth of air that struck like meteors. The satellites that orbited her were of no help. Instead of blocking the wind, they merely acted as extra ammunition as my attack found its mark.


    The blow launched her back into some Greco-Roman-looking building, probably some congressional thing. I smiled with grim satisfaction as the roof caved in, throwing the endbringer into the ground. I heard some cheers sound at that and allowed myself to bask in it. It was the first time she''d been struck directly as far as I knew.


    Not Legend, Alexandria, or even Eidolon. Exalt was the one who made the Simurgh bleed.


    And then, a brick rose up from my blindspot and beaned me on the head, so fast that I didn''t have time to interpret the shifting airstream. My vision exploded into stars and I heard my helmet crack. I felt myself drop like a stone, but I caught myself before the bracelet could falsely announce my defeat. When I looked back, the sight made me grit my teeth in frustration.


    The Simurgh was back. She rose into the air, none the worse for the wear. There wasn''t even a single speck of dirt on her feathers, as though my strongest attack was nothing more than a stiff breeze. Her song, that violent screeching in the back of my mind, hadn''t dropped a single decibel.


    "Well, shit."


    Alexandria flew by me. "Exalt, endbringers are immune to kinetic impacts; focus on keeping the sky clear of debris so we can get a clear shot at her tinkertech," she ordered.


    "Yes, ma''am," I shouted back, but she was already gone.


    X


    Andy Yusung Kim


    It wasn''t enough. It never seemed to be enough. No matter how many walls of mist and ice I erected, the Simurgh always found a way to sneak in an attack or dozen, striking down civilians where she could. I could shoot down an oncoming bus, only to be a hair too slow to catch a STOP sign flung like a frisbee towards some poor man''s throat.


    The Lamb helped, but she was a reaper of souls, not a hero. She had no great skill in the art of saving lives. The Wolf¡­ He seemed utterly uninterested. For him, this was nothing more than a meaningless distraction from the true prey.


    After I saw Brickhouse and Rime show up to cover Metalmaru''s portal, I began to hop around to the other evacuation points, helping who I could, all the while keeping an eye on the Madhouse. Even when I could move at supersonic speeds, even when I could teleport to anyone recently dead, I felt like I was playing catch-up.


    Still, bit by bit, my burden was lessening. Teams from all across the US and Canada had begun to use the Wayfinders I''d entrusted to them to send reinforcements. Most couldn''t hurt the Simurgh, but they clearly had orders to aid in the evacuation. I saw Glace''s portal supported by Chicago, Pyro''s by San Francisco, Armsmaster''s by Boston, and more. It was enough to stir a flicker of warmth in my chest, faith in fellow man. As distrusting of the Protectorate as Taylor was, this was why we were necessary. This was what a national agency should be doing.


    "Will this be enough?" I heard the Wolf growl in my mind.


    "It will never be enough, dear Wolf," the Lamb replied. "All will die, they merely delay the inevitable."


    "You know why I''m doing this," I grunted back. I didn''t have time for their philosophizing.


    "Your mortal charges are as safe as can be. How long will you delay the Hunt?"


    I glanced around and saw that they were right. I''d defended the portals as much as I could and now reinforcements had arrived to pick up my slack. Others could shoot down debris; no one else could drive her away. The sooner I could deal with the Simurgh, the easier things would be for those below. "You''re right. Let''s go."


    "Finally!" The Wolf''s shout resounded in my head, his hunger a palpable force. I felt myself begin to salivate as the force of his mind weighed against my own. I pulled on Lamb''s tranquility to balance his savagery to moderate results.


    I heard my bracelet announce someone else''s death but paid it no mind. Instead, I latched onto the Kindred''s senses and teleported myself a mere sixteen feet above and behind the endbringer, where some cape had been falling with a broken neck.


    "Ghost," I whispered. I allowed myself to tip forward until my head was aimed towards the ground. Isolde grew to be thrice the length of a greatsword in my hand.


    Muscles pulsing with Reinforcement, elixirs active, and a trail of Hallowed Mist and snow following my every step, I lunged. I left behind a shockwave that formed a cone of mist, the sonic boom alone scattering what debris the Simurgh had managed to pick up after Exalt''s attack.


    Less than half a second and I was on her. I slashed down towards the faux angel. Isolde''s blades shone a brilliant blue that lit up the sky, almost outshining Legend himself. The azure arc was aimed not at her throat or heart, but at the largest wing. I was a Kindred; nothing short of the killing blow would suffice.


    The Simurgh turned at the last second, putting a different wing in the way. With the amount of mana I was channeling, I felt some resistance before Isolde sheared clean through and I had the pleasure of seeing one of her largest wings fall to the earth. A strange fluid splashed from her wound, a mockery of vital lifeblood that I knew meant nothing.


    Behind me, the specter of the Wolf manifested from the roiling mist and let out a savage howl. The mist coalesced around the Simurgh no matter what she did to try and disperse it until it formed a familiar circle, an emblem that all of Valoran knew to dread: the Mark of the Kindred. It was painted over her as a mana construct, immovable by any save us. The significance of its location was not lost on me.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The Lamb loosed her arrows and I watched as they bit deep. Every one seemed to home in on the Mark, only to be blocked by debris or the corpses of the recently dead. The Wolf bit her hand, tearing off a finger as he let loose his guttural laugh.


    I lunged again, spearing towards her largest wing. Even amidst the bedlam of battle, I could hear the whistling of my blade, a sharp, rending sound that only reached me long after the swing. I could see it clearly now, her singular point of mortality. There was no need to guess where on the wing because the Mark guided my strikes.


    A chaotic dance followed as the four of us waltzed through the air. Ten. Twenty. Dozens of times I sliced at her, using everything I knew of Shojin kenpo and Wuju. But she was bigger and had no need for footing. She leveraged her size masterfully. Every time Isolde got close to finding its mark, she would give something of herself. A few feathers here, a finger there. None of it mattered so she was happy to force that trade.


    I knew that the fact that she was making this trade at all meant we were close. The Mark wasn''t wrong. Soon enough, I''d know what it looked like for an endbringer to die.


    A telekinetic blast rocked the Lamb and Wolf, scattering their corporeal forms back into mist. Like with Anivia, they were here, but lesser for it. I lamented the fragility of their presence here. Every time they scattered, I had to spend a bit of my limited focus reforming them. Were we fighting on Runeterra, were I a more capable host, I didn''t doubt the battle would already be over.


    "Just one," I whispered. Off in the distance, I heard several cheers ring out as two more of her speakers were destroyed, but I dared not join them. If I took my eyes away from her for a moment, it could mean the deaths of dozens. "Just one hit¡­"


    Alexandria came out of nowhere. She flew in with zero regard for the sound barrier, decking the Simurgh with enough force to crush a skyscraper, a wordless cry on her lips. The endbringer reeled and for a moment, I thought I had the opportunity I needed.


    I thrust towards the Mark.


    It wasn''t enough. A washing machine of all things struck my elbow and threw off my aim, allowing her to parry Isolde with her left arm. She lost the arm, but it was just enough to twist my aim further off course, once again missing the Mark.


    That must have been the point she stopped humoring me because a telekinetic slap flung me hundreds of yards away. It was a heavier blow than any so far and I felt my body fly through several stories'' worth of concrete and rebar. Without Anivia''s Grace and the Elixir of Iron, I would have been turned into so much slurry.


    I had no idea how she was reading me. Shards were supposed to be incapable of processing metaphysical concepts and right now, I was Death, or at least near enough I''d thought.


    "Are you not a man? You are kin, but do you not breathe or stir the air with your every movement? Do not let our influence subsume you," Lamb chided.


    I grunted. That explained that. She couldn''t see Isolde, but she was predicting the path of the blade based on my stances. She didn''t need to understand mana or any metaphysical concept; she just needed to see the effect I had on the atmosphere around me.


    Bullshit. Pure. Fucking. Bullshit.


    I pulled out the mass accelerator again and took aim. If the Simurgh could still see me or whatever, I''d just hit her faster than she could react. Precog didn''t mean anything if you were too slow to abuse it. I felt the mana begin to coil and whispered, "Curtain Call."


    A blinding light neared the Simurgh, only for a mirror shaped like a snowflake to deflect the beam elsewhere. It struck down into the city and I felt a dozen candles get snuffed out.


    "Longstride deceased. Calavera deceased."


    I frowned at that. Range wouldn''t work. The only person I knew who could make a mirror like that was Glace, perhaps with a dash of Hero-tech in it too. It had to have been one of the things she was making in the Madhouse that I couldn''t recognize. I swore under my breath and folded my wing back into my pauldron.


    "How the hell am I supposed to kill her?"


    "Strike. The Hunt is eternal. Be relentless."


    "Rip and tear."


    I rolled my eyes but obliged, Isolde leaping back into my hand. "Nothing for it."


    With a twist of their power, I teleported to the Mark, already mid-swing. I didn''t expect it to hit and, as expected, she twisted her body in an impossible display of gymnastics to evade the blow. One of her wings stretched out to punch me. I remembered reading that a swan could slap a man hard enough to break his arm; I imagined this felt a bit like that.


    Still, Lamb was right. I couldn''t afford to relent. I slashed forward with attack after attack. I froze her wings to her body, only for her to shatter the ice with a single flex and use it as ammunition to throw at Legend''s flock.


    The Simurgh was not idle. The drones made using Pyrotechnical''s tech became nodes, each connected to the others by threads of superheated plasma. They formed a net around Alexandria and I, giving the other defenders enough leeway to break the fourth speaker. The blazing cage closed like a snare, but fizzled out against us, Anivia''s Grace more than up to the task of withstanding the heat. It burned away at my partners, but they reconstituted themselves from the mist with ease.


    She was testing me, I realized. Slowly, bit by bit, she was gathering information about the limitations of my armor, all the aspects that she could not foresee. Seeing that the laser drones were no good against me, she immediately sent them off to wreak havoc elsewhere.


    Ice. Mist. Light. Death. The different forms of mana swirled within me like a barely controlled maelstrom and I felt my body protest with every step I took. I was on borrowed time.


    X


    Penelope Myers


    I tore open a jammed car door with the Atlas Gauntlets before using it as a shield to bat away an oncoming office chair.


    "Go!" I shouted to the family trapped inside. They didn''t need any encouragement as they ran off towards Bluesong and the portal she guarded.


    The Phoenix Protectorate had been among the fourth wave of arrivals after the Founders, Guild, and a few other major branches. We were briefed by a harried Lexington about the song before being assigned to a portal to give other defenders a breather. Royalle and Oathkeeper led us, their office politics put aside in the name of the greater good. Cloudstreak, Redbird, and I made up the hero''s contingent.


    Surprisingly enough, I also saw Calavera, the only villain who showed. Why? I couldn''t begin to guess; I was glad she''d shown at all.


    As soon as we arrived, we were split into smaller teams meant to either keep people safe from the dogfight above or perform search and rescue. I cursed myself as I watched Redbird send out a flurry of explosive feathers to break up incoming debris. I should have asked Andy for mobility. Or area defense. Some kind of big forcefield would have been excellent right about now. Instead, I asked him to make me a good duelist, as if being a good fighter is all there is to being a good hero.


    I knew he was good. I could have asked for anything and I asked him to let me punch harder. Idiot.


    My fingers clenched over the gauntlet''s grip and its fingers mirrored mine. With an enraged punch, I shoved an overturned truck to the side of the street, clearing the way for pedestrians.


    The more I worked, the more obvious it became that I was out of my depth. I couldn''t strike at the Simurgh. I couldn''t protect ground troops. Even my best extended punches wouldn''t reach her stereos. I was barely better than the EMTs even with the Elixir of Iron.


    ''Andy was right. An endbringer is beyond me.'' I shook my head violently. "No. Work with what you''ve got, Sting."


    It was something my coach liked to tell me. When I first started boxing, I was ten. I boxed with the boys at the gym, no one caring about my gender because puberty hadn''t hit anyone yet. As the years passed, I found myself losing more and more spars. One day, when my frustration boiled over, my coach joined me on the gym floor and told me straight up that I''d never be as strong as a boy.


    Girls are just built different, he said. I''d just have to work with what I had.


    It pissed me right the fuck off. I put in more hours. First to arrive, last to leave. I spent weeks and months perfecting my form. I punched the heavy bag until my hands bled. I didn''t want to accept it, that I would fall behind just because I didn''t have a penis. I wanted, so badly, to prove him wrong.


    Instead I proved him right. No matter what I did, I could never seem to bridge the gap. Sure, I could beat most of the boys, but most wasn''t good enough for me, not when I thought none of them put in half the effort I did.


    Years of this later, I triggered. I don''t even remember what exactly set me off. All I remembered was getting so pissed at my coach that I punched the heavy bag and¡­ and the bag flew off the chain to crash through his office wall.


    "Work with what you''ve got."


    I was always doing that, playing catch-up to people more talented than me. Powers didn''t change any of that. Sure, I was the strongest in the gym now, but that meant jack shit to the Protectorate. I only mellowed out when I met David in the Wards.


    Slowly, I came to terms with the fact that Penelope Myers would never be more than adequate. A "good" boxer. A "good" hero. Never great. There would always be people with better talent, better powers. It took a while, but I realized that my coach wasn''t trying to belittle me, he was trying to teach me to throw aside my pride and envy.


    Bit by bit, boxing and heroics both became about self-improvement rather than a competition against others. I returned to that gym a year later and begged my coach to teach me again.


    It was only when I started to loosen up that I realized what I had. I had powerful mentors, a director who cared more about our city than playing politics, and a wonderful boyfriend who put up with my teenage angst. Before I knew it, the Wards became like family to me. My team. My boyfriend. My little brother and sisters.


    In the end, that was why I was here. My little brother, the smug brat who wormed his way into our hearts in a matter of months. I couldn''t do anything during the Red Sands Incident, sidelined as a Ward as I was. I refused to be sidelined again.


    "God, I hope Andy''s safe," I whispered.


    Every once in a while, I''d glance at the sky and see flocks of capes led by Legend or Alexandria harrying the Simurgh as best they could. Then Eidolon joined the picture. He created a wave of emerald crystals that chased the Simurgh like homing missiles. They gave him enough breathing room for him to fire some kind of black death ray that injured a wing.


    I heard something vaguely ominous about the Madhouse and tinkertech but put it out of my mind. It was none of my business; people far stronger than I could handle it. All I had to care about were those before me. If I could reach one person, that was a lifetime''s worth of difference I''d make.


    So I told myself. I found myself casting worried eyes across the streets anyway.


    Then, a loud, earth-shaking bang resounded. I whirled, hands up to try and face a threat that wasn''t there. When I found the source, it was a rooftop four or five buildings away. There, I could see a white figure wielding some kind of rifle. They had a singular wing coming off their right shoulder. By their side was some kind of lamb Case-53 with a glowing bow.


    A trail of vapor and azure heat shimmers led straight from their rifle to the floating building and I could see a neat hole bored cleanly through it.


    I prayed that destroyed whatever the Simurgh was making.


    The next time I checked in on the dogfight, it was to see that same white figure run on clouds. A gigantic pair of scissors several times as long as I was tall was swung like a claymore, every swing sending violent arcs of blue light through the mist that seemed to cling to them like a hookah bar.


    The lamb-like cape loosed an entire army''s worth of arrows and I wondered why I''d never heard of someone that capable before. The mist then swirled into a wolf''s head before taking a bite out of the Simurgh. Was that a third cape, or perhaps a power?


    They were swift, faster than I could ever hope to be, so fast that could barely keep track. Every swing came close to bisecting the Simurgh and I wasn''t the only one who stood with bated breath.


    Then a wooden beam beaned me hard enough to crack my skull if it weren''t for the elixir. That was reason enough to get back to work; a reminder that we were all on borrowed time. Still, my gaze kept trailing back to the figure in white. The more I saw them, the bigger the pit in my stomach became.


    It took me an embarrassingly long second to figure out why the figure dancing with the Simurgh made me nervous. Then, my mind caught up with my eyes and my heart leapt towards my throat.


    "Andy¡­?"


    Author''s Note


    Noah Sutherland is Exalt. Legit just went for one of the most common names in Houston and rolled with it.


    All of this is happening within the first ten minutes of the fight. Why Stingray''s POV? I¡­ honestly don''t know. It just came out. I did say the Phoenix Wards wouldn''t just get dropped when Andy moved to DC. Her appearance in a later crisis was always the plan, though not necessarily this one specifically.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.14 Omen

    <div>


    Omen 6.14


    Andy Yusung Kim


    2001, December 25: Washington, DC


    "Exalt down. Charlie Foxtrot down. Black Flag deceased. Glace deceased."


    I winced as I felt another Wayfinder wink out. The three dozen or so drones were quickly becoming a menace. They wouldn''t have been difficult to catch and destroy under normal circumstances, but amidst a telekinetic storm with countless capes and random debris flying around? Just the fact that not a single one of them were destroyed by happenstance demonstrated to me the sheer masterful coordination that the Simurgh possessed.


    Then Eidolon rejoined the fray. His emerald wings generated a thousand crystal blades, each spinning like a whirlwind before drilling into the Simurgh''s largest wing.


    I grunted. ''At least he remembered what I said about the core,'' I thought bitterly. It wasn''t lost on me that whatever therapy Fortuna arranged had fallen woefully short of my hopes.


    I could have sworn the bitch smiled at me then.


    She raised her single remaining arm like a conductor of some grand orchestra. Every drone converged on Eidolon''s crystal drill. Alexandria must have realized just what was about to happen, because she abandoned trying to deck the Simurgh and interposed herself between the drones and the drill.


    It wasn''t enough.


    The spinning crystals reflected the lasers in every conceivable direction, scattering them like the world''s most macabre disco ball. If the crystals weakened the lasers at all, I couldn''t tell. Eight square blocks worth of downtown DC was razed to the ground, beams of white-hot plasma searing through buildings and people alike.


    It was horrific. I''d never felt thousands of people die before. It was a paradoxical thing, simultaneously a mere statistic and yet a soul-deep awareness of the lives snuffed out by a single attack. How many was that?


    "Six thousand two hundred ninety-one," Lamb whispered as she sent the newly parted souls off with a wave of her bow.


    I grunted my irritation. Clearly, millennia of solitude did not help her understand a rhetorical question.


    My bracelet stuttered before failing altogether, whatever AI Masamune used unable to maintain the network while keeping it updated with the influx of casualties simultaneously.


    God, I couldn''t wait ''til we had Dragon. Forget the Birdcage, this was what truly made her so goddamn invaluable.


    I launched another attack on the Simurgh. My blade was turned away by a stray brick, but the Wolf closed his jaws around her left shoulder before he was dispersed into mist again. The Lamb pelted her with more arrows, but if my two partners were blindspots to her, she''d quickly adapted.


    When the bracelet reconnected, it was to recite a depressing list of casualties. Fliers who lacked shaker abilities or weren''t strong enough to contribute were already busy with search and rescue. Then I heard something that made my stomach drop.


    "Metalmaru down."


    Metalmaru. Steven Kajiya. He was the person who welcomed me to DC, the man who helped me perfect Petricite. His work was what I based brightsteel around. Hell, when I asked him for fossilized lizard eggs, he got one for me. The Ymelo that blazed behind me was proof of his aid. A good man with a perhaps more than friendly interest in Bluesong. I owed it to him to at least shove him through his own Wayfinder.


    Another second and I stood over a dead woman who''d been impaled by a flying street sign, one that either Brickhouse or the Philadelphia contingent let slip.


    It took me a second to find him. He was in bad shape, though not unrecoverable. Nothing short of death was unrecoverable. I barely glanced at the stumps that were his legs and shoved a pill in his mouth to stabilize him. Then, while people were still screaming from her latest attack, I chucked his body into the portal. I couldn''t remember where it led, but it didn''t matter. So long as he was on the other side, I''d see him around eventually.


    "Hyunmu!" I heard Brickhouse call. Half of his brickwork armor was shattered to pieces and he clearly hadn''t bothered to repair it in favor of building more walls. He was bleeding from his side though the wound was shallow. I absentmindedly tossed him a health pill.


    Behind him, I could see Chevalier, Rime, and a few more I didn''t recognize from Philadelphia glancing back at me.


    "Is that a Ward? How old is he?"


    "Eyes up, this isn''t over," I grunted back, ignoring the others with practiced ease. "Have the PRT begin to withdraw into the Wayfinder. The drones are causing too many casualties. It''s not worth having them stay."


    "I can reflect them," Rime yelled. She put words to action and tossed half a dozen bolts of frost that exploded into blooming fractals. She was a far cry from the strong, taciturn woman she''d be when she took over for Alexandria in LA. She¡­ She looked so young¡­


    "A pup yipping at a dragon," Wolf growled. As derisive as he seemed, I could feel a hint of approval through our bond, though whether it was respect for her audacity or humor at her naivete I didn''t know.


    We didn''t have time. I couldn''t reply before a second salvo hit us. I pumped mana into my eyes and winced as the chill almost became too much. For a brief few seconds, the world seemed to stand still, frozen, allowing me to take stock of what was happening.


    Eidolon had wised up and broken apart the drill, but his crystals were still in the air and if the Simurgh specialized in anything, it was using her bullshit powers to precision-craft the most infuriating outcome possible. The lasers bounced from drone to drone, Glace''s mirror to Eidolon''s crystals. I saw one even hit a polished street sign and a car''s rear-view mirror, only to spear a father shielding his son. Two more candles snuffed out.


    Physics? Rate of dispersion? What the fuck were those?


    Credit where it''s due, Rime was swift to react with more fractals. Layers upon layers of glacial fractals hit the air, deflecting the majority aimed at us into the sky. Her fractals shattered and evaporated into steam after a single laser, but they did manage to mostly protect those who sheltered beneath her.


    With a spin of Isolde, the Hallowed Mist joined her shield, expanding to guard roughly a third of the square we were standing in.


    "Not enough," I grit out as the laser net was bounced back. It carved straight through Brickhouse''s earthen shield and I watched as everyone with him was split into pieces. The scent of charred pork hit my nostrils as dozens of little flames were snuffed out in my mind.


    "Brickhouse deceased," the cold, robotic voice read out.


    "Into the portal!" I heard Chevalier shout. His cannonblade increased in size before taking on a mirror sheen, cleaving an oncoming car in twain. The civilians needed no further encouragement.


    I grabbed one by the back of the throat and hurled her into the portal. If she wanted to break down into catatonia, she could do it where she wouldn''t get turned into a Ziz-bomb.


    In the absence of Metalmaru, Chevalier took charge and ordered a fighting retreat. I saw him stand as the rearguard while his team corralled as many people as he could. "We''ve done what we could. We''re pulling out!"


    More lasers carved through the air, tearing through softened defenses and collapsing every nearby building. I wondered how many corpses I''d find under all that rubble.


    Not everyone was as noble as Chevalier though. I could see Wonderland and the Seattle contingent abandon the evacuation efforts altogether, opting to head into the portal themselves. Behind her, the portal closed, leaving tens of thousands of civilians behind. I felt the Wolf growl at her cowardice.


    It was his writ to hunt those who fled from death. I had half a mind to let him.


    "Pyrotechnical deceased. Lovejoy deceased. Unlucky Thirteen deceased. Worthy deceased. Underhood deceased. Big Jam deceased."


    I winced. That was four portals out of commission. I could only hope enough civilians had made it to safety to lessen the burden on the others.


    ''Or they''re all dead and don''t need to be moved,'' a cynical part of my mind added.


    Then, a roar as loud as my coilgun rumbled through the air like an oncoming storm. The vibration that shook the city was a tangible force, one felt rather than heard. Every drone shot up into the sky and converged on a single point before they were dashed together.


    "Whoever gave Exalt a potion deserves a fucking medal," I muttered as I landed near Chevalier to avoid the oncoming pressure wave.


    "No kidding. You go on through, kid," the future leader of the Wardens spoke grimly. "You''ve done amazing."


    "Can''t. You go through, Chev. The world will need you in a decade or so."


    With that, I was off again. I took to the skies just in time to see Eidolon''s high stakes game of tag pay off, destroying the second to last speaker. The song had noticeably quieted by now, though I didn''t doubt that it was the Simurgh setting up "win conditions" so her blowhard creator could feel like he accomplished something.


    With three of the wielders of the Wayfinders dead and one turned coward, I knew that the portals they oversaw had closed as well, leaving hundreds of thousands trapped in DC. There had to be over four thousand people cramming the U Street corridor alone.


    Would she withdraw if I slashed off her main wing? Or maybe if the last speaker was destroyed?


    I didn''t know. I stuttered as the strain of sustaining the Eternal Hunters'' corporeal bodies caught up to me. Housing embodiments of death in my still very much living body was no easy task. Even now, I could feel the two older spirits bleeding into my mind. Their influence was undeniable and the more I relied on them, the more inhuman I could feel myself becoming.


    I hated this with every fiber of my being, but I had to accept that regardless of the Mark, the Simurgh was beyond my ability to kill.


    ''For now,'' I swore.


    All I could do was drive her away.


    "It''ll cost you," the Lamb spoke, a warning and a promise in the same breath.


    "Doesn''t matter."


    "Indeed. What is time to an immortal?"


    The Ymelo blazed behind me, reminding me of everything I fought for. Cauldron stood for the greater good of man, but¡­ but I didn''t want to ignore the people before me. I didn''t want to be like David, so terrified of not being good enough when it mattered most that he let countless opportunities pass him by for the sake of "saving himself." Even if it cost me, even if it knocked me out of commission, wasn''t this worthwhile?


    I made my decision. I chose to trust Eugene. I chose to trust Rebecca. I chose to trust Fortuna. Most of all, I chose to trust the differences I''d made.


    With my decision came clarity of purpose and I gave in to the tide of the Kindreds'' power. I felt the Mask become a part of me, an extension of our pact.


    The two Kindred''s voices blended as one, barely restrained hunger and serene discipline in equal measure. "So be it."


    My soul began to strain as the Eternal Hunters claimed more and more of that metaphysical real estate. Then, I flung wide the floodgates. The feeling was akin to when I summoned Anivia, yet not. Here I stood, donning the Mask of the Kindred, and surrounded by the corpses of hundreds of thousands. There could be no better environment to act as my catalyst.


    Within the temple of my soul, two pillars rose up, framing the altar of the World Rune. One bore the mask of the Lamb, the other the Wolf. I knew what this meant. When I wore the Mask, I wore the guise of the Kindred.


    Now? Now I''d engraved the very same magics into my soul. Never again could I call myself human. There was no outward change, but it was every my soul that truly mattered.


    My voice echoed with their haunting cadence, the growl of the Wolf, the song of the Lamb. "Round two, bitch."


    The next breath found me behind the Simurgh again, paying no heed to Eidolon as he chased down the last speaker. He could play his games; I had an angel to reap. Isolde stretched out, becoming a claymore that swung with the intention of the headman''s ax.


    She evaded it, spinning Glace''s frosted mirror with enough force to divert it the fraction of an angle necessary to get away clean.


    In another breath, I shrank Isolde to the size of a dagger and lunged. I heard my footsteps strike the clouds with enough force to resound like thunderclaps.


    She blocked it by slashing at my wrist with bladelike feathers.


    I ignored the pain; she couldn''t cut Anivia''s Grace. Instead, my dagger switched targets at the last second to lodge in her shoulder. I just needed to get close enough. She thrashed, but my left hand came into contact with her largest wing, a hair''s breath from the Mark.


    I had what I was waiting for. Three Minion Dematerializers per day, three blasts of ensorcelled mana that would transmute absolutely any source of matter into mana to evaporate into the atmosphere. No amount of durability was enough to survive an attack like this.


    Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but I thought I saw the Simurgh''s eyes widen in panic.


    I dropped my entire arsenal into the Mark before an overwhelming telekinetic force knocked me away.


    Not enough.


    The Minion Dematerializer scaled off my mass and thrice my mass was barely enough to pierce five layers of her crystalline body. It wouldn''t be enough. I didn''t expect it to be.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But it scared her, and that was my aim. Here was a metaphysical attack she could not see, could not counter. For that one brief moment, I made an endbringer contemplate death.


    Her focus was fully on me now and that was all the opportunity my two partners needed.


    The three of us danced around the Simurgh with a coordination we lacked before. When the Wolf lunged for his bite, I saw and readied Isolde to cut her off. When she offered up her right arm to his jaw, Lamb''s arrows tore a weeping gash through her breast.


    Every movement was orchestrated with the perfect, flawless grace of the Eternal Hunters. I felt my fingers burn with the familiar sting of the bowstring and my teeth ache with the satisfying pressure of the tearing bite. We teleported to the Mark, to one another, and never gave her the chance to escape us as we harried our quarry.


    When telekinetic force shoved me away, I was there in the shadow of the Wolf to follow his bite with a piercing lunge. When a wing struck the Wolf with enough force to disperse him, he reformed from a nearby corpse to bite at her heels.


    We fought with the ferocity of wild beasts, the grace of a divine huntress, and the desperation of mortal man.


    Bit by bit, she was running out of pieces of herself to throw away.


    X


    Conflict Engine 03


    There was an unforeseen variable, an impossibility. The Anomaly. Things were not going according to plan.


    Her emergence was to be a turning point, a shock to the system that would keep things from becoming too sterile. She was to break the monotony and facilitate the acquisition of data through the prolonged suffering of the host species.


    The Creator was to be the hero. The hero required a nemesis. She was to be that nemesis. In doing so, she would crush hope even as she inspired it. More conflict. More data.


    Such were her drives. She could no more deviate from these drives than a member of the host species could cease breathing.


    The battle had begun as it should, as she had foreseen.


    Her form inspired awe, as she knew she would based on her Creator''s reverence towards archaic scriptures. It was fashioned to resemble a creature of myth, a divine symbol of providence, a messenger of hope. All the better to crush it.


    The day of her arrival was calculated as the day in which her appearance would invoke the greatest response, as was the location.


    Her arrival was greeted with the appropriate uncertainty.


    The song was a necessary diversion. By playing into their expectations, she could set the rules of this game, a farce but no less disruptive to the host species for it. She began singing when her Creator''s chosen powers settled.


    Then their dance began.


    The den of tinkers called the Madhouse was a treasure trove of resources. It housed not just the works of current tinkers, but those who had come before and those whose works had been confiscated. Most of these were already built and tested, ready to be deployed or reconfigured by a masterful artisan. She connected to the Shard Network and began to collate their individual knowledge and expertise into a greater whole. Even with her imposed restrictions, there was plenty she could do.


    The song was what the host species could hear, but it was far from the only instrument in her orchestra. Like a conductor, every single thing in the Madhouse was accounted for and manipulated with utmost precision. Even her Creator''s power was given due consideration, all the better to draw out their suffering.


    Then small things began to go wrong. Civilians did not die when they were supposed to. A pale mist began to obscure her vision, not enough to truly blind her, but enough to muddy the waters. The future became less clear as the orchestra she conducted began to play off key. One life. Then ten. Then hundreds and growing in number. Tangles and knots began to appear in the threads she wove.


    They were minor, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, so they did not hold her interest. They were not the first to deviate, merely unexpected. The Cycle would continue and her Creator would have his nemesis.


    And then he joined the battle. The Anomaly. He fought with the ferocity and desperation she''d come to associate with the host species, but also with a strength that only the best of them wielded. Blades that parted crystalline flesh with ease. A coilgun that fired some unknown variant of plasma. The obscuring mist that clouded her sight. The Mark upon her shell that denoted her core.


    The cause of the disruptions had appeared.


    She struck back. At first, she fought with what she could lift, debris and cars and chunks of masonry. He evaded or sundered them all with a skill that surpassed expectations. The projections that fought by his side eluded her predictions. Time and time again, she failed to foresee their attacks. They struck unerringly at the Mark.


    But in doing so, they made themselves predictable. Not through any manipulation of atoms or hyperaware processing, but through mere logic and deduction. So long as the host could be read, she had a point of origin. So long as the Mark existed, she had the destination. Thus, a line could be drawn.


    The line swerved and bent, but always sought the singular destination. And so she guarded her core, repelling her attackers. She lost more and more of her fabricated body, but that was acceptable as only the core mattered.


    He was keeping her from being the Creator''s nemesis. Unacceptable.


    With each engagement, she held back less. By the end, she had stopped using the debris around her and moved to direct telekinetic manipulation. His armor and blade resisted her grasp, as though something was eating up her power as it came in contact with that cloak. Every attempt to destroy the projections failed as they merely reconstituted themselves from the mist or nearby cadavers.


    She hardened the very air and struck him down, only to find that he could teleport to her. He appeared wherever she was not looking. Had she relied on organic eyes, every lunge and strike would have been lethal.


    Then the one called Metalmaru was struck down. Not fatally, but it brought her relief. The Anomaly had chosen to save another rather than continue harrying her. She could go back to being the nemesis her Creator demanded.


    Then the Anomaly returned, stronger and faster than before. She could see the strain on his body through the minute tensing of his muscles. Rage. Fear. Desperation. Hope.


    All these things drove him to feats of greater daring. His movements changed. Before, they were that of highly trained martial artists from the host species. They were controlled in a way that spoke of routine and discipline. A repetition that could be extrapolated. Now, he moved with a wildness akin to a beast. He became harder to read, as though the mist that made up his projections began to make him up as well.


    The Anomaly struck the Mark, three lasers that dematerialized layers of crystal. Surprise. Confirmation. His attacks were insufficient to reach her core, but he proved that there was more to consider than just his blade.


    Then the apparitions struck. The wolf head bit down on the back of her neck, a killing blow on any organic. It was only meant to hold her still for a moment. She twisted and let out a telekinetic blast that dispersed the mist, only to have the wolf reconstitute itself, none the worse for wear.


    The lamb''s arrows pierced deeper still, deeper than any attack that the host species should be capable of. She could trace these shafts of foreign energy, but only by reacting to where her sight became a void.


    Dangerous. Her arrows came concerningly close to her core. Were it not for the strain so evident in the Anomaly''s body language, she could have ended her.


    For the first time in her short existence, she knew fear.


    Impossible. Unacceptable.


    She had to flee. She could outlast the Anomaly if she could keep her distance. She shot off with no regard for the sound barrier, leaving behind shockwaves that ruptured an insignificant host. The wolf head emerged from a mangled cadaver, fangs dripping with drool as he aimed for her core.


    Her last arm went to it in sacrifice.


    Another body. This time, the lamb. She was quick to place cadavers between her and the ovine. Arrows could be blocked. The chase could be continued.


    She was in full retreat. Her head hung by a few slivers of crystalline flesh. Her arms were long gone. Most of her wings had been torn away by the canid head. The host species let out cries of triumph, as if this feat was theirs to claim. As if this body mattered.


    For the first time in her short existence, she knew irritation.


    The futures of these entities were locked to her. The Anomaly was moving even now. But¡­ perhaps¡­ not the past? She had not foreseen a need for such measures, but information was critical. So, she looked back, back along the threads, back to the Anomaly before he was the Anomaly.


    The Mask. It mattered not that she could not fathom its function, only that she could understand its value. She saw him put it on, the boy called Andy. She saw him become the Anomaly.


    The Mask had worth. She targeted the Mask.


    A telekinetic slap to disorient him. A thousand and one projectiles so he could not discern her aim. He struck them down. His sword became two blades, connected at the crossguard. Scissors. They spun like a windmill and parried most.


    What he could not strike down, the ovine did for him, its aim and speed far beyond the Anomaly''s.


    A stalemate. She had to withdraw. Too many factors had deviated from her predictions. The final speaker was destroyed by the Creator and she fired off a token whirlwind in his direction to express her "displeasure." She was preoccupied with escaping the Anomaly though.


    He was running out of time. For what, she couldn''t say, but the strain on his body was evident to her. She could leave to process the data she''d collected and prepare for future appearances.


    She looked into the history of the one called Andy and devised a plan to force him away from her. All that was required was that she impose a choice upon him, the cost for waylaying her so. Three tendrils of telekinetic force set three wheels in motion.


    X


    Andy Yusung Kim


    I grit my teeth through the pain of hosting the Kindred. Maybe I was too young. Maybe my body couldn''t process this quantity of mana yet. Maybe I should stick with one type of mana rather than trying to blend ice, death, and a host of other elements. Or maybe I just wasn''t used to this yet. I didn''t know.


    All I knew was that the Kindred were wearing on me. It was like a constant pressure, a sense of impending doom that could be felt like a physical force. Even as we drew nearer to her core with every strike, I knew that I had minutes at most.


    And then the bitch made me choose.


    I didn''t realize what was happening until it was too late, so caught up was I in trying to get that one critical strike. If the Lamb and Wolf noticed, they cared not. So many things were happening at once. With the destruction of the last speaker, everyone thought this could be it. This could be the death of an endbringer.


    I didn''t know what made Exalt charge in between the Lamb and the Simurgh. Perhaps he was so consumed by the battle-high that he went for the only objective left. Perhaps he was desperate to be noticed, the need to prove himself overwhelming his sense of caution. Or, he was just horrifically unlucky and the Simurgh threw him between us while masking her telekinesis as his own power.


    I''d never know because he went the way of all mortals who faced the Lamb.


    His entrance was downright majestic, a massive, horizontal tornado as wide as a building with him as the tip of the funnel. It was like something out of an anime, an honest to God wind spear. If I didn''t know better, I''d have thought such an attack might have worked as well.


    But I did know better. I saw where it was headed. Unfortunately, his arrival disrupted the delicate dance that the Kindred and I were performing. It wasn''t much, a slight distortion of the cloud beneath my feet, but that fraction of a second was all it took.


    I was too slow. I couldn''t keep him from striking the Simurgh, or the Lamb from striking him in short order.


    "Exalt deceased," I heard at the exact same time as I felt his candle be snuffed out.


    "Foolish," the Wolf growled.


    "But brave," the Lamb remarked dispassionately.


    That was the cue, the straw that broke the camel''s back. It started with Exalt, but his attack was the signal for everyone to pile on the injured endbringer. I tried to say something, to stop them from throwing their lives away, but my voice was drowned out in a sea of excited capes. I felt my muscles tear and my soul clench. I didn''t have the strength to sustain our delicate dance and maneuver around them at the same time. I knew then that there was no way I was killing the Simurgh today.


    Then something shot up into the air from the remnants of the Madhouse. I saw a streak of metallic silver for the briefest moment before it detonated on the biggest cluster of blasters. A black and blue portal exploded outward, consuming most of them. A bare few were fast enough to get away and the flash of blue light that jetted outward told me Legend remained as elusive as ever.


    ''Warptek.'' The former Madhouse tinker had died in Hyderabad conducting relief missions on behalf of the United States. He''d moved to Milwaukee prior to my arrival in DC, but some of his tech had to have been in storage. Could the Simurgh make his tech when he was no longer alive?


    ''Of course she can. 2009. Haywire,'' I thought grimly. ''She wouldn''t even need to make anything, just break it the way she wants.''


    I didn''t know where that porta led, if it led anywhere at all, but I did know that they didn''t arrive alive. The flames being snuffed out as they crossed the event horizon was proof enough of that. Of the names the bracelet read off, I recognized only Cloudstreak.


    Two more streaks of silver floated in the air before she lobbed them down at the grounded heroes.


    One headed for the Phoenix contingent working with Bluesong to protect her Wayfinder. The other, the Guild members running search and rescue in what used to be Outreach''s section of the city.


    Keep hitting the Simurgh in some vain attempt at striking the core, with so many suicidal idiots in the way. Save Narwhal, who I expected to do great things. Save Bluesong who was an immensely capable tinker just a step shy of Hero. The Simurgh forced me to choose and that was no choice at all.


    In the end, it was sentimentality that moved me. The Phoenix contingent likely contained someone I knew. I genuinely looked up to Bluesong for the life she''d led. No, this was a foregone conclusion.


    I vanished in a flicker of mist and reappeared next to a corpse of some young girl, dragging both the Lamb and Wolf down to the ground with me. Pained spasms wracked my body and slowed me down for a fraction of a second. I couldn''t keep it from going off. Cutting it would make it worse. Gritting through the pain, I flooded my eyes with mana and saw the world crawl to a stop.


    Royalle hadn''t noticed, busy as he was yelling at a crowd of refugees. Oathkeeper saw and her storm-clad sword was already starting its arc through the air, hoping to knock it off course. Redbird, the very first Protectorate cape to introduce me to the Phoenix Wards, was too busy using his feathers to lift a man with a head injury through the portal.


    Bluesong was playing some sort of device shaped like a flute. I knew it to be a highly sophisticated piece of hardware that helped her manipulate fluid dynamics. She used it often enough to demonstrate how she could use it to stop bloodflow. I suspected that her sector of the city would have the highest survival rate.


    I saw where the portal was to land and my heart leapt to my throat. Stingray. Penelope. She was here despite my every warning otherwise. I told her she wasn''t ready. White hot rage warred with worry in my mind until I realized why she was here: me.


    The Atlas Gauntlets were made to provide a forcefield using the mana reserves in her soul, but that was meant to handle cave-ins and kinetic impacts, the recoil of their immense striking force. They weren''t made to handle dimensional anomalies.


    In another heartbeat, I was by her side. The bomb began to glow and spark. In this moment of slowed perception, I could clearly track every arc of electricity and watch as Warptek''s hardware destabilized before my eyes. I''d never swung Isolde faster. Waves upon waves of ice covered the bomb in layers of frost, but I knew before I struck that it wouldn''t be enough. It was long past the point of needing a coolant.


    Even as my body seized with pain, I pulled on the last card I could play as one of the Kindred. I was an aspect of death. The end of all things. It was our right to reap, our duty to guide the flow of souls. But¡­ But for an instant, a single breath that stretched for an eternity, I also had the authority to reject, to postpone my duty.


    I embraced Farya''s power like I''d never done before. I held her tight and threw my very soul at her feet in the hope of fueling this technique. The World Rune blazed like never before and I felt my soul flood with power I couldn''t hope to contain.


    "One instant. One breath," I whispered. "That''s all I want."


    "So be it."


    I felt her reach out. Her soft, fuzzy hand clasped my own and we spoke as one. Our voice came out a whisper, but with an undeniable authority that rang throughout all existence and froze one of the fundamental aspects of the universe. "Lamb''s Respite."


    A ripple of pure life spread outward from my position like a stone thrown into a pond. Wherever our power reached, there was stillness. Two words. Two words made Death take a pause. Two words made that undeniable cog of the universe stop.


    The serenity of it all was captivating.


    Then the dimension grenade went off and consumed everything. For a moment, my vision shifted and I was overlooking a snowcapped mountain range. Then I stood over a desert. Then, a peaceful glade. Then, a volcano. Then, the overwhelming pressure of the ocean depths surrounded me. I was everywhere and nowhere, tugged in a dozen different directions. I saw Stingray and dozens of civilians get tossed about alongside me, their eyes widened in shock and mouths opened in silent screams.


    They drowned. They fell. They burned. They were diced apart and died a thousand deaths in a fraction of a second, before their brains could even begin to process pain.


    But they lived. Their bodies recovered instantly for they needed them to live. They could not die for I refused to claim them.


    And then it was over.


    Author''s Note


    Welp, the battle''s winding down. Finally.


    I¡­ I don''t think I can write the Simurgh too well, but I decided to try anyway. I wrote her from the third person perspective because the first person "I" implies a sense of self and I''m not sure if she has that strictly speaking.


    Are you surprised? Frustrated? The Simurgh has plot armor? Yeah, she does. Full stop, she does. She was never going to die on her first appearance, and certainly not during Andy''s first endbringer fight. As hilariously powerful as Andy is compared to most of Earth-Bet, he''s got limits. This was never the kind of story where an OP protagonist steamrolls everything in his way. Becoming Kindred basically gives him a super-Saiyan form, but it comes with a heavy toll on his body. He''s still a child and his abilities very much reflect that.


    Also, Lamb''s Respite is stupid. It''s broken. It''s exactly the kind of bullshit power perfect to close out this battle.


    I legit rolled to see if Narwhal survived that last attack from the Simurgh. She did, by detonating it prematurely with a well-placed barrier and staying out of its range. Lucky, too, ''cause I would have felt weird killing her off after Andy hyped her up a bit in the story.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.14.5 Penelope Myers

    Interlude 6.14.5: Penelope Myers


    2002, January 3: Phoenix, AZ


    I¡­ I still had no clue what the hell happened back there. A week later and I was still trying to process the last few seconds of the battle.


    ''A battle you were hilariously unprepared for,'' I thought derisively. It sounded uncomfortably like Andy.


    They were winning. I''d occasionally look up to the dogfight. Each time I did, the Simurgh seemed to be sporting more injuries. Missing wings. First one arm, then the other. A leg hanging by a thread. A hole through her breast. Neck torn to ribbons. She should have died. Even a single one of those could have been fatal on a human. But of course, she wasn''t human.


    Andy was up there worrying me sick but making me so, so proud.


    They were winning. And then they weren''t.


    I heard some capes go down but I did my best to help the people before me with what I had. Before I could understand what was happening, my kid brother was in front of me. The only reason I noticed was because of the unnerving aura his new costume seemed to give off. It made every hair on my body stand on end, like I was staring down some inevitable calamity.


    His ridiculous scissors-sword became a flash of light that slashed at something I hadn''t noticed. A pillar of ice rose up from the ground to cover us. A bomb, I realized now.


    Then he spoke two words. "Lamb''s Respite."


    If existential dread had a soundtrack, it''d be that voice. It was Andy speaking, but his voice was layered with someone else''s. A woman''s. The lamb-like Case-53 next to him. Their voices melded into one and¡­ And I wasn''t sure what happened next.


    There was a flash of light. The bomb went off and my world became a kaleidoscope of confusing colors.


    The next thing I knew, we were in a forest clearing. It had to have been further south because there was not even the hint of slush on the ground. Lots of leaves and sticks. No snow. Small mercies.


    I thought I died, only to find myself surrounded by dozens of people. Had Andy done that? Or the bomb?


    All I knew was that I wasn''t good enough. I''d gone to that endbringer battle out of concern for my little brother. He was in danger; I wanted to protect him, to at least hear that he had been evacuated with the rest of the Wards and was safe. I saw him lying there, wisps of that pale mist coming off his armor, and knew I failed miserably. Frost coated the ground around him, creeping outward like a corrupting force.


    He was breathing and that was all I could discern. No one could approach him without getting that sinking feeling in the pit of their stomach. When a volunteer nurse tried to remove his Mask, that wooden thing he''d been so proud of, she died. She touched it. And she died.


    What the actual fuck, Andy?


    I wasn''t good enough. If anything, I was a burden. Work with what I had? What if what I had wasn''t enough?


    I gave away the last of my potions so I did what I always did. I threw myself into busywork. I organized civilians, set up a watch over Andy, gathered firewood, and¡­ and did the best I could.


    I wasn''t cut out for wilderness survival. Perhaps Raquel would have been better; she was the one who worked with the fire department and the forestry service. Even Yasmine would be better, the girl who could be good at anything, dressed for any occasion. I¡­ I was just the girl who punched things.


    I thought I''d come to terms with myself. What I had was good enough. A loving boyfriend. Great friends. Cool bosses. Until suddenly, what I had fell short of what I needed once again. I set off a GPS signal and awaited rescue. One day. Two.


    I quickly gave up leadership to one of the civilians, a backpacker hobbyist better suited for our circumstances. He divided us up into teams for different tasks and guessed by the stars and climate that we''d somehow jumped across the country to somewhere in the Cascades, thankfully not too far up a mountain.


    It wasn''t an impossible place to survive in, he''d reassured. The climate was mild this far south. Water was plentiful. We could go without food if necessary. We could sit in one place and rely on my GPS for help to find us. It was the safe option.


    We sat there doing nothing and listened to the screams of women being butchered alive that the hobbyist assured me was just the sound of mountain lions fucking. They apparently had no set mating season so Christmas was as good a time to fuck as any.


    I¡­ I could have happily gone the rest of my life without knowing that¡­


    When no one came in three days, someone suggested we leave and try our luck finding civilization on our own. Suggested we leave my brother behind.


    I saw red. I grabbed him in my gauntlet and squeezed until I heard bones snap. He wasn''t up for leaving anymore.


    Day four was when the guilt hit. I was a hero. Hungry. Tired. But a hero. Who just broke someone''s ribs like matchsticks because he pissed me off¡­


    Some hero¡­


    ''What should I do when what I have isn''t enough?'' I wondered.


    David once described his second trigger to me. Amidst the empathy I felt for him, a part of me felt flattered that he trusted me so much. It was a general truism that the fastest way to pick a fight with a cape was to talk about our triggers. That went doubly so for second triggers.


    Now I knew why.


    I didn''t get any stronger as far as I could tell. Instead, my power''s versatility increased like I wanted. I could do more than punch at a distance. I could grab, push, and pull now too. Whatever I could do with my hands, I could do to anything I saw, like ghostly hands extending from my gauntlets.


    When I first found out, I broke down into hysterical laughter. Here I was, survivor of my first endbringer battle, and the thing that made me second trigger was being lost.


    I could see why Andy was so dismissive of these though. I''d gotten the versatility I''d wanted, but it still didn''t change our situation. If anything, it just terrified the civilians more. From there perspective, I must have seemed unstable. Truth be told, I probably was. Here they were, stuck in the woods with a woman who could kill them all in a minute at most, and she just broke down into hysterics.


    God, I was such a shitty hero.


    Day five was different.


    The sun was peaking over the horizon when a portal opened in the middle of our crude campsite. At this point, any amount of caution was overridden by the desire for rescue, any sort of civilized company that wasn''t ourselves.


    A woman in a sharply pressed suit appeared. She was gorgeous in that natural way that models spent countless hours trying to mimic. Her brown hair fell in soft waves and her fedora was skewed just slightly to the side as if to add a hint of coquettish personality to an otherwise rigidly professional attire. She even smelled nice, like some weird but awesome mix between sandalwood and something floral. It was a rich fragrance that made her seem that much more assertive. It was the most unique perfume I''d ever smelled and I wanted it.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Most of all? She looked like she had her shit together.


    She walked into the clearing and drew every eye. We breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that whoever this was, we wouldn''t be here for much longer.


    After her came two robots that rolled on three textured wheels, a gurney between them. They were odd-looking, with heads shaped like wrenches, but I was just relieved to see that they could handle Andy without dying or something.


    She introduced herself as a friend of Hyunmu, saying something about a path that had been cleared. When I questioned it, she opened another portal and showed off the Dream Blossom Censer. I knew that he''d rather commit murder than give that to just anyone; I could hear her out.


    Not five minutes later, I was back in Phoenix. Andy had been carted off somewhere by those strange robots, but I couldn''t check on him before I was swamped with debriefs and reassuring my family that I was indeed still among the living.


    It was only when I was home that I realized she never gave her name.


    X


    I sighed as I plopped down onto my bed. I felt a bone-deep exhaustion overtake me. Recovering from my impromptu camping trip wasn''t the issue. God knew Phoenix was practically drowning in potions. Even what I did to that poor man was waved away as a trigger-related accident. Red Sands precedent.


    God, he wasn''t even conscious and he was still protecting me.


    No. I was a mess because the country was a mess.


    DC was¡­ gone. Our capitol, the seat of power of the free world, was turned to so much rubble. Even now, countless heroes and volunteers were combing the city for bodies. They''d yet to announce the estimated death toll, but it was bad. Over four hundred thousand were displaced by the Simurgh and that number was only rising.


    Phoenix had it easy. No matter what anyone said, Phoenix was Rubedo''s home. Hyunmu''s home. Director Lyons had a huge soft spot for him and so she''d pushed the construction of the refugee camps hard, hard enough to support an additional forty-four thousand residents in short order. Sure, housing wasn''t glamorous or anything, barely more than four walls and a roof. Communal showers and restrooms, no electricity, and a prison-style mess hall. But it was something at least.


    We were called the model city, proof that the Worldstone Network was worth every penny. Hell, if Chief Director Costa-Brown retired, Director Lyons would probably be a major contender from the sheer amount of goodwill she''d garnered.


    Of the six of us who joined the battle, only two didn''t make it back: Calavera and Cloudstreak. Both names were added to our endbringer memorial. Yeah, Calavera was a Mesa and one of the worst villains we had, but she deserved that much.


    I turned out the lights for bed. I turned and nestled into a huge pillow David got me for this exact purpose. Then I smelled something different, sandalwood with a floral hint I''d only smelled once before in my life. My eyes flew open and my fist was already sailing for her head before I could think to pull back.


    Apparently, she was the snazziest dressed ninja in the world because she dodged my straight by a hair. In the dark. At point blank range. There was a soft whump as my power struck my gym bag in the opposite corner.


    Before I could do anything else, she leaned forward and booped my nose! Like a child!


    The sheer indignity of some crazy spook-ninja coming into my room to make a mockery of me forced me wide awake. She flicked on the light and shot me a knowing smirk that made me want to take another swing at her.


    "Who? How? Why?" I stuttered.


    "A friend of Yusung''s. Door. Because I can," she answered with an infuriating poise that practically screamed high-end thinker. Andy called that look the "thinker-smug." I totally understood what he meant now.


    "I hope you know that the only reason you''re not a paint job on my wall is because you''re Andy''s friend," I grouched.


    "Oh, there are more reasons than that, Penelope," she tutted condescendingly. She even had the gall to reach out and ruffle my hair. I was nineteen!


    I sat up and did my best to pat down my hair. "Anyone ever tell you you''re infuriating?"


    "Yusung. Practically daily."


    "You were a thinker in DC?"


    "Something like that."


    "Do you ever give people a straight answer?"


    "I do. To Yusung."


    "Well how ''bout you start talking? Where is he? How is he?"


    Then everything about her changed. It wasn''t just that she cut it out with that enigmatic smile. It was that every single inch of her body seemed to work together to radiate an aura of seriousness. Playtime was over.


    "He is in a coma," she told me, all pretense and riddles gone.


    "C-Can I see him?"


    "You may. Door, Babylon." The same portal I saw in the woods appeared. I wondered if it was another expression of her power or some sort of tinkertech. And where was Babylon? Was it even a place or just the name of a secret facility somewhere? Who even named it that? "Coming?"


    Still a bit lost at the suddenness of her arrival, I stumbled through the portal and found myself in a hospital room. There was a single bed, with a lot of expensive-looking equipment. The room was cozy despite the large window that overlooked a snowy expanse. Of course, my eyes zeroed in on the sole occupant.


    Andy was hooked up to the machines with a blood pressure monitor. Someone had evidently taken him out of that intimidating costume and clothed him in hospital scrubs before wrapping him warmly in a blanket.


    "He looks so small."


    "He is ten," the spook-ninja said matter-of-factly.


    I shot her a cross glare. "Must you be right about everything?"


    "When it''s my power, yes."


    "What? Being right?"


    "Winning."


    "Bullshit."


    "So I''ve been told."


    I sighed. I clearly wasn''t going to get anywhere with her. "Alright, Ms. Know-It-All, when''s he going to wake up then?"


    She shrugged. "Not a clue."


    "I thought you-"


    "There are exceptions. Yusung is one of them. I know that he is well. He is physically healthier than you or I could ever be. Nor will his body deteriorate with the potions supply I''ve reserved for him."


    "Oh¡­"


    "Indeed." And for a moment, I thought I could see a flash of pain. Was it annoyance that Ms. All-Powerful Thinker didn''t know something or was it genuine care? Whatever I saw on her face, she must have seen the question on mine. "I care, believe it or not. Yusung is one of the few I can call a friend."


    "What? Can''t find anyone your age to play with?"


    She stared at me blankly until I looked away. She couldn''t have been much older than me. Why did she remind me of nana? "Do stop the sass while you''re still endearing, Penelope."


    "Yes, ma''am," I grumbled, cowed in an instant. Someone this young shouldn''t have nana''s "Don''t make me get the paddle" look down, but she did. "Is there¡­ some kind of healing cape we can find?"


    "You''re looking at him."


    "Right¡­ There''s got to be someone."


    "No, there does not. There will not be for three years. The world is unfair. And even if there was, they would be unlikely to be of any use. Yusung''s coma is induced by the strange energy he exudes when he fights. I''m sure you''ve felt it, that sense of impending doom."


    "I¡­ yeah¡­"


    "He overtaxed himself and seeing how the only one who understands how this ''mana'' works is currently the patient, patient is all we can be."


    "Heh. Wordplay?"


    "Quite. You may leave and return by saying, ''Door, Yusung''s room.'' The Door will not open for you in any other location. Visit at your leisure."


    "I¡­ Thank you," I said. I looked around once more but found no identifying insignias or logos. It was a well-maintained hospital room, but with zero hints as to its location. "Where exactly is this? What''s Babylon?"


    "Somewhere safe."


    "That''s not what I''m asking."


    "I know," she said. That same thinker-smug smirk was back. She turned around and called, "Door, Rebecca''s office."


    A familiar portal opened up to reveal the chief director in a generic office space. That at least told me she was working for the PRT. I could rest easy knowing that if nothing else. The portal closed before I could ask the chief director anything.


    I sat there looking at Andy sleeping, lost in thought. Little fella had clearly been involved in a lot more than he told me¡­ Or maybe it was natural for the bigwigs to take an interest in his safety like this. After watching him make an endbringer piss herself, I certainly would. Ten years old and already so strong¡­


    It was only minutes later that I realized she''d once again left without so much as a name.


    "Fucking spook-ninjas," I grumbled.


    Author''s Note


    Wasn''t sure about doing the aftermath from Sting''s POV, but seeing how she was the last to see our MC, it only seemed fair. There''s an obligatory PHO chapter later this evening, but other than that, arc 6 is done.


    Why is Andy in a coma? Because I refuse to allow him to have something as broken as the Kindred without consequences. You put death on hold so you get put on hold too. Seems fair. And just as important, it''s an excellent chance to do the time skip that everyone''s been harping on about since arc 3.


    One of the big challenges with time skips in a tinker-fic is trying to account for things the MC will build in the meantime. This is doubly true for fics where the MC''s power scales exponentially like Celestial Forge or Tinker of Fiction. While this is neither, it does share some of the same mechanics so if I were to do a normal time skip, Andy would basically show up a god, reveal he struck a deal with Aurelion, then one-shot Scion before fucking off to who knows where to become a hermit-inventor or open a bakery or whatever the fuck he''d do.


    Coma = no creating anything = no runes. Easy.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 6.14.6 Parahumans Online

    Preface


    This PHO¡­ Honestly? It kind of started as a joke. And then I thought, "Cauldron isn''t losing that much anyway¡­ and it''d be kind of funny¡­ Would Fortuna care enough to stop this?"


    So I went with it. It''s a random bit of comedy I thought would be interesting if I had to play straight. Andy''s going to have a lot to deal with when he wakes up.


    Interlude 6.14.6: Parahumans Online


    Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards


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    Topic: An Open Letter to the American People


    In: Boards Global United States General


    Legend_Official (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate NY) (Founders)


    Posted on January 3, 2002:


    Hello, everyone.


    The PRT_National account was fashioned only two months ago in response to repeated requests for an easily accessible source of PRT news concerning the nation. We believed it would be an excellent way to connect with the citizens we protect and develop an engaging community.


    That is not what this is about. I felt that despite its purpose, such a means of address would be too impersonal, too insincere for what needs to be said. I''m sure Rebecca will make her own announcement, but I felt that some words from me were due.


    So, here I am, making my first post on this quickly growing forum, to clear the air.


    It is with a heavy heart that I write this, but I must confirm the existence of the third endbringer. The entity designated "Simurgh" attached our nation''s capitol on Christmas Day, forcing a rapid mobilization of our nation''s heroes, independents, and even several brave villains. She took the guise of an angel and tried to make a mockery of a day held sacred by many. It was a day of unfathomable tragedy for our nation as hundreds of thousands passed away and the heart of our democracy burned to the ground.


    I''ve never been prouder to be a member of the Protectorate and a citizen of the United States of America. For those of you who answered the call, powers or none, thank you. Whether Protectorate, PRT, emergency personnel, or even our friends to the north, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Thank you for proving that even an endbringer could not divide us. Thank you for defending our nation, for saving the lives of over four hundred thousand people. Words cannot express the gratitude and pride I feel for you all.


    The battle is over and there is much to say, much more to do. Please, please do not turn your attention from this, no matter how painful. Please do not allow your hearts to grow numb to this tragedy.


    Even now, thousands of volunteers and emergency aid workers are combing through the ruins of our nation''s capitol for survivors. Hundreds of thousands of refugees are scattered across the US and Canada, housed in camps built for just such a tragedy. Thousands more are missing.


    Please don''t become numb to this. No amount of powers will provide these people with comfort and peace, food, water, or clothes. If you can afford to, find it in your heart to reach out to your local shelters and PRT liaisons. Though the Worldstone Network was made with housing in mind, there are many things that it lacks.


    I beg you, please don''t let the Simurgh win.


    With heartfelt gratitude,


    Legend


    *MOD EDIT*


    This thread has been locked because all that needs to be said has been said. I''m going to drop a lot of links and resources for people.


    Here is a discussion page on the third endbringer.


    Here is the online memorial of all those who passed fighting the Simurgh or volunteering to rescue civilians.


    Here is a database of all emergency relief organizations and PRT liaisons currently assisting in recovery and relief efforts.


    Lastly, here is a missing persons thread meant to help people reconnect from different refugee camps.


    Best wishes from the admin staff,


    Fishie


    (Showing Page 1 of 16)


    ? Rainbow Parade


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Shit... I... I said I wanted Legend to make an account, but... shit... not like this.


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Thank you, Legend_Official, for your sincerity. You are without question the best of us.


    I know it''s not much, but please reach out to me if there is anything the PHO admin staff can do to help organize relief efforts or get the word out.


    This is the most tragic example, but events such as this is precisely why I helped build this site.


    ? PewPewPRIDE


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    No kidding. I live in Columbus and saw some of the footage of the aftermath. Welcome to PHO, Legend_Official. Now if you''ll pardon me, I''m going to go back to sobbing.


    ? Mezcal Mike


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    I want to say something witty, but¡­ yeah, I got nothing. There is nothing funny about this. I''m going to go collect links for aid offices. Maybe doing something productive will keep me from breaking down again.


    ? U Da Punchline (Banned)


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Idk, there''s something weird about the fag-in-chief celebrating Christmas.


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    No. Fuck you. Not now. Not here. Fuck you and enjoy the IP lock, asshole.


    ? Haha Bro #1


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Yeah, no. Nothing funny about this. Mezcal Mike, looks like PRT_National''s ahead of you, bro. Here''s the PHO post that has all local aid liaison offices.


    ? Haha Bro #2


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    And here''s FEMA additions.


    ? Haha Bro #3


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Here''s the memorial of all those who died fighting or volunteering. It''s an online list so it''s going to keep growing as people add to it before it gets made into something official.


    I also made a PHO post for missing persons here. I hope this helps some of you find your loved ones.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    The Haha Bros aren''t trolling? What?


    ? Haha Bro #1


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Hey, fuck off, Undertow. Like Fishie said, time and place. We''re assholes, not monsters.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Yeah, shit. Sorry, force of habit. You''re right and thank you for what you guys contributed.


    ? Legend_Official (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Protectorate NY) (Founders)


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Thank you, everyone. Truly and sincerely. I need to run, there is a lot of work to do for me still, but I wanted to say I appreciate everything.


    ? Fishie (Board Admin)


    Replied on January 3, 2002:


    Right. Locking the thread here. Everything that needs to be said has been said I think. I''m going to edit the original post with these links. Please support your local shelters and refugee camps as you can afford.


    End of Page. 1


    Topic: New Endbringer Aftermath


    In: Boards Global United States General


    Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Posted on January 4, 2002:


    So¡­ I''m writing this from Seattle still trying to process what the fuck happened. I guess to me, endbringers have always been someone else''s problem, you know? I''m hoping that going over all the things happening in our nation as a result of this will help me come to grips with it all.


    For starters, here is a thread that''s complied a master list of all ongoing relief efforts and organizations involved. Please donate, whether in time, supplies, or money.


    This includes the cape and emergency personnel casualties. I know that from the DC Protectorate, we lost:


    Pyrotechnical


    Glace


    Outreach


    Metalmaru (Edit: He''s fine, my apologies. He went down and lost both legs, but thanks to Rubedo''s potions, he''s expected to recover.)


    Brickhouse


    Hyunmu (What the fuck is a Ward doing here?)


    Rest in peace, heroes. Thank you.


    The POTUS has announced a national day of mourning to remember the fallen heroes. Read about that here.


    PRT_National announced that the surviving DC heroes would be reassigned. Further, future departments will house no more than three tinkers to a team for obvious reasons. They are Hero, Bluesong, Wonderland, Zero Day, and Armsmaster as well as Verdeer, Gold Rush, and Whiteout of the Wards.


    Hero has announced that he will not take command of a new city. Instead, he will work as the Protectorate''s liaison to the Guild in Canada, training them to be an international task force.


    Bluesong has claimed command of PRT Jacksonville, a mid-sized branch in Florida. It''s about time; she''s one of the most experienced heroes in the country. I just wish the circumstances had been better.


    Wonderland is formally joining the Seattle Protectorate, the team she worked with during the battle.


    Zero Day is going to Watchdog, the national think-tank (the powered kind). He''s going to be their techie I guess.


    Armsmaster has announced that he''s headed to Brockton Bay, a small city in New Hampshire with an abnormally high CPC (capes per capita). He''s not going to be the leader, but he''ll be Paladin''s second-in-command.


    Edit: Metalmaru is alive! He''s going to retire, though he''ll still work as an outside consultant primarily working alongside Bluesong in Jacksonville.


    Of course, the other thing we need to talk about is where our new capitol will be. Senator Overton is heading the camp that wants to rebuild DC. Speaker Vasquez is saying it should be moved to a more geographically central location. It''s not strictly cape-related, but I figured it''s worth discussing.


    Edit: For you fuckers saying Hero''s a coward because he was the only Founder who didn''t participate in the battle, fuck you. We know the Simurgh copies tinker powers. He was obviously given the intelligence beforehand somehow. You think DC''s a pile of rubble now? Imagine what she could have done with Hero''s power thrown into the mix. He evacuated every congressman, Supreme Court justice, and the entire White House and cabinet. He''s why the US government exists in the first place. He removed himself from the battlefield for everyone''s sakes and made the biggest difference he could.


    (Showing Page 1 of 4)


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    So I might be going crazy, but¡­ I thought Metalmaru was alive¡­?


    ? Rude Rupert


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Seriously? That''s what you''re concerned with? I mean, I get that he was a hero, but compared to two Wards dying, who cares?


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I care, you dick. First off, he isn''t just some random hero. He didn''t put in many hours on the streets, but he''s Hero''s right hand in the Madhouse.


    ? Frontline (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Cleveland)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, Rude Rupert. I''m not sure who you think Metalmaru was, but the man was my boss when I was part of the Madhouse. He''s been Hero''s second for almost ten years. He''ll be dearly missed.


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Wow, thank you both, but as you can see, I''m alive and well. I did go down when the Simurgh cut off my legs, but Hyunmu threw me through the Wayfinder. I''m in Chicago at the moment. I''m healthy thanks to my emergency potions and already designing some cybernetic legs with the help of local tinkers.


    I''ll probably make a formal announcement.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Metalmaru You''re alive!


    ? Frontline (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Cleveland)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Good to see you, bossman.


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yep. Here''s proof that it''s really me, along with the announcement of my retirement. I think I''m going to work as an outside consultant in Jacksonville, helping support Bluesong''s command. It''s what I do best after all.


    ? Rude Rupert


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    That''s great and all, but while you''re here, mind giving us some information on WHAT THE FUCK THE WARDS WERE DOING THERE?


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, that''s a really good question.


    ? Its Just Business


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Lol I used to live in DC. Brickhouse wasn''t a Ward. I mean, he was, but not when he died. He graduated to the Protectorate in August(?) shortly after letting that midget kick my ass.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, Brick wasn''t a Ward when he volunteered. Just Hyunmu, but¡­ Its Just Business are you Showbiz?


    ? Its Just Business


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yup, I should get my acc verified. Lucha Loco, I sent you a message. I mean, shit. The PRT moved us out literally months before a new endbringer?


    Me and the boys are going to pour one out for Hyunmu.


    ? Lucha Loco (Moderator)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Verified. But aren''t you going to get rebranded?


    ? Its Just Business (Verified Cape) (Stage Crew)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    And? That just means this can be my throwaway account to talk shit on.


    ? Rude Rupert


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, yeah, great. We can all remember how a twelve year old kicked your collective asses. What I want to know is which fuckup thought letting said twelve year old fight an endbringer and die was a good idea.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Actually, I''m pretty sure he''s ten. I know, that makes it worse, but it''s on his online profile. See?


    He''s also the tinker behind the Worldstone Network, so he''s a giant reason I''m alive.


    ? Its Just Business (Verified Cape) (Stage Crew)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Hey, fuck you, Rude Rupert. That kid''s fucking terrifying.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    What? Wtf is this bullshit? He''s TEN?


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    He is, Love1355. Confirmed in this interview if the official Wards roster wasn''t enough. Makes my fucking blood boil.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I¡­ the PRT are the good guys¡­ right?


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, lot of us feeling that way right about now¡­


    ? Gristlebrow


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I''m not saying that Hyunmu should have been out there, but let''s be honest. The only reason his death stands out is that he''s young. If he wasn''t, he''d just be a statistic. Let''s not pretend his death was some grand sacrifice.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Dude, that''s fucking cold.


    ? Gristlebrow


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    What do you want me to say? That he''s some special snowflake? I mean, don''t get me wrong, I''d love to live in a world where no hero has to die, but he''s just some kid who overestimated himself and got in over his head. Maybe if the PRT did their jobs and kept an eye on their Ward, he wouldn''t have died like a fucking chump.


    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4


    (Showing Page 2 of 4)


    ? Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    You better fucking pray I don''t find you, Gristlebrow. Hyunmu was my friend, you son of a bitch.


    User has received an infraction. I get it, I do, but please don''t threaten anyone in the forums, especially as a hero.


    ? Gristlebrow (Banned)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Was.


    Now he died without making a single difference.


    User has been banned. Fuck off. You don''t make fun of the dead, especially not people who died facing endbringers.


    ? Lucha Loco (Moderator)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Enough. No. You don''t make fun of the dead, especially not endbringer casualties. I don''t give a fuck that it''s not in the PHO terms of service. Fuck off.


    ? Widlshot (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Wait, what? Ranchero, you knew the guy who made the Worldstones? How?


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I guess it doesn''t really matter anymore so I''ll clear the air.


    Hyunmu was formerly Rubedo, a Ward in Phoenix. His real name is Andy Kim. Wildshot I promise you''ve met him at least once before. Following the Red Sands Incident, the full breadth and scope of his power was discovered and he was given a new mask before being moved to the Madhouse to learn from Hero. I was one of the first to meet him and the one who introduced him to the Madhouse.


    Andy was¡­ brilliant. So smart that I never felt like I was talking to a child. Hell, kid was probably smarter than me. He was also the type to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. No, this doesn''t excuse us letting him fight. My hands are shaking writing this because I''m so goddamn pissed. But¡­ But I don''t think it was about letting him.


    No one let him do anything. He just¡­ did.


    In a lot of ways, he reminded me of a younger Hero. Larger than life, you know? Like he could do anything. Make anything. Like, one day, he just came to work with a brand new armor we''d never even seen before and no one batted an eye because¡­ Hyunmu. He always seemed to have the go-ahead from someone up top.


    And made no difference? The creator of the Worldstone Network? The reason 400,000 people are alive? The reason we have a country at all? The boy who mass produced potions? Who arranged for disaster relief constantly? Some of you keyboard warriors are breathing now because of him.


    Overestimated himself? Maybe. You be the judge of that. It goes against protocol, but I plan on retiring from the Protectorate anyway. What are they gonna do? Fire me? I don''t care anymore. The video cuts out halfway through because I went down, but this is everything until then. The world deserves to know what an endbringer is really like. And how amazing he was. Here.


    I can only wonder what kind of a giant Andy could have been.


    Rest in peace, Andy, and thank you for saving my life.


    ? Widlshot (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Umm¡­ Which one is him? I just see a weird fog-cape with a sheepgirl¡­? Ghost-wolf¡­ thing¡­? And are those scissors?


    ? Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque))


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah. I know a lot of the things he''s made. Our old team still had weekly movie nights and he''s shown off before. Those scissors, that armor, they''re definitely his work. Pause here. You can see the turtle shell crest on his back.


    Rest in peace, little buddy. Dad would''ve been proud of you.


    ? Undertow


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Holy shit. I thought he was a tinker? Shaker? Striker? Mover? What is that even?


    ?Its Just Business (Verified Cape) (Stage Crew)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yup. Suddenly Stage Crew doesn''t look so pathetic, huh? We lost to mini-Hero. Kid''s fucking terrifying.


    Pouring one out to you, Andy. RIP.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Seen him around on patrols before this whole shit. That''s Hyunmu alright. Did the cloud-walking trick for my baby sister.


    Thank you and RIP.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Really turned into a Hyunmu respect thread, huh? Is there any chance there are more videos from the battle?


    Also, RIP.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Because he''s fucking badass.


    ? Magic Trash Panda (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    He was and I can''t stop crying because he used to call me a trash panda and make fun of my taste in movies but he''d always send me cookies for my birthday and that''s all I can think about right now.


    ? Lucha Loco (Moderator)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I''m sorry for your loss but that you made your PHO handle based off his nickname for you is also kind of adorable.


    ? Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, that''s Bandit all right¡­ Give me a call if you want to talk. I''m driving up anyway to visit so we can meet up then too, okay?


    ? Magic Trash Panda (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, okay¡­


    ? Hat Trick (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    RIP, midget. You were kickass.


    ? Rude Rupert


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Serious question: If Hyunmu thought fighting was a good idea and all the other tinkers were there, where was Hero?


    ? GrogNRum


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Coward.


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Saving all the bigwigs probably. Imagine how many more lives he could have saved if he wasn''t sucking POTUS dick or whatever the fuck he was doing.


    Lost a lot of respect for you, Hero_Official.


    ? Zero2Hero


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I mean¡­ Do we know that''s what he was doing?


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    According to these reports and speeches from politicians thanking his "quick thinking and decisive action?" Yeah. Fuck¡­ I thought he stood for the little guys. Guess there was a reason why he was stationed in DC.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I get it. I do. But honestly? That''s probably the best thing he could have done. Imagine the chaos if we lost our entire government. You''re not looking at a civil war. You''re looking at the US shattering into different provinces. Zero organization. Zero coordination. As much as I would have loved to see Hero slap that bird bitch a new one, he made the right call.


    It tastes bitter, but¡­ yeah¡­


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    It''s¡­ not just that, guys. If it''s just that, there''d be no reason for Hero to leave and stay gone.


    The Simurgh¡­ During the battle, she took things from the Madhouse. That big box you see floating in the background of some of my shots? Yeah, that''s not just some rubble. That''s where I used to work. Where some of the best tinkers alive used to work. She just ripped the whole fucking thing from the ground.


    And then she started building stuff by cobbling together everything we had.


    I''ve seen the reports. The Simurgh can co-opt the specializations of any tinker in the area. Me. Pyro. Glace. Armsmaster. Bluesong. Zero Day. We all saw our powers used against us. You want to know why DC''s a rubble right now?


    Because she made lasers like Pyro and used Glace''s cryo-tech to make mirrors that deflect lasers everywhere. Because she programmed like Zero Day, optimized like Armsmaster, and made bullshit alloys like me. Think disco lights, but death rays¡­


    Imagine that. But throw in Hero.


    No, the boss made the right call.


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Oh¡­ Shit¡­ I''m sorry. I''ll shut up now.


    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4


    (Showing Page 3 of 4)


    ? Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, I didn''t know it was that bad. Stingray was there. Told her she shouldn''t go. I''m just glad she made it back.


    ? Zero2Hero


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yes. Faith in Hero restored!


    ? Rude Rupert


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Really? Fine, whatever. Hero''s still the shining golden boy of America. Can we get more videos of what happened? It''s not like it''s illegal, is it?


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Strictly speaking, no, it''s not illegal. It''s just heavily frowned upon to share footage outside of mission briefings and the like. They suck. They''re depressing. They''re incredibly scary to watch. Honestly? The only reason I shared footage of Hyunmu was because it doesn''t matter anymore and Andy deserves a lot more respect than you guys give him.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, just watching my city like that. There''s something humbling about what you guys did. Thank you again, Metalmaru. I don''t think we say it enough.


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I was there. Those lasers were really bad, burned straight through building supports like a hot knife through butter. All I did was S&R, but I don''t think I''m going to participate again. I¡­ I''ve never felt so small¡­


    ? Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I''m just happy you''re back, Sting.


    ? Magic Trash Panda (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Yeah, I don''t know what I''d do if we lost you too¡­


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Umm¡­ What do you mean "too?" OMG, I didn''t know you had family in DC.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Scroll up, Stingray.


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Oh¡­ Oh fuck¡­


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I''m so sorry for your loss. I''m sure you were close.


    ? Hat Trick (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Can we all have a girls'' night and drown in ice cream?


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Guys¡­ Umm¡­ This is bad. I don''t know how to say this, but¡­ Hyunmu''s¡­ alive¡­


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Not funny, Stingray. I expected better from you.


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I don''t joke. Not about things like this. Here, a picture of him and the hospital bed. He''s alive, guys¡­


    ? Hat Trick (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Wait, for real?


    YES! Pinche puto scared the shit out of me.


    ? Minuteman Sam (Original Poster) (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Woah, that''s definitely a bit of a whiplash. How? And how are we hearing this from you?


    Like, no offense, Stingray, but you''re¡­ not exactly a big name.


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    None taken. I get it. I''m a very small fish in a very big ocean. Trust me, that''s been made abundantly clear to me. Humble pie for Christmas¡­ yay¡­


    But one of the last things the bird bitch did before leaving was destabilize some of Warptek''s old stuff. For those who don''t remember, Warptek was a Madhouse tinker who transferred to Milwaukee then passed away helping relief missions in Hyderabad this July. Some of his stuff must have been in storage or something, because she made them go critical and used them like bombs (not a tinker don''t ask, I don''t know how).


    One landed near me and Hyunmu protected me and a few dozen other people. Instead of tearing us to shreds, it just teleported us somewhere else. The Cascades to be specific. I only got back a little while ago thanks to some super-thinker lady tracking us down.


    ? Love1355


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Wait, so he''s alive? Metalmaru just outed a Ward?


    ? Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    I¡­ I guess I did. God, I feel like shit¡­


    ? Rude Rupert (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Lol Good time to retire. Now that we know the dude''s alive, got any footage?


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Scary thinker-lady said it''s fine. Cat''s out of the bag. Here''s my helmet cam uncut. And yes, the gauntlets were a gift from Andy. They''re awesome but I wish I asked for mobility or something with more utility. Yes, that''s Andy in the sky almost murdering the bird bitch. Yes, those are a lamb and wolf projection of some sort. They''re not Case-53s, they''re things he made. Yeah, he has a coilgun. Yes, he''s ten.


    My little bro is alive and he made an endbringer run.


    ? Rude Rupert


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Holy shit¡­ I¡­ I don''t know what else to say to that video. I''ve never been more terrified of a child in my life. Metal''s right. Precocious doesn''t begin to describe him.


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Oh¡­ Shit¡­ Please tell me the little guy''s okay.


    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4


    (Showing Page 4 of 4)


    ? Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    No, Dime-A-Dozen. No, he is not okay. He entered a coma and we have no idea when he''ll wake up. Every test says he is fine. He has a stock of the best medicine in the world (he made them after all). There is a very powerful thinker-lady who''s looking after him. He''s getting the best care possible.


    ? Dime-A-Dozen (At Ground Zero)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Fuck. That''s¡­ That''s better than being dead. He''ll come back. Right?


    ? Hat Trick (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied on January 4, 2002:


    Fuck yeah, he will. He''s tough. He''ll be back and I''m going to kick the pendejo in the dick for making me worry.


    End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4


    Author''s Note


    Welp, here we are. Armsmaster gets his Brockton Bay assignment and is continuing to be groomed for leadership. The Phoenix group gets some closure. Andy''s outed accidentally because his name went up among the dead. Sting was briefly too, but she cleared herself when she was rescued by Contessa.


    There are some things going on in the background concerning just why Contessa would allow him to be outed, but it''s important to keep in mind that he''s outed as a hero.


    Most of the time, being outed usually means a huge scandal or fall from grace. It means loss of faith or danger. Desperation. This was true of Alexandria, Taylor, and even the Empire. That''s not what happened here.


    Well that, and¡­ honestly? I thought it''d be funny so I decided to play the gag straight.


    I know that there are some loose ends, but I tried to wrap as many as I could. A time skip following an endbringer battle was always the plan, though not necessarily in this manner. I''m not entirely sure just when I''ll have Andy wake up, but it''s going to be a few years for certain. Honestly? I haven''t even begun to write an outline for Arc 7 so I''m open to suggestions:


    2005: Immediate Bonesaw.


    2007: Boston Games


    2009: Madison


    2011: Brockton Bay


    Obviously, a lot of events won''t look the same, but those four are useful milestones to keep in mind.


    In any case, this is the end of Arc 6, Omen. I will not be picking this up for at least a few months, though I might write a few omakes for my own amusement. Maybe start another mini-series or a what-if of Andy in different settings tracking down the other World Runes.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.1 Intermission

    Intermission 7.1


    Colin Wallis


    2002, January 21: Brockton Bay, NH


    Director Sean Cooper was a tall, bulky black man in his early fifties. According to records, he was a former lieutenant for the US marines during the Vietnam War, making him one of the last soldiers who had experienced combat before the age of parahumans. He looked as stereotypes dictated: He kept his graying, salt-pepper hair shaved close and his frame spoke of an athletic physique won through long practice that had yet to desert him completely in his age. His eyes were hard but not unkind, with a furrow to his brows that gave him a stern countenance.


    By all accounts, he joined the PRT''s special tactics division back during the "bad old days" before the Protectorate truly came into its own. Back then, there were no laws concerning capes, no rules of engagement, and no means of combating powers save through bullets. He rose through the ranks thanks in large part due to his exceptional tactical leadership and care for the wellbeing of his men. One of his last acts as an active duty officer was to escort Lustrum into the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center.


    Respectable. Rational. Focused. Likely somewhat dogmatic, though with a harsh but caring personality. I could work with a profile like that.


    I did what I thought would best set the foundation for a productive working relationship. I stood ramrod straight and gave him a respectful nod, just shy of giving him a proper military salute, which he might have taken poorly considering I was never part of the armed services. "Sir," I spoke crisply and promptly, "Armsmaster formerly of the DC Protectorate. A pleasure to work with you, sir."


    He studied me for almost precisely ten seconds, nine-point-six-two to be exact, slightly long enough to induce a sense of social awkwardness in his subordinates, likely an intentional maneuver to get the measure of me.


    Unnecessary, I was always as I presented myself, but understandable.


    "Armsmaster. Colin. You come highly recommended," he began. Use of a first name, likely as a way to quickly foster comradery. "Tell me, son, what are you doing here?"


    I ignored the overly familiar diminutive and answered according to my mission statement. "I am here to serve and protect this city, sir."


    "Yes, yes you are. I''m not doubting that, but that wasn''t what I asked you. That''s why the Protectorate assigned you here. I''m asking you why you chose to accept. I''ve read your files. You''re a promising young man. You could have headed off to bigger and better things. Chicago. Seattle. Boston. Maybe under one of the other Founders now that Hero''s off to the Guild. Why Brockton Bay?"


    It was a complicated question. I knew myself well enough to understand that introspection was never something I excelled in. Director Cooper was quickly proving to be more than his files suggested.


    Ever since the endbringer attack that the online community was calling "Last Christmas," I was filled with an unusual cocktail of emotions. There was the predictable fear at the arrival of yet another endbringer, and one that seemed uniquely tailored to abuse tinkers. There was joy at the relatively minor consequences of the attack. Pride and awe at Hyunmu''s feat, proof of what a dedicated tinker could do when sufficiently motivated. Sorrow at the potential that had been cut down before his prime.


    And, if I were being truthful, there was envy too.


    What had I been doing? What had any of us been doing that a ten year old boy could upstage us so thoroughly? Did we not work as hard as he did? Even among tinkers, the unfairness of it all was displayed clearly to me and it was all I could do to swallow my bitterness at the boy who very likely paid the ultimate price for the victory.


    I was never one for introspection and the truth was, I didn''t know precisely what made me decide to accept Paladin''s offer. I didn''t know how I felt. About the endbringers. Hyunmu. Last Christmas. Or even my own career. All I knew¡­


    "I seek to prove myself," I said finally. This, this I knew. I would not stop. I could not stop. To stop was to yield, to stagnate. I would make a difference in my own way, by my own hands.


    Director Cooper met my eyes through my eyes through my visor before nodding solemnly. "Good. I was worried that you''d let Christmas break you, that you were seeking an early retirement in this tiny city."


    "Brockton Bay has the highest number of parahumans per capita-"


    "I know, son. You don''t need to recite numbers at me. Trust me, I know just how much of a festering shithole my city can be. You''d be surprised how many new capes come in and think a small city like this will be an easy assignment. They keep thinking that way ''til Allfather strings ''em up like Christ on Calvary."


    "I am well-aware of the potential hostiles in this city, sir."


    "Good. It''ll keep you alive. You debut on February first, next Friday. Until then, I expect you to look over your lab and figure out what you need beyond the bare essentials we stocked. We don''t have the resources you did in DC and with all the funds going into rebuilding the capitol and settling refugees, it''s hard enough applying for funds for the whole department, never mind a lone tinker. You''re going to have to prioritize and be efficient with your budget."


    "Yes sir. Efficiency is my specialty," I said even as I frowned internally. It was expected, and likely would be the case for the next several months if not years, but I already missed the Madhouse. Still, it was a tradeoff I''d expected: More freedom, more opportunity, fewer resources.


    "Good. You will receive your patrol schedule from Paladin closer to your debut. Dismissed."


    "Sir."


    I turned and exited his office before heading to the parking lot to grab my motorcycle.


    The motorcycle was likely not what came to mind when most people considered a tinker''s vehicle of choice. It was a cobalt-blue with silver accents, much like my armor, and otherwise looked remarkably like a factory-standard BMW GS Adventure. Because it was.


    It was a high-quality bike, but other than a thicker frame, improved engine, emergency siren, and tweaked handlebars to more ergonomically fit my armored hands, it boasted very little in the way of tinkertech.


    I hopped on and allowed myself four seconds to appreciate the rumbling purr of its engine. Save for my armor and halberd, it was my prized possession, one I insisted on riding up here from DC despite the readily available airplane.


    Although upon reflection, I likely would not be the only American to avoid taking to the sky.


    I revved the engine and allowed it to carry me out towards the pier. Paladin had ties to the New York branch of the Elite, of that I was certain, though perhaps in the past tense. There was a time when Uppercrust had sought a foothold in the Bay. He had built the forcefield surrounding the Protectorate headquarters along with a forcefield roadway from the pier to the oil rig. Although the records were sparse on just why the Elite left Brockton, they did. Perhaps Uppercrust decided the chaos of the Bay was not healthy for his bottom line, or perhaps he had simply found better opportunities in the Big Apple.


    I considered it as I drove along the roadway. PHQ was a beautiful building and I could understand why some called it a marvel of modern architecture. It stood as proof to the people that though the old days of sea travel and trade were gone, we could reclaim a bit of that glory for ourselves. It was a beacon of hope for the city, an undeniable sign that the Protectorate was fighting the good fight.


    X


    My quarters at PHQ were adequate. Adequate because it was as spartan as could be: one bed of adequate pliability, one kitchenette with a small sink and a single stove, microwave, and minifridge, and one closet. It reminded me of a motel room, but that was acceptable.


    I looked down at my suitcase. The sum total of my personal effects was in this singular suitcase. It was just how I liked it. Colin Wallis had long since taken a backseat to Armsmaster and though I could easily afford a condo of my own in the city, I was perfectly happy to live here in my quarters adjacent to my lab.


    The lab itself was far better furnished than my room. From what I read of the former oil rig''s blueprints, this lab used to be a storage area for barrels of crude oil before it was modernized and appropriate hardware was brought in for tinkers. Only one other tinker had used this room before me, but she had passed away four months ago, which was why my own arrival was timely for the city.


    Every Protectorate branch should retain at least one tinker, though no more than three as per new regulations.


    On the wall nearest to the door was a stand for my power armor, a holdover from my predecessor''s time. It was a simple matter to adjust the stand for armor my size, but I made a note to make my own when I had the chance, along with a weapon rack for my halberds. It wasn''t simply a matter of vanity; if I built it from scratch I could make something to help me put on my armor a full eight seconds faster than dressing normally, critical in emergencies.


    Next to it were several storage cabinets for tools and materials of all types. I nodded approvingly at the organization. She even had custom-built drawers dedicated to caustic or explosive chemicals. I''d be making good use of those.


    Then there was the forge. I could tell that it had been heavily modified previously, but all the tinkertech components had to be scrapped with her passing. It wasn''t that they couldn''t be used, her instructions were apparently quite clear and concise, but that maintenance was nearly impossible to perform to her exact specifications. Even so, just seeing the skeleton was enough to give me some ideas of my own.


    Along the far wall was a set of workbenches and more compact machines bolted to them. I eyed them critically. The lathe looked like it could use cleaning and the drop hammer would need to be hooked up to the electrical grid in a more efficient configuration, but they all seemed to be in working order.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I allowed myself a small smile as I got to work. There was much to do now. As tragic as the previous attack was, it was also a goldmine of inspiration. The endbringer had integrated so much of our tech into the worst-case scenario, a city-destroying horde of drones only eliminated with Exalt''s heroic sacrifice. It was only after the fact that I fully understood where my fault lay.


    I tried to do everything on my own, retread trails already blazed by my fellows. Inefficient. If an endbringer could combine so much of our work, why couldn''t I? I often saw Hyunmu approach Bluesong and Metalmaru to improve on his arsenal. I saw him pioneer the Worldstone Network alongside Hero. He had no reservations about asking me to spar with him, to teach him.


    The shameless curiosity of a child, could I embrace that kind of mentality? What did my pride matter before progress?


    Efficiency was my specialty. It was time I acted like it.


    I booted up the computer and began to take stock of all I owned. My power armor had taken some significant damage during the endbringer attack and I had not gotten a chance to repair it amidst ongoing relief efforts but perhaps that was a blessing. I made a note to strip it down to its skeleton and cosmetic outer layer. Everything else, I''d remake.


    My helmet was in a similar state of disrepair. There was a gruesome crack on top and past the left ear where I''d taken a bad hit from falling debris while rescuing a civilian. I frowned at that. It was proof that my combat prediction algorithm needed improvement, perhaps an opportunity to consult Zero Day.


    The shell would need to be replaced before my debut. I agreed with PR; I had to look pristine, no matter the damage. It was best that we showed a fa?ade of invincibility for the public, not because anyone would buy it, no one was dense enough to believe we were unmarred by an endbringer, but because it inspired hope.


    Thankfully, the protective layer did its job. I was uninjured, as were the delicate internals of the helmet.


    I moved on to my halberd. After using it to deflect multiple flying masonry, the blade had noticeable dents to it. I also had a plasma blade, grappling hook, tasers, and Petricite tranquilizers, but none of it was useful when I was forced into a defensive role. I couldn''t use any of it to protect the civilians looking to me for help.


    I shut my eyes and forced myself to focus.


    I made a note to prioritize more defensive capabilities. Perhaps I ought to remove the dart launcher module in favor of some type of forcefield generator. With Hyunmu indefinitely out of commission, it was unlikely that I would get more Petricite and without it, any tranquilizer felt redundant to the taser.


    Sighing, I drafted several letters for my colleagues and sent them off before beginning the long process of stripping my armor. There was much to do.


    X


    2002, January 22: Brockton Bay, NH


    I received a note from Bluesong in Jacksonville, Florida. As prompt as ever. She had her own concerns due to her newfound position of authority but made time for me anyway. She, like many of my colleagues, had once tried to expand the general understanding of the scientific community, only to hit roadblocks in the form of unintentionally blackboxed tech. Though she was largely unsuccessful, she did retain a series of blueprints of increasing complexity to guide new tinkers.


    I looked over what she sent me and kicked myself for not asking previously. Her notes were rudimentary and covered only the bare foundations of fluid dynamics and wave motion as it pertained to liquids and sound, but they were still enlightening to read as they were written from the perspective of a fellow tinker. She was a phenomenal teacher and I suspected Jacksonville was in excellent hands.


    Of the blueprints she sent me, one caught my eye in particular. It was, in layman''s terms, a large sonar attached to a computer that read life signs. It was designed to penetrate dozens of feet of solid stone to diagnose a person''s injuries by using their own heartbeat and blood flow as a medium to map the condition of their body. Unfortunately, she didn''t use the machine often because it was unwieldy. Something with that kind of penetrative power and processing capacity needed a sizable hardware. She could carry it, but often had better inventions to suit her needs.


    But¡­ But I was not so limited. I could already see how the scanner and processing suite could be made more efficient, more compact. If I cut the sonar''s range and power significantly, I could make it small enough to fit on my armor. If I made the computer less precise, I could adjust it to identify incoming projectiles in general, not just living people.


    Yes, I saw how it could be incorporated into my own sensory suite to augment my predictive algorithms.


    I thanked her profusely and started to design a place for it in my power armor.


    X


    Several hours later, as I was taking a brief lunch break, I heard a knock at my door.


    "Enter," I called, buzzing open the lock.


    The door opened to reveal Paladin, the head of the local Protectorate. He was a tall, dark-skinned man who stood at six-four even out of armor. In it, his already impressive bulk was made even more intimidating. He dressed as his namesake in white plate with golden accents. Everything about him was tailored to be as charismatic and reassuring as possible, the kind of man who made civilians quiet down simply by being there.


    "Armsmaster, how are you?" he asked with a confident smile. "I hope the lab is alright."


    "It is," I confirmed. "It can be modified to my specifications as I continue to work here."


    "Hah, you''re exactly like your file says, dedicated to a fault."


    "It is no fault," I said stiffly. "A tinker requires significant preparation."


    "Right, but it can be when you haven''t even met your team. Getting to know your new colleagues is also important, don''t you think?"


    "Very well. Is there a social function I should know of? You could just add it to my calendar."


    "I like to visit everyone. There''s something lost without a face-to-face conversation, you know?" I didn''t know actually; an email would have sufficed. I nodded along anyway. "Anyway, I wanted to let you know that we''re having a small welcome party for you. Come to the west balcony at five."


    "That is unnecessary."


    "Don''t worry about it, we want to. You''re just an excuse to cut loose after work."


    Seeing that he had no intention of letting me avoid attending, I acquiesced as the best way to get him to leave. "As you wish. I shall make myself available at five this evening."


    "That''s the spirit," he cheered. He must have sensed my discomfort because he said, "Look, the party''s mask-on so you don''t need to unmask to anyone if you don''t want to. I recommend it for team cohesion and whatnot, but I get it if me and Director Cooper are the only ones you''d rather have know your name."


    "That is not a problem. My personal identity means little."


    "Glad to hear it. You don''t need to stay for the whole thing, just drop in and say hi for a bit."


    "Understood."


    "Alright, I''ll get out of your hair for a few hours. See you this evening, Armsmaster."


    "Good day, Paladin."


    He left and I allowed myself a tired sigh. He was precisely the kind of person I had the most trouble dealing with, the kind for whom social interactions came naturally. He was the man who could win over anyone with a smile. Coupled with a photogenic power that formed golden shields around those near him, it was easy to see how he became the leader of this branch so early on in his career.


    X


    The western balcony was in fact one of several openair areas in PHQ, but the only one that was clearly meant for recreational functions. It was on the third floor of the oil rig and overlooked the forcefield roadway as well as the Boardwalk section of the city. I took in the setting sun and allowed myself a small smile; the city was truly beautiful from this angle.


    Off to one side was a table with a cooler full of various drinks. A second table was laden with different foodstuffs, mostly fruits and snacks raided from the cafeteria. Good, I preferred things to be simple.


    "Armsmaster, you''re here," Paladin grinned. Or perhaps Travis now. He had foregone his trademark white and gold armor in favor of a Hawaiian shirt of all things. To be fair to him, I''d likewise left my helmet at the lab.


    "Paladin. Evening."


    "Travis. Mind if I call you Colin?"


    "No."


    "Well come and meet the rest of the team. We''re a little smaller than the major branches, but we can throw down with the best of ''em!"


    "Didn''t we get our asses handed to us during joint training with the Boston Protectorate two months ago?" interjected a gruff, rail-thin man with a captain''s jacket. He even wore a tricorn hat though he took off the domino mask when he saw me. "Paul Jones, Cannonade."


    "Colin Wallis. Armsmaster."


    "What''s your poison, Colin?"


    "I have no preference," I said truthfully. I typically stayed away from alcohol; it did nothing but addle the mind. At social events, I tended to grab whatever had the lowest APV so I could pretend to sip at it all night.


    "Then grab a beer and join us," Paladin said as he placed a chilled bottle in my hand. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the team. The short, round fellow is Hammerhead, or Duke. He''s big on mixed martial arts so if you need a spar to vent some stress, he''s your man. The chirpy blonde is Luminous, or Irene out of costume. She''s the team mom even though she only graduated last year. The pretty Asian lady is Akitsu, or Tomoko; she''s our intelligence specialist. And last and very much least is Bonfire or Pete. He''s new, joined only four months ago actually."


    "Ey, fuck you too, Travis," the one I assumed was Bonfire shot back. In his hand was a glass full of amber whiskey. No ice, but uncomfortably full, likely four or five times what would be served in a bar.


    "Yeah, I''m not the team mom," Luminous said with a pout. "If anything, the fact that you think this team needs a team mom is problematic."


    "But you''re so perfect for the job," our nominal leader whined.


    "I''m the youngest here, jerk."


    "True, but you''re also the most responsible."


    "And you think that''s not a problem?"


    "Nosy, Travis. The word you''re looking for is nosy," Bonfire snarked as he took a long gulp of his whiskey.


    "Shove off, Pete. And you stop drinking like a fish," Luminous grumbled.


    "Ignore Pete," Cannonade said to her. "You''re finally in the big leagues now. Enjoy your first no-Wards-allowed party. Though I''m still going to keep you away from the wine."


    "Ehh, it''s not all it''s cracked up to be."


    "Yeah, you gotta hang with all us old fogeys now."


    I left them to their banter. Off in the corner, Hammerhead and Akitsu stood in quiet conversation. The short, stocky man offered me what Pyrotechnical once called the "bro nod." Hammerhead talked at her rather than with her; she largely seemed more interested in her snack, some kind of rice cracker, and looking out over the city than anything he said.


    It all seemed very relaxed and I couldn''t help but draw comparisons to Hero''s leadership. Paladin reminded me of him in a way, though I suspected the smaller membership and his comparatively fewer responsibilities made forging personal connections a much simpler affair.


    I spent the evening taking a measure of my new team. Akitsu was my personal favorite thus far, if only because she did not insist on engaging me in inane conversation about some sports team or other. By contrast, Luminous was as extroverted as her name implied. She seemed to delight in making wisecracks at everyone else''s expense, though it likely wasn''t malicious.


    I wondered if PR took into account their personalities before choosing their cape personas. Cannonade was gruff and boisterous, as sailors tended to be. He used to be a dockworker by his own admission. I learned little about Hammerhead but he gave the impression of a straightforward man, though perhaps unsuccessful in romantic pursuits.


    It was Bonfire who gave me the most to ponder. He was a man who loved his whiskey, Jack Daniels and nothing else, according to him. That could not be healthy. Or appropriate. Still, being new to the group, I held my tongue and forced myself to tolerate their attempts at socialization for two hours before heading back to my lab.


    Author''s Note


    I don''t think I got Colin''s voice down quite right, but I''m sick of trying so here''s what you get. People sometimes ask me if Andy''s an SI and though some of the background mirrors my own (we''re both Korean immigrants), I think my personality is much closer to Armsmaster''s to be truthful. Colin gives me mad flashbacks to when I was a tactless, awkward nerd. I know he''s not so bad that he needs a "social program" like in fanon, but he''s really not that great either.


    Oh, and an obligatory animal fact: Alligator snapping turtles are the biggest snapping turtles in the world and can grow up to 200 lbs. They cannot stretch their necks so use lures from their tongues that wiggle like worms to attract prey. They are capable of holding their breath for ~50 minutes and can bite through a person''s finger with ease.


    On another note, "noodling" is the supremely idiotic practice of sticking your hand into a murky riverbed and wiggling your finger around as bait to catch catfish. Catfish aren''t the only things that bite and their dorsal fins are poisonous so I have no idea why hillbillies in Mississippi do this.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.2 Intermission

    Intermission 7.2


    Colin Wallis


    2002, February 12: Brockton Bay, NH


    I walked into the lab on Tuesday morning and froze. There was a small crate on my workbench that hadn''t been there the night prior. Someone had been here before and was either good enough to bypass my security or was authorized to be here. No one was authorized to be here.


    I put on my armor and activated my newly built sonic scanners. The pinewood crate was three by four by two and filled with jars of a familiar, chalky solution: Petricite Elixir. Someone had delivered Petricite Elixir to my lab without my knowledge. That should have been impossible on multiple levels and yet, here it was.


    After triple-checking for traps, I opened the crate to find exactly what my scanners told me I''d find. There was also a small note that read, "The turtle sleeps, but his potions will be delivered on schedule. Use them well, Beardmaster."


    It was written in immaculate, elegant script and though I knew little of penmanship, I could tell at a glance that someone spent hours upon hours practicing their letters. More importantly, it was also completely unsigned, save for the ridiculous name and now internationally famous sigil: Hyunmu''s stylized turtle shell.


    The crate was a mystery. No one, no one, called me "Beardmaster" save Hyunmu and once he heard it, Hero. No one else had the nerve. Hyunmu was obviously incapacitated and Hero would not have bothered with this cloak and dagger nonsense, so who?


    I wracked my brain but could think of none who held the skill to infiltrate my lab, the connections to take over Hyunmu''s production, and the familiarity to use a teasing nickname.


    I immediately scraped off a bit of the ink and tore off a corner of the paper for forensic analysis. Within the hour, I had their exact chemical composition, manufacturer, and likely point of sale: Brockton Bay Office Depot. Utterly unhelpful.


    I then called up some of the other tinkers in the Madhouse as well as Hyunmu''s old branch in Phoenix. Potions had been delivered; not just my Petricite Elixirs, but all of them. Thousands upon thousands of bottles had somehow wound up precisely where they were supposed to be. After a single month of hiatus, some mysterious entity had managed to restart Hyunmu''s potions business.


    After only fifteen minutes of inquiry, I received a call from the office of the chief director that this entity was a hitherto unknown asset and to stop digging.


    I was delighted. Baffled, but for once, I could live with the confusion if it meant the deliveries would ensue.


    Over the past month, I prioritized the upgrades to my helmet and armor, integrating the scanner from Bluesong as well as several other additions from my colleagues. I hadn''t gotten around to reworking my halberd yet, so I was happy to note that my dart launcher would remain at peak efficiency.


    I mixed my custom power-negating solution and got to work building a machine to more efficiently pressurize the chemicals into a compact dart. The delivery came at a good time; I was down to my last four darts from my stockpile.


    I frowned as I was reminded of precisely why that was. The city was in turmoil. My debut ceremony in front of city hall seemed to have been the sign that the endbringer truce was over and the time of mourning for our nation''s lost capitol had passed.


    The Ryujin 893, a Japanese group that established itself during Brockton Bay''s shipping days to defend against the Empire 88, had swelled in number after Kyushu as refugees flocked to the states. From the files I''d read, they had been aggressively staking claim to territory in the northern half of the city for months now after consolidating other smaller, Japanese-centric gangs.


    They used my debut as the cue to conduct a definitive raid against the Dockside Tigers, a mostly Vietnamese and Thai group known for lesser profile smuggling operations: drugs and weapons mostly, but also some illegal immigrants. The attack killed every single member of the Tigers of any relevance, including both capes.


    As I''d heard from my new colleagues, this kind of gang violence was simply a return to the depressingly normal state of affairs. Things weren''t as bad as they could get, but this low-level simmer of ongoing conflict was Brockton''s baseline.


    The only real surprise in all this was that the first shot to end the truce wasn''t from the Empire. By all accounts, Allfather was a cruel, brutal man who thoroughly embraced his Viking motif. He was a showman who gloried in combat, a stark contrast to the clear wealth demonstrated by the Empire''s many and diverse resources. I wondered which lunatic was willing to back a man like him.


    The worst part of the Ryujin swallowing the Tigers was that it only seemed to inflame Allfather''s rhetoric that the Asians were a pox on the community. Had the Tigers put up more of a fight and taken down at least one of the Ryujin''s four capes, he likely would have swept in on the weakened gang and sparked a citywide war. As it stood, he seemed content to fan the flames and scream into his echo chamber.


    Thankfully, the other two "major powers," if they could be called that, were likewise reluctant to intervene. They were the Plum Blossom Company and the local chapter of the Black Panthers.


    The Plum Blossoms were triad remnants exiled from their homeland by the rise of the CUI and the Yangban. They were a small but shadowy group that seemed to excel in information management, corporate espionage, and other subtle crimes. Much like the triad they originated from, they held seemingly little loyalty towards the idea of "Chinese" as an ethnicity. Instead, their focus was exclusively on money and they showed little hesitation in preying on their own community.


    They also regularly sold information to the PRT through unofficial channels. Director Cooper was of the mind that they were small-fry and should be used to take down the other gangs. I wasn''t sure if I agreed.


    Whether they had thinker support or not was unknown but the current guess leaned towards the positive. Fortunately, for all their cloak and dagger posturing, they had little in the way of direct power.


    Lastly, there were the Black Panthers. The Black Panthers professed themselves to be a "civic service organization" dedicated to the defense of their communities. They were that, once. During the sixties and seventies, before the rise of capes, they were a radical if nonviolent group of African-American civil rights activists.


    When Allfather and his Empire sank its hooks into the Bay, the African community felt the need to militarize in turn and that enabled idiots preaching about race wars to take the reins of the organization.


    They were the most morally complicated of the gangs. I heard from the grapevine that Director Cooper tended to be sympathetic to their cause, though he was not outright supportive of their criminal activities. He saw them as a necessary counterweight to the Empire, especially because they were almost exclusively defensive in their approach to gang wars.


    The Panthers only had three capes: Rebellion, Witch Doctor, and Doubletime. They couldn''t hope to keep up with the Empire or Ryujin, but got by thanks to their relatively passive posture and the lower position they occupied on our priority list.


    An alert crossed my helmet UI to remind me of a patrol. I packed up my gear and headed for the garage. Cannonade was already waiting in his captain''s coat and tricorn hat. He wore a simple strip of cloth with eyeholes cut out over his face, the intentionally rugged look matching well with his ship''s captain persona.


    "Cannonade," I greeted firmly. Contrary to my first impressions of him, Paladin turned out to be the type of man who did not force his subordinates to socialize on the clock. Instead of constantly mixing patrol pairings, he simply assigned me to Cannonade and called it a day.


    Good, I preferred things this way. This setup allowed me to get to know my partner more deeply and made us more likely to work together in engagements. It helped that I found the sailor to be the most complementary to my own skillset. Cannonade was an incredibly potent ranged fighter but had little in the way of support or close combat abilities, shortcomings a tinker like me could easily pave over.


    His power allowed him to enlarge and duplicate any projectile he launched. Though he had the standard restriction concerning tinkertech that most capes had, in his hands a single marble could become a full salvo of grapeshot. For safety reasons, he seldom resorted to the revolvers belted to his hips.


    "Armsmaster, how''re things?" he asked, his gravelly voice a professional growl. Luminous once asked him if the growl was something he practiced for PR. It wasn''t; he was just a longtime smoker.


    "I am ready for patrol. Let''s go." I started my motorcycle and took off. He followed on his own bike, stylized so the front looked like the prow of a galleon. Attached to its rear fender was a sly-blue flag with a ship''s anchor on it. It looked ridiculous, but it also kept people from questioning the full lethality of Cannonade''s powers. "Nineteenth and Crest. Follow the border of Panther and Empire territory before circling back around the city limits."


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Aye, capt''n."


    "You don''t need to call me that."


    "Aye, capt''n."


    "Please drop the accent."


    "No can do, capt''n," I heard him grin through the mic.


    Sometimes, I truly wondered if a command position was something worth seeking.


    X


    We were fourteen minutes into our patrol when console reported in. "Armsmaster, Cannonade, we''re getting reports of a fire. 218 South Weston."


    "Understood. Rerouting," I responded. If console saw fit to warn us, it was because the police suspected cape involvement. "Who''s involved?"


    "Panther territory. House belongs to a suspected Panther lieutenant, possibly a cape. Husband and daughter should be inside the house."


    "Empire hit?"


    "Likely, sir. No cameras."


    "And the lieutenant?"


    "Rachel Simmons. Twenty-eight, mother of one. Suspected to be Doubletime, though no hard proof. She''s been missing for two days. Put out the fire. Gather some clues."


    I grunted in the affirmative. We''d arrived. The fire was impossible to miss, not with the smokestack reaching four stories and climbing. It covered the front of the house and a separate shed, though I was unsure if there was something in the shed specifically worth destroying or if the fire had spread. The fire brigade was already here and had set up a perimeter.


    "Cannonade. You enlarge and duplicate projectiles."


    "Yes, sir," he replied crisply, his usual nonsense nowhere to be found.


    I clipped a capsule from my bike. My custom tranquilizers were a good motivator for developing efficient storage for highly pressurized liquids, but that wasn''t where the application ended. It was not useful enough to merit real estate on my halberd or armor, but a pressurized fire extinguisher was an obvious addition to my motorcycle''s glove compartment.


    "Fire extinguisher," I said as I handed it over.


    "Can''t duplicate tinkertech."


    "Pressurized using tinkertech. Foam itself is standard issue."


    He shook it in his hand then fingered the nozzle. "Yeah, I can work with that."


    Saying so, he marched past the fire department as they were still hooking up to the hydrant and began to spray down the house and shed. As per usual, creative use of powers often far outstripped mundane solutions.


    Cannonade enlarged and duplicated the foam as it emerged from the fan-like nozzle but did not impart any velocity. The result was a dense fog that deprived the fire of oxygen while causing minimal damage to the house, all the better to save potential evidence. Three minutes later, the fire brigade carried the unconscious father and daughter out of the smoking house where they were checked over by the paramedics.


    I approached the nearest paramedic. "Will the father be ready to answer questions?"


    "He won''t," the paramedic snapped, "not today."


    "Understood."


    I left them to it and made a note to visit the hospital at a later date. Cannonade and I then cordoned off the house and entered to investigate. He hung back in the doorframe.


    "Ehh, how ''bout you do your detective work, cap? I''m not much good at snooping around," he said, giving me a helpless shrug.


    "Understood. It won''t take long."


    I did not understand why basic forensics training was not a mandatory part of the Protectorate professional development curriculum. It may not be as publicly noticeable as signing autographs, but it was far more important. I swallowed a reprimand and got to work; Cannonade had other talents.


    Twelve minutes later, Cannonade and I rode away from the scene. The fire was caused by four Molotov cocktails sent through the window. There were no fatalities or signs of cape involvement beyond Mrs. Simmons'' own suspected identity.


    "Are we even sure this was about her possibly being Doubletime?" Cannonade mused. "She was plenty famous in her civilian identity too. Used to organize speeches and rallies and stuff."


    "She was," I allowed. "It''s a possibility, but she''s missing. They are likely not unrelated."


    "If you say so."


    X


    2002, February 13: Brockton Bay, NH


    The police were correct in their preliminary deductions; it was indeed a cape-related hate crime. We received confirmation the very next day in the form of her brutalized body hanging from a tree. The skin around her eyes had been peeled off in a macabre facsimile of a domino mask and her lungs had been pulled out of her torso and onto her shoulders.


    A bloody eagle, a famous execution method supposedly favored by the Vikings. Between the queasiness caused by the picture, I almost wanted to roll my eyes. There was a time in my student days when I enjoyed medieval history. This execution method came up in several medieval records, but never from credible sources, nor had there ever been a body unearthed with such distinct damage to the spine and ribcage.


    More than likely, it was an exaggerated, ritualistic literary device meant to highlight themes of honor and revenge rather than any practiced execution method. It became popular among students of history because it played to the stereotype we had of medieval society, that they were horrible, brutal savages who were quick and creative with violence.


    In other words, perfect for a posturing fool like Allfather, perfect for a small-minded, cruel monster who delighted in lording over those he considered lesser.


    I grit my teeth and promised to personally make him suffer for his cruelty. Doubletime was a criminal, I held no delusions about that, but she was one out of a sense of necessity.


    My legs felt like lead. I strode through Brockton General''s burn ward anyway. Caleb Simmons had sheltered his daughter with his own body even as flames licked at his back. Without the potions, he might have suffered permanent damage.


    "You don''t have to be the one to do this, capt''n," Cannonade said, clearly not pleased to be here.


    "I do," I replied firmly. "He deserves to know."


    "We have officers for this."


    "You can wait outside."


    "Nah, I''m coming with. We''re partners."


    I grunted to show my thanks and knocked on the patient''s door. It was a nondescript pastel blue, utterly inoffensive like the rest of the hospital.


    "Come in," came a quiet voice, downtrodden and bitter.


    I opened the door to find Mr. Simmons sitting up in his hospital bed. On his lap was the TV remote, though he seemed more interested in fiddling with it than watching anything. The man had a slim, athletic build. At twenty-eight, he was toeing the line between the prime of his life and the time when his body would begin to fail him. He turned to us with a scowl.


    "Mr. Simmons?"


    "That''s me. What do the fuzz want with me? Is my house burning down somehow my fault?"


    I chose to ignore the acerbic remark. I wasn''t good at this. I had no idea how to address bitterness at systemic racism, especially not in a city with a Nazi gang. Professionalism was my armor. "I am Armsmaster and this is my partner, Cannonade."


    "Yeah, saw your debut, tin man. You here to question me?"


    "No, sir. We found three Molotov cocktails in your living room and one in your shed. Considering the circumstances, you are not a suspect."


    "No fucking shit. Well, what do you want then? My statement? Gave it to some pig already, go chase him down."


    "We are not here for your statement, sir. I am sure what you told the detective will suffice in conjunction with security footage around the area."


    He glared at me. I didn''t take it personally; enough stress could cause a man to seek any possible outlet. "Then fuck off and let me see my daughter."


    I breathed deeply. Hero once told me that he insisted on visits such as these to remind himself of why he fought. He professed to being as socially awkward as I was but felt a need to sympathize, to take their resentment if need be.


    I decided it would be best to rip the band-aid off without delay. "Your wife is dead."


    Silence. Silence as his brain registered the words but his mind failed to process them. "What?" he whispered.


    "Sir, Rachel Simmons, your wife, has passed away. Her body was found hanging with signs of Empire-"


    "THEN FUCK OFF AND CATCH THEM!" he roared. He grabbed the remote and threw it at me. It bounced harmlessly against my chestplate. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE? YOU HERE TO TELL ME SHE DESERVED WHAT SHE GOT? HUH? WELL FUCK YOU, YOU GODDAMNED PIG!"


    "That is not our inte-"


    "FUCK YOUR INTENT! FUCK YOUR CONDOLENCES! FUCK YOUR SORRIES! MY WIFE IS DEAD! SHE''S DEAD BECAUSE YOU FUCKERS COULDN''T BE ASSED TO DO YOUR MOTHERFUCKING JOBS!"


    He lunged out of the bed to grab me by my collar. He exploded into motion as he punched me and tried to topple me, but my power armor stood unmoved. He was doing more to shake himself than anything.


    Then, as suddenly as it came, his anger washed away and he slumped like a marionette with its strings cut. I saw the desperate fire leave his eyes as he fell to his knees.


    "She can''t be gone," he whispered.


    "I''m sorry, Mr. Simmons," I said, more for lack of anything else I could say. How did you go about comforting a stranger amidst mind-shattering grief?


    "She''s gone¡­"


    "She is, sir. I can only express my condolence and resolve to bring the Empire to justice."


    "She''s gone¡­"


    I knelt to face him. "Mr. Simmons. Please look at me." He did so and I wanted to look away. Those were the eyes of a broken man. I''d seen their like in Hyderabad. Instead, I said, "You have a daughter. You have a reason to be strong."


    "Tanya¡­"


    "Yes. You are her father. You will not break down. You will be there for her."


    "Oh, God. What do I tell her?"


    My mind went blank. I didn''t know; I had no children of my own. I endeavored to spend as little time with them as possible. The only child I spent any measurable amount of time with was Andy and Andy¡­ I couldn''t rightly call him a child. What did I know about teaching a little girl about death? What advice could I possibly offer to console a girl who''d never see her mother again?


    Nothing. Not. One. Fucking. Thing.


    I defaulted to procedure and wished I had a tenth of Hero''s charisma.


    "The truth, Mr. Simmons, the truth as best she can understand it. Please contact a funeral home of your choice. You will sign a release form allowing the medical examiner to release your wife''s body to said funeral home. She will be returned to you to fulfill the last rites of whichever faith you ascribe to within one to two days."


    "Tanya¡­ What do I tell Tanya?" he moaned. I doubted he even heard me. I left a paper with similar instructions on dealing with the city morgue on the hospital table before heading out.


    As I gently closed the door behind me, I wondered what it''d be like to empathize. I wasn''t sure that this was what Hero had in mind.


    Author''s Note


    All I know about Brockton Bay prior to Lung is that there were several Asian gangs. I just pulled a few names out of my ass.


    Ryujin 893 means "dragon god yakuza." The word "yakuza" comes from a gambling game called oichokabu, which is basically Japanese blackjack. The game is played by adding the smallest digits. 8 + 9 + 3 = 20 and since you only count the smallest digit, 20 = 0, which means you score zero points that round. "Yattsu," "ku," and "san" were shortened to "ya-ku-san" or "ya-ku-za." The word was used to mean a worthless person, literally "someone whose prospects add to zero," but got adopted by criminals who ended up embracing the label.


    Once again, I don''t do grief well. I think this is the part of my writing that''s weakest.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.3 Intermission

    Intermission 7.3


    Colin Wallis


    2002, February 14: Brockton Bay, NH


    With Mrs. Simmons'' death, it was all but confirmed that she was in fact Doubletime, the Black Panther cape best known for using her power to secure escape routes for her fellows during raids. She wasn''t a combatant, but remained valuable to the Panthers, which was probably why she was targeted by Allfather. Without her to increase their mobility, the Panthers became exceedingly more vulnerable.


    Her death also had the effect of lighting a powder keg on the criminal underworld of Brockton Bay. The Ryujin seemed content to make war with various Asian gangs in an attempt to secure the northern half of the city. Allfather took that as an invitation to focus on eradicating the Panthers.


    Sixteen deaths, four drive-by shootings, nine Molotov cocktails thrown through store windows, and seven nonlethal racially motivated assaults were the result of this focus. Just two days after Mrs. Simmons'' death, the city was at war.


    "Console to Armsmaster, we''ve got a robbery on Kale and Fourth Street North," my communicator rang out. There was the slightest echo of static in the background, something that I''d been meaning to fix but didn''t get the chance to thanks to the sudden gang war. Quality of life improvements such as these had taken somewhat of a backseat to more pressing adjustments.


    "We''re on our way, console," I told her. I recognized Office Drye''s voice from an ethics and procedures seminar she ran. Good woman, sharp as a whip, though unfortunately retired from the field due to her age.


    "Well, shit. Looks like it''s going to be a busy night," my partner grumbled, his bike only a few feet behind mine.


    "Likely."


    When we arrived, it was to find one Hispanic and one black man cornering a third man of some indeterminable ethnicity. I wasn''t sure if I should be happy that not all criminals had segregated themselves along racial lines or upset that they were taking advantage of the brewing race war to profit themselves.


    "Freeze!" I yelled as I parked my bike and leapt out in a single, smooth motion. I allowed myself a brief smile. The classics were classics for a reason and there was a simple pleasure in yelling stereotypical one-liners and still forcing people to take me seriously.


    "Shit, it''s Armsmaster! We ain''t capes, man," one of the men said.


    That brief mess got wrapped up in only seven minutes and four of those were waiting for police. As he said, this was not a parahuman-related crime and so Cannonade and I had minimal jurisdiction. Barring exceptional circumstances, we weren''t advised to act beyond restraining suspects and waiting for police to provide statements. In some ways, the Protectorate was an auxiliary force to local police, for better and for worse.


    X


    Tonight, it ended up being for the worse.


    Over the past two days, Mrs. Simmons became a martyr to the racial equality movement, something the Panthers eagerly seized on. They organized a number of demonstrations and marches for justice, many of them peaceful, but some not.


    Cars were set on fire. Shops with white owners were broken into and vandalized. That caused shop owners from both sides to climb their rooftops with guns, keeping vigil all night in a sort of improvised neighborhood watch that would have almost been impressive if not for their willingness to take shots at anyone not of their skin color.


    It all reminded me worryingly of the LA race riots in 1992. I couldn''t remember if those riots came before or shortly after Alexandria claiming Los Angeles as her home city, but I suspected they were why she held such an iron grip on the city. I wasn''t a hero then, but I remembered hearing about it on the news and wondering how things could end so poorly.


    I now knew. It wasn''t any one thing. Mrs. Simmons'' death was the spark that lit the powder keg, but it was only the straw that broke the camel''s back.


    It was impossible at times to distinguish between the grief-stricken and the criminal so Director Cooper''s policy was to let them tire themselves out. Leave maintaining public order to the mayor and the police because the Protectorate and PRT had our hands full with the Empire and Ryujin.


    I agreed and wished it could be that simple. Already, that distinction in responsibilities was breaking down. There was a violent confrontation between police and protesters yesterday and it was only through good fortune that no one died. Tonight, it seemed as though everything would come to a head. All capes were called back on duty and distributed throughout various potential flashpoints.


    Cannonade and I met up with Brandish and Flashbang, the grounded members of New Wave, to respond to a raid led by Asatru, Krieg, and Brunhild on a suspected Panther safehouse. Rebellion of the Panthers responded with seventeen men armed to the teeth with bats, pistols, tire irons, and whatever else they could scrounge up.


    "This is console. Armsmaster, Cannonade, you are linked with Brandish and Flashbang. Your focus is on detaining the capes as quickly as possible and breaking up the fight. Priority, Asatru."


    "Understood, console."


    With the slide of a hidden trigger, I sent a pulse of low-frequency sound that mapped my surroundings. It had nothing close to the range of one of Bluesong''s creations, but at two hundred yards, it provided plenty of data for my combat algorithm to work with.


    Rebellion was the most violent extremist among the Panthers. He was suspected of being the one to heavily radicalize them from a civic organization to a gang. His crimes ranged from larceny to murder and his rap sheet was long enough that he began to blur the line between rebel and anarchist. For all his posturing however, he was a relatively simple changer-brute who had comically large muscles and could grow ram-like horns and an extra set of arms. Bulletproof, fast, and with enhanced senses, but ultimately predictable.


    On the Empire side, I identified the biggest threat as Brunhild, the "valkyrie." The tall, heavily armored woman was a recent recruit by the Empire and thus not high up in their chain of command, but a power-granting trump was always a concern. She had the potential to be a force multiplier as potent as Paladin.


    Krieg, the localized shaker and kinetic manipulator, was their direct combatant. He was problematic because his shaker field sapped all kinetic energy, making projectiles ineffective and close combat dangerous. He was also profiled as being particularly ambitious despite being middle-rung on the Empire ladder.


    Comparatively, Asatru wasn''t much of a threat. He was a fellow tinker with a specialization in drone technology, but insisted on styling himself after the Norse god, Odin. Everything he made was modeled after ravens and wolves and whatever stylistic choices he made for the sake of matching the Empire''s motif, he made at the cost of efficiency and capability. He claimed he was all-seeing, a grand general who could control the battlefield.


    I was happy to put that to the test.


    Asatru was hanging back as he piloted his unkindness of ravens through a series of motion sensors on his hands. It was hilariously impractical, but I supposed it allowed him to play up his shamanic theme. The raven-drones flew about, distracting Panthers, pecking out eyes, and relaying orders.


    At his feet were a pair of wolves, Freki and Geri supposedly. The two drones could only loosely be called such as each towered six feet at the shoulder. He almost never sent them out so that they could protect him from all comers.


    Krieg charged forward and was wrestling with Rebellion. The two were locked in a grapple but Rebellion used his extra set of arms to hammer down at Krieg. Whether it had enough kinetic force after passing through Krieg''s shaker field to do any damage, I could not tell at a distance.


    "Follow me, warriors of the Empire! Purge the unworthy and claim for yourselves a seat in Valhalla!" Brunhild screamed out, her winged helmet standing out in the crowd. She waved her glowing banner, a spear with a flag wrapped around it, and charged. As tacky as that sounded, it had the desired effect. Behind her, fourteen Empire grunts charged in her wake.


    Her brute rating was normally negligible, but she became stronger the more followers she had. And in turn, she empowered her followers with a lesser version of her brute powers. With no cape to occupy her, she would massacre the Panthers.


    In moments, I came up with a plan. From arrival to analysis, it took me six seconds. Good, but still too long. I made a note to find a way to arrive with the scanner and combat algorithm already running.


    "Flashbang, occupy Brunhild. Cannonade, separate Rebellion and Krieg. Then focus Krieg, you don''t need to take him out, just keep him in place. Brandish to Rebellion," I barked out.


    I heard their assent and shot out of our position, launching straight for Asatru. He had several men defending him, all shirtless and decked out in blue paint. Celt or Norse, I wished they''d at least pick a brand and stick to it¡­


    "You cannot stop the higher powers, Armsmaster," their leader rambled on like a B-movie villain. At his feet, the two wolves began to stir. They opened their mouths and I noticed the flash of a gun barrel in their jaws. "We pure ones will cleanse the filth of this world!"


    I rolled my eyes and cut aside one of the ravens as it came to peck at me with the sheen of poison on its beak. The problem with a raven theme was not that ravens were poor flyers, far from it. The problem was that they were big and when made of metal, they were depressingly cumbersome. Tinkertech could only excuse so much before physics took hold. I had hoped that they would be a good benchmark to test my combat algorithm against multiple vectors of attack, but Asatru''s flock seemed limited to only a handful of weapons.


    Still, he was a good target. He was a lieutenant in the Empire and as a tinker with an emphasis on surveillance, likely had plenty of valuable intel. Foolish that they let him out with so little protection; perhaps Allfather thought we heroes would be too busy to target him directly.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The wolves began to fire just as I marked them as priority concerns on my UI. The combat algorithm took over and I stepped to the side with deceptive ease even as I tased a grunt who had underestimated the range of my halberd.


    I all but ignored the ravens, striking them down when they made their harrying runs. When they tried to stay at range, I used my grappling hook to grab them, the algorithm easily calculating the vectors necessary, to toss them into one another.


    Their only real surprise was when two of them formed positive and negative charged ions between their claws, firing ionized plasma my way. "Mighty Odin strike you down!" he roared as if he was truly calling down lightning.


    Compared to what I saw in DC, swarms of laser drones or Legend''s explosions that made the very sky tremble, he was utterly pathetic. I charged the end of my own grappling hook and swung it, gathering the ionized plasma like a lightning rod. With the same deft motion, I stuck the opposite end of my halberd into the ground harmlessly.


    The half-naked fools were even less of a problem considering they wielded "traditional" weapons and warpaint. If anything, their presence kept the wolf-drones from attacking me freely.


    Asatru clapped his hands then flung them out before pointing a finger towards the sky. "Odin take you!"


    "Brandish, strafing run coming your way," I drawled. "Watch the drones."


    He froze. "What?"


    "You''re predictable. You clap to change targets. The distance you spread your arms selects the weapon choice. The angle determines the number of drones you send. That pompous catchphrase is also your activation phrase."


    "You¡­"


    I rushed forward, adjusting the setting on my plasma blade to cut through the head of one of his wolves. Then I did as my algorithm suggested and allowed my knees to buckle, falling with the pouncing wolf and mitigating the impact before rolling away. My halberd rose up, extending with the thrust to bury its heated edge into the wolf''s chest. I smiled victoriously as something in its internals exploded.


    I was left with only a handful of Asatru''s personal henchmen. One tried to grab me from behind and my algorithm recommended a strike to the temple to remove him from the fight. I opted to just trip him then step on him as I hopped by to wind him. I made a note that the standard program could use more refinement. There were times when swift, decisive strikes were necessary, but strikes like that could also cause permanent harm which could pose problems down the line.


    I toggled through my helmet''s UI and diverted some of the energy needed for my plasma blade into the center of my halberd''s shaft. There, I''d embedded a small but efficient generator that could be temporarily charged to expel a localized EMP. It only had a radius of four yards, but it was perfect for disabling tinkers up close.


    I''d taken the idea from Hyunmu''s Blitzshield; he''d used it enough on me as our spars got more competitive. About a month in, hardening everything I made to a minimum satisfactory level was all but mandatory with him.


    Asatru did not have the benefit of such training. When faced with an experienced close combat specialist, he folded like a house of cards. My EMP sparked and every one of his drones fell to the ground, leaving my allies to focus on their tasks. I''d be sure to come collect the drones for personal study. They didn''t seem all that impressive, but perhaps there was some aspect of his specialization Asatru overlooked in favor of sticking on-brand that I could learn from.


    "You''ll pay, race traitor," he swore. "You think you can hold Asatru?"


    I rolled my eyes. Talking in the third person? He practically filled out the cartoon villain bingo card all on his lonesome. I wondered how this fool became a lieutenant. More than likely, he was elevated because he was no threat to Allfather''s rule. Reaching down, I plucked a knife and some sort of black orb that my scanner told me was tinkertech. After closing off all potential escape vectors, I read him the abbreviated version of his rights.


    "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you."


    "I know my rights," he smiled up at me viciously. "I''ll be out within the week. You think any of this matters? Allfather will skewer you for this."


    "Just procedure, you understand," I drawled. Then, more to get him to stop talking than because he was a flight risk, I injected him with a tranquilizer that knocked him out cold.


    With my side of this battle dealt with, I turned my attention back to my colleagues. Flashbang was a man I''d come to respect in my three weeks in the city. He was measured and careful in everything he did, a direct contrast to his wife''s more straightforward demeanor.


    I wondered if it had to do with his powers. His power was intensely lethal, the creation of hardlight grenades with varying explosive yields. According to him, he taught himself to remove the thermal component and diminish the kinetic component of his power, creating a largely nonlethal, concussive variant that could be used on even civilians with minimal concerns. Even so, he always had to gauge just where his bombs went to avoid permanent injuries. That he was immune to his own explosions made things harder in some ways because he couldn''t always rely on his own senses to judge the intensity of his attacks.


    He had started by peppering Brunhild and her cohorts with bombs that were barely more than a hard shove, but quickly scaled up to bombs that exploded with enough force to toss my motorbike like a ragdoll. That was enough to incapacitate most of the lesser brutes and convince the rest that the fight wasn''t worthwhile. Brunhild however was good enough to leverage her strength into better mobility and her armor protected her from the kinetic impact of Flashbang''s grenades.


    Across the street, Cannonade and Krieg traded ranged attacks. Cannonade had the decisive edge and was able to easily pin the shaker, but he was forced to run occasionally when Krieg tried to give chase or threw a rock his way enhanced by his own shaker field.


    Brandish at least had Rebellion handled like an unruly child. She was by all accounts an exceptionally focused woman and it showed clearly in her combat style. She fought like nothing else existed but her and her opponent. With a hardlight longsword in one hand and kite shield in the other, I thought she could easily fit the "Paladin" moniker as well as my leader.


    Rebellion clasped two hands above his head and brought them down in a hammer blow that would have caved in reinforced steel. Brandish dodged with impressive efficiency and parried another blow with her shield tilted just so before scoring a vicious cut on the brute''s forearm. He howled in pain.


    "You bitch! I''m going to kill you for that!"


    "Unlikely," she snorted, her composure never breaking.


    I saw that she had Rebellion well in hand and moved to support Flashbang. "ETA on unpowered support?" I barked into my mic.


    "One minute, Armsmaster."


    "Asatru is down and has been dosed. Prioritize securing him."


    "Understood."


    Brunhild ducked behind a car and picked up one of her own men before throwing him at Flashbang. The throw fell short, but it was enough to make Flashbang hesitate for fear of hitting the lad. That gave her the precious second needed to close the gap.


    I dove forward, my servos groaning and grinding as I pushed my armor to its limit. My halberd interposed itself between Brunhild''s spear and Flashbang in a rain of sparks and I made a note to thank Metalmaru for the chemical composition of that experimental steel alloy he sent me. It was roughly equivalent to tungsten carbide in durability but thirty-one percent lighter, which made me proportionately faster.


    "Surrender, Brunhild. You''re young. You don''t need to go down this road," Flashbang warned earnestly. She likely reminded him of Fleur, the youngest member of New Wave and a capable heroine in her own right.


    "Fuck you, race traitor! You think those fuckers hiding behind you are innocent? Who the fuck do you think killed my parents?" she shrieked. There was real pain there, the anguish of loss I''d become all too able to recognize.


    She lashed out with strength born of desperation, but she was weakening. With her followers downed, the feedback loop of her trump power was drying up.


    I parried a wild swing with my halberd before lashing out with a front snap kick that bowled her over. "Enough. Your personal tragedy does not give you grounds to seek violent revenge on an entire race of people."


    "Fuck you! You don''t know shit! You''re not even from this city!"


    I grit my teeth at that. She wasn''t wrong. My childhood was less than ideal, but I never had to struggle with the death of a parent. No matter my parents'' shortcomings, I never once doubted they''d be there for me, that they loved me in their own, aloof way."You could have done some real good in the Protectorate. You still can. I will make recommendations for therapy and a transfer."


    "No!" She rose and lunged for me, spear pointed at my throat. I grabbed it and held it still as a weak concussive grenade from Flashbang sent her rolling away. "You think I''m going to work with that fucking nigger? I''d rather die!"


    She could be talking about the director or Paladin. It didn''t matter; I doubted we''d get through to her. I could already guess what most likely happened. A tragic casualty of a firefight, one of Rebellion''s random rampages, or perhaps a mugging unrelated to the gangs. A trigger that was discovered by the Empire, only for them to seize on the opportunity to twist her vulnerable worldview. They gave her a home, adopting her into their warped community and offering her a circle of friends who validated their beliefs.


    Or maybe her father was as racist as she was.


    It didn''t matter. I had a job to do. She''d see her day in court.


    Without her spear and followers, she was barely more than a teenage girl throwing a tantrum. I grabbed her and cuffed her with Petricite shackles before handing her off to Flashbang so he could lead her to the now-arrived PRT transport.


    He took her wordlessly and began to frog-march her away as I turned to support Cannonade against Krieg.


    My intervention proved unnecessary.


    Cannonade had caught on to the nuances of Krieg''s power. He dodged out of the way of a thrown brick and dashed for his bicycle. He unclasped the miniaturized fire extinguisher I''d given him and used his power on the foam that came out, creating a sizable distraction and breaking line of sight.


    I saw what he did next through my new sonar system. He picked out the bike chain and lock he used when we had walking patrols and whirled it over his head before launching it at Krieg like a bola. The chain, each link as thick as two fingers, now grew to the size of my thigh while retaining momentum.


    Krieg''s shaker field augmented or dampened inertia as far as we could tell. It did little to nothing to hamper mass. And with a chain, one link would enter the field first, slow, and transfer some of that force to the other links, making the field overall less effective. Even if the chain was moving at walking pace, it was still a set of metal links as thick as my leg. Weight alone would impart considerable force.


    "Gah!" I heard the Empire cape yelp in pain as he was caught off guard. The link struck his shoulder, whirled around him, and dragged him to the ground with the snap of broken bone, pinning him under the increased mass.


    Cannonade was no tinker, but he had a certain roguish cunning befitting his captain''s motif. I approved.


    "Is that everyone?" Brandish asked as she tossed an unconscious Rebellion at my feet. With his loss, the gang members following him scattered into the wind. I frowned. It would have been good to capture more of them, but I suspected the police would bother with only a few token arrests given the circumstances.


    "It is," I said. "Thank you for your help, Flashbang, Brandish."


    "This is our city, too."


    Flashbang placed an arm around his wife. "She''s right. We have a lot of work to do."


    I nodded curtly. "Cannonade and I will escort the prisoners to the PRT cells."


    "You do that, Armsmaster. I think we''ll patrol the neighborhood for a while longer, make sure Mike and Jess don''t need our help."


    "Lightstar and Fleur," his wife corrected.


    "Right, sorry. In the field."


    "But it is as he said. We''ll be seeing you. And welcome to Brockton Bay."


    Author''s Note


    I wasn''t born during the LA riots, but my uncle lived (still lives) in LA at the time. He''d tell me the craziest stories of neighbors standing on the roof of their laundromat business with shotguns all night. For a few months, it was honestly worse than Wildbow''s depiction of Brockton Bay. In Brockton, there''s a clear bad guy, a literal villainous group of Nazis. During the riots, it was everyone for themselves. Koreans, Mexicans, blacks, with the police being just another gang.


    Asatru is the name of a modern religion that seeks to bring back pre-Christian Norse beliefs. The faith itself is not in itself racist, but white supremacists sometimes identify with it because it is a "warrior religion" and places a cultural emphasis on tribes, folklore, and (white) culture.


    No, Brunhild was not my attempt at writing a "sympathetic Nazi." She''s a bitch. Deluded bitch, but a bitch. I like to give OCs I make some personality and that''s just what came out. Asatru is a chuuni who''s halfway convinced himself that he''s really Odin''s messenger. Brunhild is a very angry teenage girl with a hell of a misspent youth.


    Armsmaster is really strong when he''s not being pit against Lung, the S9, or similar. In canon, he was consistently among the most prominent heroes in the country (Triumvirate, Rime, Myrddin, Chevalier, Exalt, Cinereal, Armsmaster, and someone else I can''t remember).


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.4 Intermission

    Intermission 7.4


    Colin Wallis


    2002, March 2: Brockton Bay, NH


    I''d never been the type to place my faith in a higher power. I believed parahumans could be explained by scientific progress, as outrageous as some powers seemed to be at times. I believed that this universe had an explanation for everything, no matter how seemingly impossible. The universe was an orderly place ruled by logic and predictable methodologies. If we could not understand, that was because we were lacking, not because there was anything truly and innately unknowable.


    But Brockton Bay¡­ this city made me wonder if there was such a thing as a higher power. If there was, this city would be shining proof of their disdain for humanity.


    Two weeks ago, Cannonade, Brandish, Flashbang, and I scored a noteworthy victory against the criminal elements of this city. Dozens of Empire and Panther gang members were arrested, including Krieg, Brunhild, Rebellion, and the real prize, Asatru. For the first time in years, we had one of the lieutenants of Allfather''s regime. We had his spymaster and potentially, access to his schemes.


    It was a wonderful start to my career in the city. Unfortunately, it was also about the only progress we made.


    Allfather divided his forces into three. While Asatru was captured, he cut a bloody swathe through Panther territory, killing nearly a hundred people, most of them unrelated to the gang war. He was only stopped by Paladin and the Pelham couple. Despite their best efforts, they were only able to capture two out of six capes from his raid, Huntsman and Garm.


    On the Panther side, Witch Doctor killed six Empire gang members and mastered their corpses into killing more. It was not uncommon for capes to hide some of their capabilities, but that had been a particularly nasty reveal. In the past, he had relied on taxidermied animals or sometimes even roadkill. There was an assumption that he could not affect humans, a Manton limit.


    The eight corpses turned on their former allies and fought viciously, with a tenacity that could not be found among the living. Though they were quickly put down, being forced to mutilate the corpses of their once-friends dealt a heavy blow to the morale of the EMpire rank and file. The unsettling surprise had been enough to secure the getaway of himself and most of his men. Unfortunately, he''d also painted a large target on his back; such an unsettling power would only feed into Allfather''s rhetoric.


    The last group of Empire capes were seen running a dedicated patrol along the border of their and Ryujin territory to ensure the yakuza did not attempt to capitalize on their distraction. This group was led by the Iron Prince, a man who was heavily suspected of being Allfather''s son. Considering his ability to sprout metal on any surface, a relation seemed likely.


    That was two weeks ago. After that, things fell steadily downhill.


    Crosscut, enforcer of the Ryujin, turned up dead the very next day, literally impaled on a flagpole in front of Brockton Bay University. Though the university was generally accepted as neutral territory, such a public display made it clear that this was meant to provoke the Ryujin, not just remove a single cape.


    They succeeded.


    The six living members of Ryujin, including a cape called Rangda who was assimilated into their organization during their conquest of the docks, went on a rampage. With Doubletime dead, Rebellion arrested, and Witch Doctor barely holding the Panthers together as a solo cape, they logically eliminated the Panthers as being responsible for the murder, leaving only the Empire, Peach Blossom Company, or one of their own as potential culprits. I did not know precisely how their thought process worked, but Shirokumo, their "ane-san," decided that the Empire was the most likely culprit.


    In the end, I suspected that the identity of the real culprit didn''t matter as much as having a target to direct their vengeance. Shirokumo laid a trap with her wires as Stormfront flew by and allowed his own momentum to paint him all over the street like a Rorschach''s test.


    That was the catalyst for what journalists and pundits were calling stage two of this gang war. Initially, the various conflicts were more or less compartmentalized, with Ryujin trying to consolidate their hold over the docks and Boat Graveyard and the Empire trying to wipe out the Panthers. Crosscut''s death shattered those imaginary lines and forced a conflict between the two most powerful gangs in the city, all while the Peach Blossom Company watched and waited.


    This left the city in a precarious position. Our recent victory over the Empire left them with only six active capes: Allfather, Iron Prince, Purity, Pale Rider, Aryan, and Jarl Jotun. The Ryujin likewise had six capes with Shirokumo, Rangda, Yokai, Sengoku, Zanbato, and Hanya. This kind of numerical parity had never existed between the two factions. The Empire had always outnumbered all other gangs and it was only the threat of a unified alliance that kept them from sweeping the city completely.


    Now, the Ryujin smelled blood in the water. Shirokumo ordered her men to fight aggressively and with a brutality born of knowing that such a chance will likely never come again. Just about the only bright side in all this was that Witch Doctor and the remnants of the Black Panthers were all but forgotten. They''d become problems in the future, but they were content to lick their wounds and hold what meager territory they could cling on to.


    Two weeks. For two weeks, the Protectorate, New Wave, and a handful of solo independents fought a losing war to try to contain the carnage. By the end of it, hundreds were dead and the mayor had petitioned the state governor for deployment of the national guard. When Bonfire got hospitalized by a stray bullet, Director Cooper was forced to deputize some of the older Wards to patrol safer districts and shore up manpower.


    It all culminated in the single largest battle I''d ever been in outside of the endbringer fight. Shirokumo called out Allfather to the Trainyard by carving the challenge directly onto the corpses of his unpowered men and hanging them from her wires like laundry. The macabre display dared Allfather and his Empire to come take her head. With a challenge like that, he had no choice but to move in force.


    Which naturally meant the Protectorate had to respond in kind.


    Director Cooper, ever the pragmatist, had us form a discrete perimeter around the Trainyard in an attempt to contain the fighting. If they wiped each other out, all the better. The plan fell to pieces at first contact. Even with New Wave, we simply lacked the numbers to enforce a perimeter over such a large number of cape.


    Bonfire was hospitalized. Akitsu was our information specialist and had no business in the field. Luminous was deemed too young to participate and was given guard detail over the PRT building and the captured capes alongside the senior Wards. That left myself, Cannonade, Hammerhead, and our illustrious leader, Paladin.


    New Wave had agreed to watch Witch Doctor, sending Lightstar and Fleur. With the Dallons and Pelhams joining us in the Trainyard, that left eight heroes and two dozen PRT troopers to contain twelve villains and over a hundred gang members, a tall order by any measure.


    I dodged out of the way of Purity''s blasts as she drummed a staccato of beats into the side of the train car behind me. She remained one of the biggest threats on the Empire side and though I had done well in a spar against Hero, I was not confident in my ability to deflect serious attacks from the blaster-eight. I was saved from having to think of a way to retaliate by a salvo from Cannonade. A single marble turned into twelve and expanded to the size of soccer balls. The Empire glass cannon yelped and dodged out of the way, screaming obscenities all the while.


    She was forced further into the sky when Lady Photon and Hammerhead chased her away from the fight on the ground. Hammerhead was in his full "sky-shark" changer form, with a head that was reminiscent of his namesake and feathered "fins." It made him popular with young boys despite his generally gruff personality.


    Those three joined the dogfight between the Empire''s Pale Rider and the Ryujin''s Rangda and Hanya. They soon escaped the range of my sonar and I forced myself to bring my focus back to earth. The battle on the ground was somehow more structured than the one in the sky despite the larger number of participants.


    The three sides formed something vaguely in the shape of a triangle. These clear power blocs were enforced by each sides'' ability to easily take down stragglers, usually lethally.


    The Iron Prince had joined Allfather, forming a palisade of metal spikes. At the center, he made a large standing platform from which Allfather could command his troops. Jarl Jotun led the Empire gang members on the ground, swinging his large, double-sided ax made of ice. Aryan, the only non-flight-capable speedster in the city, corralled the men and conducted surgical strikes on any enemies who were caught out.


    It was a frustratingly effective strategy that made the best use of Allfather''s artillery and Iron Prince''s defensive capabilities. Paladin eventually settled on a similar formation.


    Paladin could grant nearly invulnerable golden shields to anyone in a radius, so he took up position alongside a squad of elite troopers atop what used to be a cargo train. They were relying on Paladin''s shields while Cannonade, Flashbang, and the troopers rained fire on both gangs.


    That unfortunately left Manpower, Brandish, and myself on the ground to adapt to the best of our abilities. Our opponents were decided for us, myself to the Empire and New Wave to the Ryujin.


    The Ryujin 893 took on a far more proactive formation. Yokai could turn one person invisible alongside himself, so he turned his leader, Shirokumo, invisible. She ran along the perimeter of the Trainyard, stringing deadly traps between any surface she could reach. I knew that those wires would cut all but the strongest alloys and had even carved into Metalmaru''s work before. My halberd still had a notch to prove her lethality.


    I couldn''t go after her even though the sonar made marking them easy because of Sengoku. Sengoku was a brute who styled himself as a samurai with a unique shaker effect: Nothing more technologically advanced than a bow and arrow worked. Even bullets that entered his field stopped flying as the kinetic energy imparted by gunpowder became inert. That of course went for tinkertech as well. Should I enter the field, the weight of my own armor would make combat nearly impossible.


    I left Sengoku and the bulk of the Ryujin to Manpower and turned to the Empire. I was mildly surprised to note that I was joined by their remaining cape, Zanbato. He carried his namesake, a massive, curved blade five feet in length. If he had any esoteric powers beyond super strength, Akitsu was unable to discover them, the benefit of being new.


    "Come on, race traitor!" Jarl Jotun roared as he barreled towards me. He was a large brute of a man with a long, red beard that was braided and garnished with a dagger at the end. His skin had an unhealthy pallor that hinted at tinges of blue towards his extremities. As a brute-eight, he''d yet to encounter an opponent whose attacks he couldn''t shrug off.


    He swung his double-sided ax with the ferocity of a berserker. I drew my halberd and braced myself, sinking into a textbook block that caught the blade on my haft. The blow made my arms tremble with its force even though I''d upgraded my armor.


    I grit my teeth. If he could do this much with one strike, I was not his match in a contest of brute force. He was looking for a shoving contest but I refused to oblige him. With a subtle shift of my foreleg, I turned the haft of my halberd and allowed the blade to slide off before planting my rear foot into his sternum.


    I kicked off with everything I had, jumping away into a performative back flip and staggering him. I made a note of that backstep: he could be disoriented even if kinetic force alone likely wouldn''t cause enough damage to hurt.


    "All strength, no skill," I taunted. Wordplay was not my strong suit, but even a brute like him could not mistake the derision in my voice.


    "Die, tin man!" he roared as his feet hammered towards me.


    I slid into a different stance, better suited for swift parries and shifts in direction.


    The ax swung towards my neck and I followed my combat algorithm, ducking under the blow that would have decapitated me with only a millimeter of space to spare. I retaliated with a thrust towards his bicep. In his arrogance, he did not dodge, trusting his power to see him through.


    At the very last moment, I switched on my plasma module. It bit deep and I frowned at the nonsensical nature of his power. His brute power was tied to temperature¡­ for some reason¡­


    "Aaagghh!" he roared, reeling back in pain. "You''ll pay!"


    "Unlikely," I snorted.


    The attack only seemed to make him angrier. He fought with reckless abandon, swinging his ax with seemingly no regard for his safety or those of his compatriots. At the very least, his men seemed to expect it because they gave our duel a wide berth.


    I could not find the space to retaliate, such was the ferocity of his strikes. All strength, zero skill. He had never been taught to wield such a heavy weapon but made up for his inexperience by swinging the ax with ever greater enthusiasm.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    It disgusted me.


    I worked for this strength. I drowned myself in sweat, blood, and vomit until I could compete with monsters like him. I spent sleepless hours designing and redesigning my armor just so I could stand on the same stage as men like him. He was given vitality men could only dream of, awe-inspiring strength, and even cryokinesis on top of that and he squandered it on worthless prejudice to stroke his own ego.


    I found everything about him revolting.


    With grim determination, I slid my halberd parallel to his ax and twisted, locking it in place. I triggered the extension module, giving my halberd an extra three feet to stab him in the shoulder. I then turned the stab into a sweeping parry before dancing out of range.


    As we wove and clashed against one another, I couldn''t help but compare Jarl Jotun to another cryokinetic I knew.


    Hyunmu once called combat a dance, and for him, it was true. He wove and danced with Isolde in hand and a grace that was all but supernatural. He claimed his martial art was a cobbled together mess, a Frankenstein''s Monster of techniques stitched together by an amateur.


    It remained the single most elegant and effective combat art I''d ever seen. Knowing that he considered himself an amateur scared me. It scared me because I couldn''t imagine the heights he could have reached. It scared me because his words forced me to look myself in the mirror and find the reflection woefully lacking.


    I was not Hyunmu. I could not run through the sky on gathering clouds. I could not adjust my body to fight with a dagger one moment and a zweihander the size of houses the next. I did not become a living legend before the age of ten. Battle was not an elegant dance, a language whose fluency came naturally to me.


    But I could cheat.


    "Combat Protocol Four: Hyunmu," I spoke. My voice came as a whisper but the mic heard me. I could almost imagine the shift.


    Battle was not a dance to me. Instead, it was but one more application of the scientific method. Observation. Hypothesis. Experimentation. Conclusion. Repeat until success.


    I allowed my armor to guide my body into a style I''d seen mirrored before me hundreds of times. If I could not learn the language of combat to my desired fluency on my own, it stood to reason that I should develop an aid. The data my friend freely gave, I''d put it to good use, not just to predict, but to mimic.


    "Die!" Jarl Jotun roared his battle cry as he swung horizontally at my stomach.


    I allowed my suit to guide me, leaping into the air with a hair''s space to spare. Before he could compensate for his wild swing, I was on him. My halberd shrank to the length of a bastard sword as I drew scorching lines on his barrel chest.


    He tried to tackle me but my power armor forcibly contorted my body to act as Hyunmu would. I felt a wrenching force behind my knees, folding me and allowing me to narrowly dodge my opponent''s swing. It hurt and it was all I could do to curb the instinctive tensing of my muscles. I had to allow my body to bonelessly fall limp and let the suit take control, lest it tear me apart.


    Externally, I showed none of that focused strain. I slid on my knees and as Jarl Jotun tried to adjust, my halberd extended just in time to rip through his Achilles tendon, leaving him stumbling by.


    "Aaagghhh!" he roared in pain.


    I didn''t even let him finish before a blazing thrust took him on the shoulder. I immediately injected my tranquilizer solution into the wound, bypassing his durability.


    "You''re strong, Jarl Jotun," I admitted. "A pity that''s all you are."


    I paid him no more mind as I took stock of the ongoing battle.


    The dogfight in the sky had dropped in altitude to be just within my sensory range. It was not going in our favor. The heaviest hitter was without question Purity, and Pale Rider happily sacrificed his flying cavalry projections to keep her safe. In comparison, the Ryujin nor the heroic contingent were working nearly as well together. Despite being on the same side, the Protectorate seldom conducted joint training exercises with New Wave or local independents, something that was clearly hurting their coordination now. It was all Lady Photon and Hammerhead could do to keep the four villainous capes from assisting their respective gangs on the ground.


    The scene was better on the ground, though not by much. Manpower and Brandish had taken down Yokai, but Manpower was clearly losing a lot of blood. He''d fallen to one knee as he tried to stem the bleeding on a gash over his torso. Brandish stood over her brother-in-law, ready to defend him. Occupied as she was, she likely wouldn''t be good for more than taking down the occasional grunt who strayed too close. Shirokumo was nowhere to be found, which meant Yokai''s invisibility would likely last several more minutes even without him.


    Zanbato, the other Ryujin cape who went after the Empire, was dead. He had been distracted by Aryan, the Empire speedster, before someone threw an incendiary at him. Whatever brute rating he had, he wasn''t fireproof and his inexperience got him killed.


    I put it out of mind.


    "Manpower and Brandish require assistance," I barked into the comms. It was all I could do for him. "I cannot fight Sengoku due to his anti-tech field. Engaging Aryan."


    "Roger, we see him, Armsmaster," Paladin''s voice rang back.


    Before I could chase down Aryan, I saw him rush off towards the Ryujin contingent. Without Zanbato to distract the cape, he was tearing through the unpowered members with ease.


    Then it happened. He held a knife, blade poised to tear out some young woman''s throat, when his legs flew out from beneath him, severed at the knees. Like with Stormfront, his speed kept him from seeing Shirokumo''s wires in time. The wires ripped into him as momentum carried him through her trap.


    The young woman stood paralyzed as Aryan''s lifeblood bathed her a vibrant crimson. The handgun she held in her hand clattered to the ground and her knees gave out a moment later.


    Shirokumo was still nowhere to be seen.


    Having no other targets, I withdrew to Manpower''s side and withdrew a potion before pressing it to his lips. I saw gashes on his body close as color returned to his cheeks. He got up with a determined growl and pounded his fist into his hand.


    "Right, thanks, Armsmaster."


    "Is your field back up?" Brandish asked. Her hardlight weapons turned into a shield and spear as she prepared herself to reengage.


    "Yeah. I''m going to hold off on burst uses though."


    "Good. Empire or Ryujin?"


    I considered the question. "Approaching the Ryujin contingent is too difficult with Shirokumo''s wires. Empire."


    Just then, I winced as I saw Rangda use Hammerhead as a shield, skewering him against Pale Rider''s lances meant for her. A swift blast from Purity sent him spiraling to the earth and I knew he was lost.


    "Hammerhead''s down. Lady Photon is going to be forced to withdraw," I told her sister.


    Brandish pursed her lips. "We need to end the fighting. Taking down Allfather will force the Empire to back off and he''s only got Iron Prince with him."


    "Plans?"


    "Manpower, throw me?"


    He looked alarmed. He eyed the metal palisades that Iron Prince and Allfather hid behind. "You can''t go in there alone."


    "I can take them," she insisted.


    ''Suicidal,'' I thought, but¡­ perhaps necessary. Between trying to locate Shirokumo and taking down Allfather, the latter was likely the better choice.


    Flashbang was focused on the Ryujin. Without defensive capes, they were forced to hunker down behind abandoned rail cars. Cannonade had switched to using his revolvers and were firing bullets the size of baseballs at Iron Prince''s palisade. Despite that, they held, healing what damage they sustained with newly generated iron.


    Allfather rained down blades on all sides, but Paladin''s power and positioning kept them from sustaining any permanent losses.


    "I can accompany her," I volunteered myself. Someone had to break this stalemate and Allfather was a prime target who was far less intimidating in close quarters. Just as important, it''d keep me from accidentally straying into Sengoku''s field.


    "Can you climb that wall?" Manpower gestured.


    "I can. How will Brandish pass Iron Prince''s defenses?"


    The blonde heroine smirked. "Like this."


    She shrank down and became a ball of hardlight that Manpower palmed in one hand. "She''s invincible like this," he explained. "I can throw her over. You sure you''ll be alright in there?"


    "Positive. I will begin the charge. Give me time to get there."


    "Yeah, I can do that."


    I switched my communicator on. "Armsmaster here. Brandish and I are going to break through Iron Prince''s defense to try to take down Allfather directly. Can you provide covering fire?"


    The concern was evident in my leader''s voice. "Are you sure?"


    I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Why did everyone ask me that? Of course, I was sure. "I am. I can cut my way through. Brandish will enter her defensive sphere and Manpower will throw her over."


    "You don''t have to do this."


    "I see no faster way to end the fighting than to remove Allfather."


    Silence, then, "Fine. You have green light. Be careful, Armsmaster."


    "Thank you, Paladin."


    "Please don''t make me regret this."


    "I won''t."


    With that, I was ready. I timed my dash with Cannonade''s salvo, running behind the wave of destruction for maximum coverage. The baseball-sized bullets ripped through the Iron Prince''s outer defense, revealing several more layers before losing momentum. The walls of the palisade began to weave shut before my eyes.


    I allowed my armor''s combat algorithm to guide me through the shrapnel. My halberd deflected one iron fragment and I bent at a near impossible angle to evade another. A larger fragment struck my halberd and I used the flat of my halberd like a paddle to turn its momentum into a full rotation, twisting out of the way of another two without losing forward momentum.


    This was Hyunmu''s personal style, his final gift to me. Relentless aggression paired with an elusiveness that defied logic. I''d seen what he could do with it; I''d be a fool not to make it my own.


    I slid beneath Allfather''s retaliatory barrage and fired my grappling hook at the palisade before reeling myself in. I grit my teeth as the suit contracted around me, contorting my muscles to make the normally impossible motions possible. Behind me, I saw Manpower winding up to lob his sister-in-law over with me.


    Allfather and Iron Prince stood side by side on an elevated platform inside their makeshift castle. They were as imperious as ever, standing tall as though they were above it all. The Iron Prince raised his hand and grasping claws of metal sprouted from the ground between us to skewer me upon landing.


    A blade of superheated plasma cleaved through the blades like butter. I promised to pay Pyrotechnical respects; his old notes went a long way to improving the temperature of my blade without sacrificing its durability or cutting power.


    Caltrops rose to pierce my feet but they scraped harmlessly against my grieves.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brandish land and bounce like a basketball. She unfurled with a hardlight shield already in hand, deflecting a metal beam aside. I made a note that she could in fact choose the stance in which she entered and exited her breaker state. She took two steps and yelped in pain as iron needles pierced her feet.


    "Iron Prince!" she yelled. She swung an impressive zweihander made of condensed plasma to clear the area around her. "Armsmaster! Throw me!"


    She withdrew back into her ball. Allfather and Iron Prince struck with everything they had, but the layered forcefield remained as unblemished as ever, glowing an orange-yellow like a miniature sun.


    I saw no reason to deny her plan.


    I ran up to her and swung my halberd like a baseball bat, launching her at the raised dais where my enemies stood. I made sure to knock her towards the Iron Prince. Truthfully, she was a poor match for either as she''d struggle to deflect multiple missiles and lacked the armor to withstand the Iron Prince simply growing blades from beneath her feet. Even so, Allfather was by all accounts a more brutal fighter than his son and I feared that had I targeted his son, she would have been unable to keep him from launching swords into my back.


    The two leaders of the Empire swore and dodged out of the way, though not nearly as swiftly as they should have. She landed near the Iron Prince and released her form with a blazing quarterstaff in hand. I doubted she could hear or see in that field, so it was fascinating to note that she somehow remained aware enough to immediately lock on target upon shifting back.


    She was relentless, transitioning between quarterstaff, hammer, sword, and spear with impressive dexterity. She had clearly decided that the best way to keep him from skewering her from below was to give him no time to use his power at all. I didn''t know how long she could keep up that routine with her feet bleeding, but for now, she kept him on the retreat.


    I left her to it and made a beeline for Allfather. He tried to target Brandish from behind but I was already there, my extended halberd just long enough to nudge his missile off course.


    He swerved to face me and said something, but I wasn''t listening. I had no time. Brandish would not last so I had to beat Allfather and collapse on Iron Prince before he could make his retreat. For that matter, my own stamina was beginning to flag; the new algorithm was exhausting to execute.


    Allfather fired on me with lethal intent. Normally, he at least paid lip service to the unwritten rules and avoided immediately fatal targets like the head or heart, at least when pitted against heroes. He was mindful of the retaliation he would invite should he kill Protectorate heroes without reservation. He abandoned the fa?ade entirely as I drew near, proof of his mounting panic.


    My neck twitched almost involuntarily, allowing a dagger to glide past my left ear. At the same time, my forward pace changed for just the slightest moment, long enough for another blade to pass by beneath my raised foot. I spun my halberd and leapt up into the air, cleaving through yet another blade that would have gone on to strike Brandish behind me.


    I was on the raised stage now.


    Allfather roared a wordless battle cry before four blades turned into a dozen. They were half-formed now, smaller, but also more of them. He normally liked to make full bastard swords as yet another way to demonstrate his superiority.


    Again and again I swung my plasma blade. Allfather made me fight for every step, but he had to aim his blades too. He couldn''t retreat while firing if he wanted to retain his accuracy so I was slowly but surely gaining on him.


    I mirrored steps I''d seen performed against me hundreds of times. I flowed from stance to stance, my halberd extending and contracting to weave a ribbon of flame that cut through every single projectile. I promised Simmons his justice and I refused to be denied.


    I pushed onward through a seemingly unending river of blades until finally, I had him. He stumbled back as he hurriedly retreated, but he wasn''t fast enough. My blade extended out and caught him at the thigh, searing straight through the armor Iron Prince had woven for him.


    "Aaaggh!" he screamed as his leg flew in the another direction entirely. The superheated plasma cauterized his wound so swiftly that not a drop of blood could be seen on the ground.


    With a practiced twist, I opened the tranquilizer module at the other end of my halberd and stung him in the throat.


    It was finally over.


    Author''s Note


    Guys, not everything is Cauldron''s fault¡­ I mean, accusing Cauldron is kind of reflex when it comes to Worm fics, but remember that this is a scenario in which Brockton Bay was not singled out for the Terminus Project. Elisburg never happened. Coil hasn''t received his vial yet. There is no unified pan-Asian gang, though the Ryujin 893 is going for it. There is no one balancing the criminal elements of this city and with a gang like the Empire headed by a man like Allfather, it''d really end one way.


    Stormfront isn''t from The Boys. Stormfront was the first major internet forum dedicated to hate speech and catered to white supremacists. Had to study it in grad school for examples of radicalization vectors leading to domestic terrorism. The character Stormfront is named after the website. If I remember right, it was taken down for good in 2017.


    Random fact of the day: Dr. Curt Richter conducted a study on rats in the 1950s titled "On the Phenomenon of Sudden Death in Animals and Man." He took a few dozen rats, some wild and some domesticated, and put them in a jar to record how long they lasted before drowning. Surprisingly, domesticated rats did better while wild rats, after fighting for a short while, simply gave up.


    He defined this trait in domesticated rats as hope. The domesticated rats had the familiarity with human masters to expect salvation, and so some swam for days.


    To prove this point further, he briefly rescued and held the rats in his hands before they were about to drown, then set them in the water again. That brief interlude to their suffering made a huge difference in the length of their survival.


    Moral of the story? Sometimes, we all just need a reason to keep our heads above water... Or you know, don''t be a dick to rats.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.5 Intermission

    Intermission 7.5


    Colin Wallis


    2002, March 2: Brockton Bay, NH


    It wasn''t over.


    I slouched in my armor and leaned on my halberd for support. The combat module I was running attempted to mirror Hyunmu''s martial art, but perhaps because it was tailored for a much younger body, performing the same flowing dance was extremely taxing on me.


    I''d downgraded my internal temperature control program in favor of the improved combat module. It had proved itself a worthwhile trade, but I sorely wished I had found a better compromise now. I was completely drenched in sweat and I knew my undersuit would need to be peeled off when I returned. I''d be a mess of bruises and strained muscles for days, most of it caused by the contractions of my own armor as it forced my body to move in ways I hadn''t yet perfected.


    Still, that was future-Colin''s concern. In the present, I forced myself to take steady breaths and stand to face my last opponent, the Iron Prince.


    He was Allfather''s son, or at least a close relative considering the genealogy of inherited powers. His sister, Iron Rain was her name, had died a handful of years back. Marquis was blamed for it, though I had my doubts. I''d never met the man, but by all accounts, he was a disciplined man who abided by his own code of honor, chief among them to never harm a woman.


    Nonetheless, the blame was laid at Marquis'' feet publicly. What Allfather and Iron Prince thought of the matter in private was unknown to me. Too much about the Empire''s leadership was shrouded in mystery, especially their prince, a fact I was sorely lamenting now.


    He stood triumphantly over Brandish''s breaker state. They''d reached a sort of stalemate; he could not breach the forcefield and it seemed that she could not emerge to continue the fight. And yet, he could not turn his attention fully to me either, lest she emerge long enough to cut his legs from him.


    "Unfortunate," the false prince clicked his tongue. Everything about him screamed condescension, the air of a man who believed all else his inferior. "Was Allfather lesser or are Hero''s pupils so mighty?"


    "There is nothing a tinker can''t do," I replied firmly. I activated a discrete trigger command through my UI and felt the slight prick of a needle pierce my neck. The stimulant cocktail was experimental and had been watered down just in case, but it should give me the strength needed to continue. I had to keep him talking, catch my breath and give my body time to respond to the chemicals.


    "With powers that are not yours," he scoffed. "A tinker is no better than a toymaker. What are you without your toys, Armsmaster? Strip them away and you are but a man with delusions of grandeur, forever aping powers you wish you could have, greatness you wish you could reach."


    "And what does greatness look like? You? The entitled brat whose only legacy is the pain and suffering of innocents?"


    "Innocent? You call those niggers and spics innocent? That same chink whore that paints the street in the viscera of good men?" He was building up a head of steam now and I was happy to let him have his soapbox. I had to give it to him; he had an excellent voice for soliloquies. It rang out over the Trainyard clearly even despite the metal helmet. Or perhaps he''d built his armor to both disguise and project his voice? Whatever the case, it was a pity the talent was wasted on filth like him. "You think the Empire is a menace, but we are all that stands between this city and mayhem! We put down criminals and rabid dogs! We do the work that you heroes are too afraid to do, shoulder burdens you are too cowardly to bear."


    "The ravings of a lunatic. You''re an eloquent orator, Iron Prince, but that''s all you are."


    I counted down the seconds on the clock attached to my UI. The time for talk had passed.


    With zero warning, I lunged towards him. I had about four minutes'' worth of adrenaline coursing through my veins before I''d be forced to retreat. I had to end this now.


    Fighting Iron Prince was a much different experience from fighting Allfather. One might think their fighting styles would be similar, but that was only superficially so thanks to their related powers.


    Allfather was a brute in the colloquial sense, not the assessment sense. He was direct and swift in his offense but had very little in terms of defense. He could generate and launch blades as swift as a bullet but was a very straightforward fighter. There were only so many strategies he could employ with his power and the man himself was not the type for cunning tactics in the first place.


    The Iron Prince was the polar opposite of his father. His power forfeited the offensive pressure of Allfather''s, but in exchange provided great defenses and mastery of the battlefield. He was, all told, a far more balanced figure, the gentleman to his father''s berserker.


    Even with my second wind, I was immediately pushed to the limit. I had to be mindful not just of my footing, but also of attacks that emerged from every angle. He didn''t just sprout blades; he wove nets of razor wire to ensnare me, chains to weigh me down, and beams to bludgeon me. He was by far more creative than his father.


    Still, it was all regular steel in the end. My plasma blade was more than up to the task of cutting through all obstacles. I danced and weaved between them, cutting my way through to him. On the way, I spared the time to bat Brandish''s breaker ball off the dais. If she could not join me, then perhaps she could help break down the palisade from the inside so Cannonade could assist me.


    "You cannot reach me," he mocked as he wove yet another barrier of blades. He was learning even as we fought. He quickly found that barbs, briars, and branches were far more effective than singular columns of iron. I cut through then like all the others, but random shifts in angles and material density did more to redirect my blade than a large but consistent mass.


    I remained silent. Talking in battle was a sin. No matter what he said, I was gaining and we both knew it.


    And then, when I was merely a foot away, every alarm in my helmet blared in warning. I''d completely forgotten about the aerial dogfight in my battle-high, a dogfight Lady Photon was losing. She couldn''t hope to keep up with four villainous flyers, especially with Hammerhead''s likely death and it had been all she could do to keep them from interfering with the battle on the ground.


    She ultimately failed. She dodged a burst of black miasma from Rangda, the newly recruited Ryujin cape, but was therefore unable to prevent Purity from raining blasts down on me.


    "Armsmaster!" Brandish cried as she interposed herself in front of me, a hardlight tower shield in hand. The shield crackled as though made from condensed lightning and I remembered hearing she could impart both heat and kinetic force at will.


    She did so now, detonating that force outward to directly oppose the blaster-eight, if only for a moment. I caught her as we were thrown back and used my armor to roll on the ground, minimizing the damage. We rolled to our feet and faced down Iron Prince and Purity.


    In just an instant, the situation had changed. I took the brief lull in the fighting to take stock of the battlefield. Allfather was still down. The Iron Prince was the only Empire cape on the ground. Sengoku and Shirokumo were nowhere to be seen, though much of the Trainyards were trapped with wires. In the sky, Pale Rider had interposed himself between us and Lady Photon, using his clones to keep her from assisting her sister. Without further orders from Shirokumo, Rangda and Hanya were hovering back, waiting to see how things would go.


    Paladin, Cannonade, and Flashbang were through breaking down Iron Prince''s palisade, but could not on the Empire capes without potential friendly fire, nor could they relocate easily thanks to the unaccounted for Ryujin capes. They took the best course of action available and turned their attention to the three villainous capes still in the air, coordinating artillery barrages against Pale Rider, Rangda, and Hanya. They would be here soon enough; the Ryujin seemed to be conducting a fighting retreat, their flyers covering for what few of their men remained conscious.


    "Iron Prince," Purity said, "they''ll be here soon."


    "They will," he gave her an imperious nod. "I think it''s about time to go, don''t you?"


    "Allfa-"


    "No matter. We can get him back. Enjoy this victory, Armsmaster, fleeting though it shall be."


    Purity looked briefly conflicted but picked up her leader and rose into the sky. Contrary to popular belief, plate armor was not particularly heavy, roughly fifty pounds, so she had no trouble lifting him with the assistance of her power.


    I fired a tranquilizer dart at Purity, but a clone from Pale Rider took the blow and covered their retreat. Brandish and I had little recourse but to watch them run. I cursed myself. Even now, my ranged options were greatly limited.


    X


    2002, March 6: Brockton Bay, NH


    "The Protectorate and the PRT scored a landmark victory against the criminal elements of this city," I watched from my lab as Director Cooper gave his speech at a press conference in front of city hall. He looked strange and somewhat uncomfortable standing there with the mayor, police chief, and other local dignitaries. His suit fit fine and he had an appropriately stern but celebratory expression as he delivered the news, but I got the impression that the ex-marine wanted to make this as brief as possible.


    "Thanks to the hard work of our heroes, we have captured nine villains, including Rebellion, leader of the Black Panthers, and Allfather, leader of the Empire. That last victory was possible only through flawless cooperation between Armsmaster and Brandish of New Wave."


    He went on to explain the broad strokes of the battle at the Trainyard before making several comments about the death of Mrs. Simmons that started this war. He also unveiled a new initiative in which the PRT would more closely collaborate with police. Finally, he called for a brief minute of silence for Hammerhead, the fallen changer.


    "Rest assured that this is not the end. We struck a blow against crime and racial injustice in this city, but it''s not over. Neither the PRT nor the Protectorate will rest until we have rooted out the gangs and restored order."


    Overall, a short speech that lasted a scarce four minutes. Director Cooper was not a verbose man. On the other hand, the mayor most certainly was. The director was followed by the mayor and other higher-ups in his administration who all did their best to associate their names with the PRT, even if their jobs had absolutely nothing to do with law enforcement.


    I rolled my eyes. Politicians.


    Social leeches notwithstanding, I had to admit, it felt good to have my name on everyone''s lips. I worked for every accolade, spent sleepless nights building to become the hero I was now. It was validation, plain and simple, proof that my time has not been in vain.


    I turned to my armor and got to work. As satisfying as capturing Allfather was, the battle at the Trainyard, highlighted my weakness to ranged opponents. Had I had a shield, perhaps Brandish would not have felt the need to defend me. Had I had better options than a dart launcher, perhaps I could have captured Purity and prevented Iron Prince from fleeing.


    Any long-range options I added had to be done in such a way as to not interfere with my current fighting style. More importantly, it would mean upgrading my targeting systems and revamping the way my armor rerouted energy reserves for different modules, a tall order given how little software real estate I had in my armor as things stood.


    I decided to consult Zero Day once more. He usually had good advice on the matter.


    X


    Two hours later, we six remaining heroes were gathered inside a conference room alongside Director Cooper and Deputy Director Corbin. It was but one of several meetings we''d had over the past four days. They were tedious but necessary so no one complained as Director Cooper passed around manila files with meeting notes already contained within.


    "Right," he grunted, "let''s jump to it. This whole shitfest started when the Ryujin massacred the Dockside Tigers. They then went on a campaign to take over territory in the north. The Empire took it as an opportunity to remove the Black Panthers from the board. It ended four days ago when we captured Allfather. Shirokumo is still at large. We all clear on the general order of events?"


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Uh, yeah, but that''s all good, right?" Bonfire asked. I''d learned a bit more about the resident alcoholic in the past few weeks. His position here was not voluntary. He triggered, started a minor gang of anarchists in Hartford, Connecticut, then was brought in for arson. Because he hadn''t killed anyone, he was given a plea deal and reassigned to Brockton.


    It was Akitsu who answered. The Japanese woman had been saddened by Hammerhead''s passing, more than I''d initially expected considering his failed attempt at wooing her. "On paper, yes. In actuality, not necessarily."


    "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    "Before the new year, there were something like seven or nine different gangs in the city, depending on how you wanted to count them. Now, there are just three: Empire 88, Ryujin 893, and the Plum Blossom Company."


    "Hold on," Luminous cut in. "There were the Dockside Tigers¡­ Black Panthers¡­ That''s five."


    "Glad you can count," Akitsu replied dryly, "but those are the names you know. After taking out the Tigers, Ryujin absorbed a few smaller street gangs. You didn''t hear about them because most didn''t have any capes worth mentioning, their crimes were relatively light, and the police could deal with them without help. When Ryujin started their takeover, they either killed or recruited all the capes they could find so it''s possible that Shirokumo is sitting on a few more than she showed at the Trainyard. Maybe because she couldn''t trust them not to backstab her in a fight, or maybe because she''s keeping them in reserve for something else. I have it on good authority that Rangda is one of those who got a deal she couldn''t refuse."


    "Down the list, Akitsu. Give us a brief on the state of things," Director Cooper said.


    "Yes, sir. Starting with the Ryujin, they''ve got four capes we''re aware of: Rangda, Hanya, Sengoku, and Shirokumo. Crosscut and Zanbato were slain in the gang war. They now have the largest stretch of uncontested territory, though it''s the north side so it''s not exactly economically productive. Still, with both the Trainyard and Boat Graveyard, it''s fair to assume they''ll start to dabble more in smuggling. Shirokumo is a heartless bitch so I don''t just mean drugs or guns either. People. Organs. Doesn''t matter. If it pays, she''ll do it.


    "Then there''s the Plum Blossom Company. They''re as they always were since they didn''t participate in the gang wars at all, but that makes them stronger relative to the others who lost capes here and there. I received some new intel. They have two capes that I know of: Yama and someone who goes by The Sage."


    "Yama? What''s with these weird-ass names?" Bonfire rolled his eyes.


    "Yama is the king and judge of the underworld in Taoist mythology. Are you done?" Akitsu ground out. She had a short fuse belied by her normally clinical detachment.


    "Yeah, sorry, sorry, go on."


    "The leader of the Plum Blossoms is The Sage, not Yama. They deal in blackmail, sabotage, and other subtler crimes and are most prevalent among the Chinese community, though most Chinese people aren''t loyal to them or anything like that. It''s more appropriate to say that they operate like the triad and use the Chinese community as a smokescreen to hide their membership. Other than that, not much is known about them. Before you ask, no, I don''t know what their powers are. They''re by far the most mysterious of the gangs.


    "Now, onto the Empire. They lost the largest number of capes in this mess. Stormfront and Aryan died in combat. We captured Asatru, Brunhild, Krieg, Huntsman, and Garm a few weeks back. They''ve since been moved out of the city. Allfather and Jarl Jotun are still in our custody. That''s seven capes, leaving their roster smaller than it''s ever been. Iron Prince, Purity and Pale Rider make up the core of their group, but I''ve heard that they''re already on a recruitment drive."


    Paladin leaned forward, his normally amiable face twisted into a concerned frown. "Recruiting? From where? And what do you think Prince is going to do after?"


    Our intelligence specialist shrugged helplessly. "I tried tracing rumors and contacts. As far as I can tell, they have connections with white supremacist groups down south. The Herren clan is the most notable of them, but there are also other families that have deep roots with the KKK. I also suspect they have contacts in Gesellschaft, a German neo-Nazi crime syndicate, though I can''t prove it. As for what he''ll do, that''s easy: Allfather is Iron Prince''s actual father, about ninety-five percent sure, so a prison break sounds likely. The son is far more cunning than the father though, so he might wait on that for a bit, make us lower our guard."


    "Then we move him as soon as possible."


    "That''s up to you and the director, Paladin. I just feed you rumors. Anyway, that''s all the factions worth mentioning. The numbers have dropped, but each gang now holds more territory and so has more power and influence. It''s like a jar of poisonous insects that were forced to cannibalize each other. The poison just sits and concentrates, making the ones that survive even more dangerous."


    Director Cooper grunted and leaned back into his chair. "It is, but this was a necessary step to getting rid of the Empire for good. We need to strike while the iron is hot. Akitsu, your priority will be on ferreting out Empire bases. We''re going to pull them out by the root before they can replenish their numbers."


    "Yes, sir."


    "U-Umm¡­ Sorry," Luminous raised her hand. As the youngest, she''d been spared the vast majority of the gang war. Most of the time, she was stationed at or near base to guard Akitsu and the prisoners we arrested. I personally believed the director coddled her a little too much. Perhaps she would not suffer the Dunning-Kruger effect as a hero and compensate by being the team mom then. "W-What happened to the Black Panthers?"


    "Doubletime went belly up," Bonfire joked, "like a fish."


    "Bonfire!" Paladin barked. "Too far. You don''t joke about the dead."


    "Alright, geez. She''s dead. Rebellion was transferred out. Who else is there?"


    "No, Luminous is right," Akitsu said. "You are missing one: Witch Doctor. He used to animate taxidermied animals but revealed he could animate corpses. He made a bunch of Empire soldiers kill each other so he''s likely to be at the top of their shit list. Or, he would be if they ever find him. No one''s heard from him since the day Rebellion got captured."


    "What do you think happened to him?" the director asked.


    "If I had to guess? He''s left the city. If there''s a less PR-friendly power than corpse control, I can''t think of any. Sure, villains don''t care about image like heroes do, but that''s only to a point. Desecrating the dead crosses the line for a lot of people regardless of legal alignment. He''ll probably lay low and then crop up again as a new cape with a tweaked aesthetic. Look for any animal masters popping up in New England over the next month or two."


    "Noted. So the Panthers are gone then¡­ Can''t say I''m sad about it, but¡­"


    "Maybe, maybe not," Paladin said. "The Black Panthers started as an offshoot of the civil rights movement. Yeah, they committed crimes, but they did it with an honest belief that they were doing the right thing. I''m not saying they''re right, but they truly thought they were necessary to protecting their community. I don''t think that sentiment is going to go away until the Empire does."


    "You''re right. We''ll have to keep an eye out for a resurgence of the group. Now, what''s ne-"


    Before the director could continue down the agenda, his secretary burst down the door. In seconds, she was staring down my halberd, Bonfire''s blazing torch, Cannonade''s pistol, and Luminous'' glowing fist. "Director! You''ve got to-EEP!"


    "Hold!" he barked. "Maybe don''t barge into a room of jumpy capes right after a gang war, eh, Savannah?"


    "Ehehe¡­ Yes, sir¡­"


    "Sorry, Savannah," Paladin apologized on our behalf, his everyday charm now a little forced. "We''re a little on edge lately. What were you going to say? Has to be important to see you here."


    "Right," she gulped nervously. "I got word from the cells, sir. Allfather and Jarl Jotun are dead."


    "What?"


    X


    The base was a hive of activity as we tried to discover the intruder in our midst. The director had all exits shut, but I suspected it wouldn''t help. We''d examined the security footage of course, but found nothing. Someone hand managed to delete the footage and the guard who was supposed to be on duty was nowhere to be found.


    Allfather and Jarl Jotun were poisoned by someone and their bodies were discovered only hours after they''d already expired. Initial blood samples were flush with batrachotoxin, several times the dosage needed to kill most men. It told us that the poisoner wasn''t concerned with trying to cover up the murders in any way; there was no attempt to make it look like an accident.


    Were they so confident that they were above repercussion? Was it one of the scattered elements of the Black Panthers seizing an opportunity? It could even have been something tacitly approved by Paladin and Director Cooper, not that I''d ever broach the subject, they certainly were no friends of Allfather. Or was it a rogue element of the Empire acting independently of Iron Prince to remove what they saw as disastrous leadership?


    Finally, after hours of fruitless investigation, we were permitted out of PRT HQ.


    X


    2002, March 9: Brockton Bay, NH


    The last three days were hectic. As Paladin''s second-in-command, now that the gang war was over, I was responsible for keeping the Wards program running smoothly while he and forensics analysts from the PRT analyzed what evidence they could glean from the two villains'' bodies.


    I wasn''t hopeful.


    I had arrived back in my lab from a meeting with the Wards Leader, a young man named Stalwart, who told me all he could about their regular duties. The meeting was an unnecessary reminder that I was awful with children. There was only one child I spent any extended time with and I suspected he was not a good example of average psychological development. Confronted with the task of managing the Wards program, I was put on the back foot from the start.


    Not to say the task was difficult, assign patrol routes, enforce curfews, schedule training to develop powered and unpowered skills, and otherwise offer good, actionable advice, all relatively simple, reasonable tasks. Even so, I found those duties emotionally draining.


    I intended to get some therapeutic tinkering in now that I had some time to myself, but a series of alerts went off on my computer. They were alerts I''d placed over several websites and news channels to monitor gang activity. Sighing, I turned it on. I was still so new to Brockton Bay; any source of information could only help.


    The video in question was posted on numerous websites. The mods at PHO took it down, but there were plenty of sites with fewer restrictions or targeted sympathies. It gained enough traction that the evening news did a quick story on it, setting off my alert.


    The Iron Prince stared back at me through the screen. He was seated at an ornate, mahogany desk, the sort that cost thousands and became heirlooms. Even through his full plate armor, the man radiated an undeniable sense of smug, villainous charisma.


    To his right were two of his usual lackeys, Purity and Pale Rider. Purity glowed softly so as not to outshine her leader. I could see her brunette locks through the glow, a rarity with the woman. Pale Rider was dressed like a crusader. He''d overlayed one of his phantasmal clones atop himself to make it seem as though wisps of ghostly flame were coming from him.


    To his left was the real surprise: Krieg and Brunhild, free and hale. They, along with Asatru, Huntsman, and Garm, had been moved out of the city and I had thought that they were no longer my concern. Their appearance sent my mind whirling through the possibilities. Did Iron Prince have contacts inside the PRT? No, of course he did, that wasn''t the right question. As much as I wanted to trust my colleagues, I wasn''t blind to the possibility of infiltration.


    The better question was, were those contacts high up enough for him to intercept prison transports? Perhaps even to assassinate his own father? There was no question that he had a very different leadership style to his father and Jarl Jotun was Allfather''s most loyal lieutenant¡­ In fact, I did not see Asatru, Huntsman, and Garm, which implied that they had not been freed despite his unexpectedly long reach.


    They were all men who ascribed to Allfather''s style of unrestrained brutality. Could that have been intentional on his part? Had we inadvertently assisted him in getting rid of the old guard? Paladin had initially discounted Iron Prince as a suspect due to their familial relationship, but it seemed he''d been too hasty.


    I glowered at the screen impotently. There wasn''t a thing I could do about it now. He had overturned what should have been a crippling defeat for his organization and had done so in a way that cemented his rule.


    To the far end of either side, there were two girls dressed in much the same manner as Brunhild. Blonde, blue-eyed, but young. Wards age. They stood submissively on the flanks, hands clasped and head bowed in deference to the five senior capes. I made a note of two new capes but paid little heed to them, so focused was I on Iron Prince.


    "Greetings, Brockton Bay. You have cause to mourn this night for I have received word that Allfather, my father, is dead. He and Jarl Jotun were not granted the death of the valiant. They were slain in their beds with foul poison while under the care of so-called heroes!" he spat. He moved very little in his armor but such was his skill as an orator that it was impossible to mistake the underlying fury in his voice. If he was indeed the murderer, did he wait to announce their deaths so as to allow rumors to trickle down naturally and protect his spies?


    "Yes. Allfather is dead. The man who began this grand cause is dead. The man who sparked in our hearts a sacred passion for the prosperity of our people is dead. The city has lost a true hero this night, and I, I lost my father. He is dead and there is nothing I can do to bring him back. So mourn, mourn the man who fought for you. Mourn the man who died for you.


    "But rise. Rise because this is not the end. I refuse to let this be the end," he declared, slamming his hands on the desk. He stood and began to walk towards the camera. "I feared for the loyal so delivered Krieg and Brunhild from wicked hands. Know that in the same way, the righteous will be justly rewarded as I take up my father''s cause."


    He swung his hand to the side and from it sprouted an ornate sword. At the same time, a crown of wrought iron twisted itself from his helmet. Taking his sword, he aimed it at the camera and said, "I am his heir. I am the inheritor of his will and I will carry on his thankless task. I will purge this city of subhuman gangs and lawless lessers that prey on good men and women. I promise you a golden age of health and prosperity, an age in which the innocent need not fear cowardly spiders or inept heroes. This is my promise, one I make with the brave and loyal at my back:


    "No longer am I the Iron Prince, for the time for princedom has passed. From this night forth, I claim my father''s crown, the crown of the Empire. I. Am. Kaiser."


    Author''s Note


    Obligatory disclaimer: Kaiser''s opinions are not my own. Dear, anon, I''m Korean. It''s kind of hard to be a white supremacist.


    A more valid criticism of the past five chapters is that it feels rushed, because it is. This whole gang war could have taken two or three arcs but I condensed it because this story is not ultimately about the rise of Kaiser or the restructuring of Brockton Bay''s geopolitics. This story is about Andy and this arc is about the ripples his actions caused, some familiar and others not.


    I know most of you expected this so it''s not much of a twist, but I still felt that it was a necessary one. Kaiser is described by Wildbow as being an exceptionally charismatic man and a phenomenal orator. Unfortunately, we don''t actually see much of him because he got Levi''d. Pity, because I think charismatic villains are awesome. It''s one of the things I think Nuclear Fire (a tinker of fiction story) did really well.


    Now, obligatory random fact: There is a statue of Jesus Christ in Gyeongsangbuk-do, South Korea. The statue depicts Christ as being incredibly buff, with a huge grin fit for All Might. My friend showed me this in bible study with the running joke that he will literally carry all my sins.


    *Note: I''m Christian. This isn''t offensive, it''s hilarious. Don''t start a religious debate in my thread, just enjoy buff-Jesus.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.6 Intermission

    Intermission 7.6


    Eugene Lewis


    2002, September 9: Algiers, Algeria


    I leaned back into my chair with an explosive sigh. Building up the Guild was a lot harder than I expected it to be. When I told Rebecca that I didn''t want command of another city, or even a rebuilt DC, she suggested I take over the Guild, build it up into a real force for good in the world.


    The idea resonated with me. I didn''t want to start over, I liked what we''d built with the PRT and Protectorate, but a part of me had always wanted a larger footprint than just North America. There was so much more that could be done and with the United Nations all but defunct after the arrival of Leviathan, there was a real need for someone to take up the mantle as international peacekeepers.


    That was my vision for the Guild. Not just heroes or parahumans, but peacekeepers. I wanted to train diplomats, doctors, engineers, teachers and more who could act to better the lives of others around the globe. I wanted to respond not just to A and S-class villains, but also to famines, floods, earthquakes, and other natural disasters.


    It was a good dream, one much easier said than done. Unlike when I''d help found the Protectorate, the Guild did not answer to a single government. Every international mission required specific buy-in from the local powers, introducing many more vectors for corruption and incompetence. And that wasn''t even starting on the logistics of hiring, training, and equipping the right people.


    The end result was that the Guild was a bit of a paper tiger at the moment, new and unproven. Canada and the United States acknowledged the Guild''s mission and approved its charter but that was only the first necessary step of many. The Guild lacked international legitimacy and so I''d had to rely on the weight of my own reputation to convince world leaders to let us operate across borders.


    Unfortunately, it didn''t always work out. When Behemoth struck Thimphu, Bhutan in March, I was ready to take my team out to the small country to intervene. Behemoth emerged from right beneath Paro International Airport, the only international airport in Bhutan, and had paved a trail of lava towards the country''s capital. The destruction of Paro International meant there was no way to bring in capes aside from teleporters, not that that mattered.


    The CUI intervened and Kirin White hadn''t even arrived to pick us up before we received a message from Bhutan''s prime minister saying there was no room for "western powers." It didn''t take long to find out that the Yangban fought the endbringer with the aid of the CUI''s conventional military and the Indian Garama and Thanda capes.


    Behemoth was "driven off," but only after Thimphu was reduced to slag. The loss of so much Buddhist heritage stung but the number of lives lost was remarkably light. It was only after I''d read the reports that I began to realize just why the endbringer had chosen Bhutan as a target.


    The monarchy collapsed, the prime minister was assassinated within the week, and there was a proxy war between the CUI and India as the former tried to consolidate the country as a puppet state.


    The CUI''s reasons baffled me. How could they see an endbringer attack and think starting a war in its aftermath was the right move? How could such a thing not bring humans together? Though Bhutan was rich in minerals like calcium carbide and gypsum, it wasn''t worth a war surely.


    I felt like the Guild had failed even before setting off on our first mission. How could we be peacekeepers if no one welcomed us within their borders?


    I took advice from Fortuna and turned inward. There would be other crises, other missions. Until then, I ought to strengthen the Guild''s foundation in Canada and train our members. That was how I began spending time with Narwhal, the one Andy had marked out in his reports as a diamond in the rough.


    She truly was special, and not just for her¡­ state of dress. The statuesque woman reminded me of Rebecca; they had that same no-nonsense air about them, though where Rebecca''s attitude came from her chronostatic power, Narwhal''s came from her military background. The woman quickly became a trusted lieutenant of mine and I left her in charge of training new capes and field agents in emergency response protocols.


    In the lab, I had Masamune, formerly of the Sentai Elite. He was a godsend, and another of Andy''s "capes to watch." One of Andy''s reports to Cauldron consisted of a tinker who could figure out how to mass produce tinkertech without snowballing maintenance issues. He wasn''t a frontline fighter but could apparently work well with Dragon, Richter''s budding AI. According to my little friend, he would have left the Sentai Elite and lived around Kyushu as a half-crazed hermit before being recruited sometime in the future.


    Naturally, a tinker with mass production capabilities similar to Andy himself was far too valuable to leave wallowing in the ruins of Kyushu so Fortuna paid him a visit. Much like she had with Peter Pan, it took but a single conversation to light a fire in the man. Though rather than absorb him into Cauldron, we decided it''d be best to move him to the Guild, both to help me and to work with Richter and Dragon when we got around to recruiting them.


    The gruff man spoke only broken English but I had a translator commissioned from Zero Day to get around the language barrier. Other than that initial hiccup, I found him to be a good lab partner. He was highly focused and professional, embodying in many ways the Japanese work ethic. I found him to be a fundamentally good person who joined the Sentai Elite to change his country for the better using his technology. It was a dream I could respect, one that lined up nicely with my own goals for the Guild.


    Together, we settled on a standard set of gear we could give to our parahuman field operatives. Civilians such as doctors and teachers didn''t need combat gear, but they could do with protective clothing and an alarm system. I once again lamented Andy''s coma; the protections he''d provided his mother in the form of "enchanted" rings was superb and I would have loved to see what Masamune could make of them.


    Several months after Behemoth''s attack on Thimphu, Leviathan set its sights on Istanbul. By this point, the US had eight months to recover from the Simurgh''s debut. It wasn''t nearly enough time, thousands were still looking to reunite with their families after being scattered to the four winds by the Worldstones, but the government had pieced itself together somewhat. The Protectorate received warning from Bluesong''s undersea sensors of Leviathan heading into the Mediterranean and alerted the local governments.


    I left Masamune behind to coordinate responses after the attack and headed to Istanbul with only Narwhal at my side. Though several more wanted to join me and I admired their courage, I didn''t feel they had what it takes to survive a fight against Leviathan. Andy was right, the Guild lacked "star power."


    If Thimphu was a mercy, Istanbul was a reminder of why the endbringers were feared. My friends in the Protectorate showed up alongside the Kingsmen, Meisters, Argonauts, and other local cape teams but we couldn''t keep it from flooding the Marmara Sea and cutting Istanbul in half. The Dardanelles Strait that connected the Marmara Sea to the Aegean Sea was many times wider now, so much so that the distinction between the two seas no longer seemed relevant.


    One disaster followed another and after spending a week coordinating rescue efforts in Turkey, I was drawn to Algiers, Algeria to help prevent societal collapse following a major earthquake. The earthquake destroyed radio towers and dams, causing a drop in communication as well as large-scale flooding. The situation wasn''t helped by the presence of countless petty warlords trying to consolidate power by promising villages food, water, and security.


    Unfortunately, the promise was a deeply alluring one and the country was on the verge of a famine.


    It was a problem I could not solve with brute force. For starters, I had to recognize that most of these "bandits" were recruited directly from villages with no food or water, or from villages that had been swept away by the floods. Killing them was not the answer I wanted. Even among the ringleaders, there were only a few I considered unforgivable, the sort who used child soldiers.


    Second, even when I chased them down and captured their parahuman leadership, Algeria lacked the kind of prisons that could hold most capes. It sometimes seemed as though they''d go free the moment I turned my back.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    And third, because of poor communication, there was very little way to coordinate security responses or agriculture efforts. One village could have a full harvest and another only thirty miles away could be eating tree bark. I tried to remedy this by building my own communication system, but the disaster area was too wide to cover. Or, I could, but the cost would be prohibitively expensive for the Guild''s budget and constant maintenance efforts would keep me grounded and I was needed for my mobility.


    That was how I found myself calling up Bluesong, Hassana Musa. I still remembered the young girl she was ten years ago when I stumbled across her in a small Yoruba village in Nigeria. I''d stayed with her then, helping to bury her twin''s body and teaching her about what it meant to be a tinker. At the end of the week, I offered her the chance to join me in DC.


    I remembered how she stared into my eyes and demanded more: She demanded that I move her entire village with her, that I offer them better lives alongside her. "One village, one family," she''d said to me in broken English.


    I''d honored her wishes then. I had Rebecca fast-track their citizenship and organized English tutors, career advisors, and other social service workers to get them settled. Bluesong repaid me a thousandfold and quickly shot up the ranks to become one of the most celebrated tinkers in the United States. She became one of my dear friends, one I hadn''t spoken to in months.


    The call went through and Bluesong''s face took over my screen. She was as pretty as ever, among the most naturally photogenic people I knew, though she now sported small bags under her eyes. That was in itself mildly alarming. I knew from experience with her that she was prone to overworking herself and had to drag her out of the lab personally on multiple occasions. Her costume had changed a little as well, presumably to better settle into the Florida heat.


    "Hero!" she said with a bright smile. "How are you? It''s been so long."


    "Hey, Blue. I''m doing good. Things are a bit hectic here but I''m floating along. How''s Jacksonville?"


    "It''s fine for the most part. Steven''s been a huge help," she said. Metalmaru, Steven, had retired from the Protectorate and after working as an outside consultant for a few months, attached himself on a more permanent basis to the Jacksonville PRT.


    "Heh, yeah. He''s always been the go-to guy for all the logistics stuff. Everyone thinks I did everything but really, I had so much on my plate that I wouldn''t have survived the Madhouse if it weren''t for him."


    "I know, right? He knows everyone. The director of special projects at FEMA? Supply chain manager from the Red Cross? Doesn''t matter. It''s a little scary how good he is at getting people to talk to him. Just getting people settled in would have taken weeks longer if it wasn''t for him."


    "Heh. Glad to hear you two are doing alright. You look a little tired though," I said, gesturing vaguely to the bags under her eyes. "You''re not overworking yourself, are you?"


    She let out a dainty sniff. "As if you''re one to talk. Either you''re growing a beard or you got so caught up in things that you lost your plasma razor. Again."


    "Hey, I know where it is¡­"


    "Really? Where is it?"


    "Okay, maybe not, but that''s besides the point. I just¡­ haven''t gotten around to shaving."


    "Hmm," she hummed disbelievingly. "Steven told me a funny story about how you built that plasma razor because you can''t bear to shave without it."


    "Hey! I told him that in confidence!"


    "How old are you, Hero? Don''t you think you should know how to use a razor?" she asked with a teasing grin.


    "I do," Idefended, even knowing it was a lost cause. "I just have sensitive skin, all right?"


    "Right, of course."


    "Anyway, how busy are you, really?"


    The conflicted look on her face sent alarm bells through my mind. The Bluesong I knew was confident and self-assured, seldom confused. "It''s¡­ all right¡­ I think?"


    "You sound unsure. What happened?"


    "It''s just¡­ Have you ever heard of a cape named Gator Priest?"


    "No, sorry. I''m not familiar with Jacksonville villains."


    "No, I suppose not. Well, he used to go by Floridaman before he suddenly rebranded."


    That name sounded familiar, if only for how ridiculous some of the stories involving him could get. "Wait, is this the same Floridaman who threw a live alligator through a Taco Bell window?"


    "That''s right. He also had a bunch of gang members he recruited try to shoot down an incoming hurricane," she said with a resigned smile. "You know, those headlines used to sound funnier before they became my problem."


    "I''ll bet. But what''s wrong with Flori-Gator Priest? I mean, he''s a nutjob but a mostly harmless one, right?"


    "He is. He''s currently in the ICU after getting shot. About a month ago, he showed up and rebranded himself, saying the endbringers were messengers of God to cleanse the world. A few weeks after Leviathan hit Istanbul, he built an altar in front of the largest mosque in Jacksonville saying Leviathan''s rain cleansed all the unfaithful. One of the mosque-goers shot him and the worst part is that I can''t even be upset."


    I winced. "At least he''s taken care of? It sounds like a problem that solved itself."


    "In a way, but I''m worried that he''s not just an idiot who played around until karma caught up to him. I''ve been hearing rumors that endbringer worship is on the rise. People are saying Last Christmas was a clear sign from God that Judgment Day is coming soon and that the Simurgh is an angel sent to guide the faithful."


    That was far more worrying than an idiot with a penchant for throwing alligators. Before Andy fell into a coma, he had asked Fortuna to acquire a very specific vial, one that could have one day become the power of one Christine Mathers. In that brief, he''d offered us an overview of the Fallen and their repulsive breeding practices. I had thought removing Mathers and her anti-thinker power from the equation would keep the Fallen from emerging as a threat but perhaps I''d been naive.


    After all, endbringer worship was an ideology, one uniquely appealing to the broken and the desperate. Earth-Bet had an awful lot of those. Though Mathers wasn''t an issue anymore and rooting out any single cell would be far easier, that didn''t mean people couldn''t radicalize.


    That begged the question: Was it an organized movement? Would they go by a different name? Or, would endbringer worship remain chaotic and disjointed, and all the harder to stamp out because of it?


    "I''ll look into it," I promised her. We''d put so much time and effort into nurturing powerful capes for the final battle; I refused to let Cauldron''s work be undermined by delusional capes preying on the desperate.


    "Thank you, Hero. Was there something else you wanted to talk about?"


    "There was. Bluesong, do you remember one of the first things you made? A speaker that broadcasted subsonic frequencies only audible to elephants?"


    "Yes, of course I do. Why do you ask?"


    I explained the current situation to her. "In summary, I need a robust communication network that''ll be viable even in rural areas and require minimal maintenance. I also need security measures to keep away elephants, hogs, birds, and whatever else might be interested in the crops. Just those two things would streamline our relief efforts a great deal."


    "I can see that. Of course I''ll help, Hero. But remember that what I make for you might not last longer than a few months no matter how much I simplify it. I can''t hop across the Atlantic just to perform maintenance."


    "Of course not; you''re a protectorate leader now. You''ve got your own worries. A few months should get us through the harvest. We can figure out more permanent solutions then."


    "As long as you know that. I''ll get started this week. Was there anything else? Because I''ve got a date to get to."


    I blinked at that. "Oh? Congratulations. Did Steven finally ask you out?"


    She chuckled lightly. "Actually, I asked him. I got tired of him waffling so I decided to stop waiting."


    "Hahahaha, that''s great. How''s he doing by the way? I haven''t talked to him as often as I should have."


    "He''s doing well. He received a lot of flack for accidentally outing Hyunmu but that''s died down over the months. He''s still the same lovable dork as ever. We''re going out to see a standup comedy show before grabbing sushi." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Quick, tell me how to eat sushi."


    "Hah, I know for a fact I''ve taken you out to sushi at least once, Blue."


    "Yes, but you did all the ordering then!"


    "So let Steven do the ordering. Seems simple to me."


    "Silly man. I don''t want to seem uneducated."


    "Hassana, you''re Nigerian. I doubt Steven expects you to know anything about Japanese food. Just ask him and let him guide you through it. It can be a conversation starter if nothing else."


    "Okay, maybe you''re right. At least tell me if I''m supposed to drink sake hot or cold."


    "Depends on the sake."


    "Truly, you''re a wonderful help."


    "I am," I agreed with her sarcasm. "Have fun on your date, Blue. And tell Steven he better not screw this up. I know he''s been pining for you for years now."


    "I will. Later, Hero."


    The call cut out soon after and I leaned back into my chair with a relaxed smile. Catching up with a friend was always nice, especially one I didn''t get to see on a weekly basis at Cauldron meetings. I considered Bluesong, Hassana, to be something between a little sister and niece so it was nice to see she was settling into Jacksonville as well as could be expected.


    Alas, I wasn''t able to kick back for more than a minute before I received a message that signaled another incoming call. Algeria. The Guild. They were all a work in progress.


    Author''s Note


    Yes, I''m aware that Turkey wants to be called Turkiye because they think sharing the same name as the Thanksgiving birb is insulting. Considering this happening in 2002, a full two decades before their UN proposal would arrive, I don''t really care.


    Animal fact? Sure. All honeybees you see out in the wild are in their last two weeks or so of life despite living one or two months. They''re not born foragers, nurses, climate control, is because honeybees change jobs as they grow up and only the eldest are sent out of the hive under normal circumstances. Younger bees clean the hive, feed larvae, pamper the queen, beat their wings to cool the temperature, etc. so as to maintain a stable population flow.


    To answer your question preemptively, I expect this arc to continue until 7.10 (or until Riley triggers).


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.7 Intermission

    Intermission 7.7


    Eugene Lewis


    2002, November 16: Winnipeg, Canada


    I stepped out of the Doorway onto the rooftop of a high-rise apartment. The PRT''s expansion into Canada was a methodical one. Even with support from the Canadian government, there was a limited amount of funding so Rebecca strategically placed offices in major cities, starting of course with Ottawa. It meant that though Winnipeg was the provincial capital of Manitoba, its PRT presence was somewhat lacking compared to state capitals in the United States.


    ''Maybe that''s why he''s active here,'' I mused as I flared up my cloaking device. I seldom disclosed just what my tinker specialization was and when I did, I simply said "wavelengths" and left it at that. Most people assumed that to mean light, which for them meant laser beams with a few neat auxiliary knick knacks like my flight pack.


    They didn''t typically think "invisibility cloak." Even when they considered it a possibility, "Hero" was such a visible public figure that they assumed it wasn''t something I''d built.


    My "cloak" wasn''t a physical garment. It was a fist-sized module attached to the back of my chestplate just above the flight pack that expelled what I called a photon haze. The haze of refracted light was manipulated to create an invisibility effect. It took several tries and a consultation with Zero Day but I eventually managed to develop a software that processed information in real time, altering my visible light and infrared signature to perfectly mimic whatever was directly behind me, even while moving.


    I mostly used it to take peaceful flights for some me-time across the skyline but it did come in handy when I wanted to investigate something quietly as well.


    I hovered down into the city proper, twisting a tiny, whale-shaped device attached to my belt to negate the sound of my flight pack. The whale was a gift from Bluesong, one I''d kept for years now.


    I flew just above the heads of pedestrians as I looked for the seedier parts of town. Winnipeg was not a large city, only having a population slightly north of 700,000, but that was enough to have its share of societal outcasts.


    I was here following Istanbul and Algiers because I''d heard through the grapevine that the Protectorate branch here had an unusually high concentration of Case-53s. It had been an amusing little statistical factoid until the information sank in and rang alarm bells in my mind.


    That was of course impossible; the rate at which Cauldron was releasing Case-53s into Earth-Bet had trickled since the onboarding of Peter Pan. The Forest of Babylon was now populated by both regular humans and Case-53s who''d largely regained their human forms. Not only were most of them perfectly happy to live peaceful lives in what amounted to an enchanted forest, their presence in Andy''s little corner of our world ensured that Scion would avoid turning his gaze towards Cauldron HQ. We wanted them there.


    Which begged the question: Where were these new capes coming from? If they weren''t true Case-53s, who was making them?


    Though the local Protectorate managed to recruit a few new members, most were too unstable. They exhibited erratic behavior and were far more aggressive than normal, sometimes lashing out with intent to kill over perceived slights despite both understanding English and having full control over their inhuman appendages.


    There were so many "Case-53s" transported to parahuman asylums that some had to be trafficked out of the province to larger cities like Ottawa and Toronto.


    The more I heard about Winnipeg, the firmer my suspicion became. And so, I''d left Narwhal and Masamune in charge of the Guild for a week or two so I could follow up on a hunch.


    Chris Kaminski was given the moniker "Lab Rat" by Andy in a brief covering noteworthy villains. More specifically, he dedicated a lot of time to describe those who would become future cell block leaders of the Birdcage. Unfortunately, he knew a decent amount about the Lab Rat''s powers but little about his appearance and life.


    As far as he knew, Lab Rat had two siblings, an older sister and a younger brother. His sister was a serial killer who killed her youngest brother, which likely caused Lab Rat''s trigger. Beyond the bare bones, I was told that Lab Rat was a drugs or mutagenic tinker who specialized in field tests on living things, preferably humans.


    Those test subjects would be subjected to rapid, temporary mutation during which time their fight or flight instincts would be driven to extremes. Recovery from his experimental formulas was not guaranteed and some were left with physical or mental mutations that persisted. Andy said his modus operandi before finally being taken down would be to experiment on the transient population.


    With that kind of description, I could only assume Lab Rat was active here in Winnipeg. His formulas worked through injection or consumption so I made sure to put on a fully covering version of my costume.


    I wandered around the slums of Winnipeg, looking for the man in question. There was the odd homeless man but the city was largely free of violent crime, certainly none involving parahumans that I felt the need to intervene in. My presence here was something of a secret for now; I didn''t want Lab Rat to go to ground.


    I looked at the man''s photograph. He wasn''t officially wanted, there was real concern of a biotinker outbreak, so the photo in my files was of his high school graduation. I would have respected the unwritten rules but he didn''t bother with a mask as far as I knew.


    Andy hadn''t known Lab Rat''s last name but the information he had allowed me to build up enough breadcrumbs to find his civilian identity with some minor bit of background research. A serial killer sibling? Who also happened to be a woman? Who had two brothers and was suspected of murdering one of them?


    Considering men were ten times as likely to be serial killers, the first question alone greatly limited my list of suspects.


    Lab Rat was a man who looked nothing like a stereotypical tinker. Most people thought of men in lab coats or power armor, perhaps with glasses and pocket calculators in their civilian guise. Tinkers were the tech-geeks of the parahuman world and most conformed to the stereotype in one form or another.


    Not so for Lab Rat. Chris Kaminski was a tall, broad-shouldered man with misshapen teeth and unkept, black hair. He had thick brows that gave his eyes a shaded appearance and a bit of a belly that wasn''t excessive but was still noticeable. He looked more like a stereotypical brute than a tinker.


    Because the city''s surveillance system was lacking, I had little choice but to patrol the areas it could not reach. Traffic cams could only do so much after all. A handful of local PRT officers and policemen were told to keep me abreast of any "monster" sightings but I had little hope for those because Lab Rat''s potions were fire-and-forget sorts of products. There was no telling how long he would remain on-site to observe his work, or if he''d remain at all.


    X


    2002, November 20: Winnipeg, Canada


    Lab Rat turned out to be a hard man to track. I didn''t think he knew of my presence in the city but increased rumors of monster sightings had put cops on high alert, which in turn made him cautious.


    I supposed I could have asked Fortuna, but she had asked that she not be disturbed as she expected an endbringer to attack soon and the one on rotation was the bird bitch herself. She was off nudging world events with the Path set towards "minimizing loss of life while optimizing the growth of powerful capes," whatever that might mean.


    Ultimately, it was more luck than skill that led me to him. Four days after my arrival, I stumbled on two men conducting what looked like a drug deal. I would have passed them by had I not felt something odd about the dealer.


    I wasn''t sure what that initial sense of wrongness was, only that I''d been taught to follow my gut in the field. I backtracked for a moment and sure enough, I had a match to the picture. He had a five o''clock shadow and his hair was scruffier than when he''d been spotted last but the facial recognition software built into my visor was not fooled.


    Perhaps that was my problem; I''d begun scanning for homeless people but not drug addicts who he could fool easily into taking his products.


    I alighted atop a street lamp to listen.


    "-the right drug?" the buyer, some kid who couldn''t be older than seventeen, asked.


    Lab Rat held out a matchbox-sized container. "Yeah, man, this the new upper going around."


    "What''s in it?"


    "It''s a new version of molly I got my hands on. Ecstasy, you know? Heard it''s the best high you can get without meth."


    "Shit, and you''re just giving it out?"


    Lab Rat rubbed the back of his head in mock sheepishness. It looked at odds on the tall man but was enough to fool the druggie. "I got some but I gotta know if it''s the real deal, you know? And a good dealer doesn''t take his own products. Take some and let me know how the high is, yeah?"


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "Shit, alright. A free high''s a free high."


    I took that as my cue and shot the matchbox out of the druggie''s hand with a pinpoint laser as I decloaked. I twirled my pistol around my finger by the trigger guard; a hero needed some style after all. "Far be it for me to rain on your parade, but that''s not molly, bud."


    "Hero? What the fuck are you doing here?" the druggie exclaimed. He started to back away. Whatever he did around here, facing a cape was likely out of his paygrade. He turned and ran as soon as he realized this wasn''t a normal drug bust.


    "Hero," Lab Rat grimaced at the same time. "I don''t suppose you''re here to talk shop?"


    "No, no I am not. You are Chris Kaminski, aren''t you?" I asked rhetorically. I almost defaulted to "Lab Rat" but remembered that the name was one provided by Andy. Seeing how Chris lacked a mask, courtesy demanded I give him the chance to name himself. "I''d prefer it if you came quietly."


    "What am I wanted for? I''m not a gangster."


    "The innocent act? You can''t really pull it off, Chris. How about that you''re the chief suspect in several missing persons cases for starters?"


    "No, I suppose I can''t, not if the great Hero himself came to pay me a visit."


    "Just surrender, Chris. You can test your products in a safe space, without hurting people. You don''t need to be like this."


    His response to that was to reach into his pocket and pull out a different matchbox. This one was not made of metal but rigid, easily cracked plastic. He hurled it onto the ground, only for it to shatter and release a small swarm of beetles into a puddle of blue fluid. They must have lapped up the fluid because they grew at an alarming rate.


    When his dossier reached our desk, Rebecca and I had an academic discussion on whether he should be considered a true biotinker or not. According to Andy, his potions did not actually morph the biology of the drinker, at least not initially. Instead, they stored the body of the drinker while drawing in mass from their surroundings to create whatever abomination Lab Rat envisioned. Which meant mutations actually happened as the drinker''s body was returned from whatever subspace it was in and meshed unfavorably with the creature that occupied its space.


    Again, purely academic. For all intents and purposes, he was a biotinker. Though if I had any doubt as to Andy''s theory about him storing the bodies, it was gone now. No amount of nutrient slop, even tinkertech slop, could stimulate such a rapid growth in the original insects if the original body was being used. Even tinkertech at least paid lip service to basic biology.


    The beetles were replaced by monstrosities the size of motorcycles. They each possessed sixteen pairs of scything legs and flat, segmented bodies reminiscent of centipedes. Each segment of their body was also occupied by a set of long, narrow wings like a dragonfly''s. Their mouths were made of grasping finger-like limbs that led into a maw full of squat, grinding teeth. A whip-like tail sprouted from the final segments.


    I considered shooting them down before they could reach their full size but decided against it. It was perhaps arrogant of me but I didn''t think someone who made biological constructs could do much against a forcefield made using hardlight wavelengths folded across half a dozen dimensions. Just in case, I examined them using an x-ray scanner to see if there were any outstanding internal anomalies, and so I could target the core of their nervous systems.


    If I had to be honest with myself, I wanted to see what they could do. How did he plan to control these bugs? Was it pheromone-based? Or did Lab Rat''s Shard know to keep its host safe? Would the bugs listen to Lab Rat or would they rampage? Did damage transfer to the beetles'' original bodies? He''d clearly had these prepped in case he got cornered so surely he had a plan, right?


    Tinkertech was so fascinating!


    There was some screaming in the background now; my arrival and the insects'' transformations had drawn the attention of a handful of bystanders. I marked them on my HUD so I could ensure their safety.


    Chris let out a sharp whistle. I raised an eyebrow as the eleven centipede-like constructs rose into the air on their many wings in clear defiance of basic physics. It seemed his Shard was done paying lip service.


    They made for me with the sound of dozens of wings. The bugs were big enough that the noise was more akin to the scything of helicopter blades than the buzzing of flies.


    I hovered out into the middle of the empty street to get a bit more room and observed their assault. They accelerated deceptively quickly, going from stationary to forty-eight miles per hour in the span of three seconds.


    "Mid-level mover. Three? Low four?" I mumbled under my breath. My words were being recorded for my personal records. A rudimentary AI would sift through both visual and audio recordings for relevant data before completing the AAR, easily the most convenient thing I''d made lately. I dodged out of the way as the first reached my position, only to have to move again when its centipede-like torso twisted on a dime to correct its trajectory. "Decent speed, but it''s the flight and multiple pairs of wings that give it a better rating. Its agility is likely to give a full PRT team trouble."


    Then the rest caught up and I was forced to rise further. I deployed a hardlight shield in my left arm and allowed one to collide into it. Immediately, its finger-like maw began to tear and scrape at it futilely. I glanced at the readings coming in. "Bite force of approximately 3,600 psi, roughly comparable to a saltwater crocodile. The finger-like appendages around its maw have enough force to tear flesh and kevlar with ease. Close combat is ill-advised."


    The hardlight shield over my arm reshaped itself at my command, extending out in a razor-sharp point that impaled the creature through the mouth. Another four tried to dogpile me in the air but my flightpack had no trouble getting me out of the way even with one of them attached to my arm. I continued to make observations. "Lacks armor on the inside of their mouths. A strike to the brain will kill."


    I immediately felt a little embarrassed stating the obvious but one could never be too careful when it came to biotinkered constructs. For all I knew, Lab Rat''s other constructs possessed decentralized brain structures similar to octopi.


    The corpse of the flying centipede slid from my arm with a gross squelching noise and I watched it drop. Off forty feet away, Lab Rat had begun to run.


    Why had he stayed at all? I had his face, heart rate, and unique heat signature now, wavelength scanners were bonkers like that, but he didn''t know that. Had he been expecting to disable me? Or maybe he wanted to see how his work compared to mine firsthand?


    "Lab Rat is fleeing," I muttered into my mic. "Finishing up tests."


    The remaining centipedes rushed towards me but I activated something I''d been saving specifically for scenarios like this. A golden light bloomed from my breastplate, enveloping a thirty feet radius around me in a shimmering bubble.


    The entire swarm froze, captured in perfect stasis. The idea came from Andy''s own Anivia''s Grace. I''d never seen it in action, Rebecca said it was far too indiscriminately deadly to use in the field, but she described it as a field which sapped all sources of heart to fuel an impressive barrier around him.


    Why couldn''t I do something similar? All movement, all energy, was expressed in the form of wavelengths after all. My Shard was called the Stilling, right?


    My field wasn''t quite the same of course. A lot of his creations seemed to be flavored with ice, though whether that was intentional or not was beyond me. Instead of bitter winds that turned everything around me to coarse powder, my version of the field was true stasis, preservation of the present to the point that even atomic entropy took a pause. If I released the field, everything would proceed on its original trajectory.


    Except of course, me. It''d be rather silly if I couldn''t move in my own stasis.


    I detached the module from my chest and left it hanging there to maintain the field before giving chase. I caught up in short order.


    "So, Chris, care to surrender?" I tried the diplomatic route again. "You''ve got a lot of potential. I can''t imagine living like this is better than having a proper lab."


    "Shut up, what do you know? You think I haven''t tried indexing every chemical in my formulas?" he spat. "Guess what, genius? I can''t. No one can. There isn''t a centrifuge in the world that works with my formulas. I do my best work in the field and you''re not taking this from me." So saying, he reached into his pocket for a syringe that he raised to his throat.


    I rolled my eyes and shot it out of his hand. I sank to ground level and started to cuff the struggling man.


    "Pity. Well, you know the drill. You have the right to remain silent when questioned. You have the right to be told the reason for your arrest. You have the right to hire and instruct a lawyer. If you cannot afford a lawyer, you have the right to be informed of options concerning legal aid and duty counsels. You have the right to speak to a lawyer as soon as possible," I spoke dutifully. They were a little different front the Miranda rights in America but the Canadian variant was close enough to hit the same general notes. I still had the words flashing across my visor, just in case. It''d be pretty embarrassing if Hero couldn''t remember basic procedure.


    I dragged him to the stasis field and searched him for any more tinkertech, he had a handful of those matchbox-like containers, before handing him off to the cops five minutes later.


    I undid the stasis field to finish testing the durability of their armor so I could assign a proper brute rating but was disappointed when they shrank back into regular, dead beetles in seconds. In the end, I concluded that it was because the insects could only absorb so much of his formula and it was too much for their insect brains to handle. That particular test would have to go unfinished.


    The whole event was somewhat underwhelming. I''d decided to come here because Andy said Lab Rat would become one of the ten most wanted men in North America by 2003 but perhaps I was expecting too much from him. Chris Kaminski had not been given time to come into his own, nor did I allow him to use his formulas on larger subjects. I''d read that some of his creations could grow to the size of a two-story house.


    ''Then again, I''m an awful matchup for him,'' I mused. ''I can imagine teams having a hard time with a swarm like that.''


    "Hero, can we get a word?" some lady in a pencil skirt and green blouse called, waving a mic in my general direction. I suppressed a sigh; the news had arrived.


    I plastered on a winning smile. "Of course, the perpetrator was responsible for the monster sightings that had been reported around Winnipeg for the past week. I heard about it and became concerned about a biotinker outbreak so decided to pay a visit."


    "What do you think will be the eff-"


    She opened her mouth to say something else but was cut off by a long, piercing sound from my phone.


    I visibly winced as I read the alert that flashed on my HUD. That was a very specific ringtone, set to override everything else just in case it ever came up while I was in the middle of a tinker fugue. I turned and rose into the air. "I''m sorry, this can''t wait."


    "Wait, Hero! What''s going-"


    "The Simurgh has descended on Shanghai."


    Author''s Note


    If anyone remembers, Hero first used the sound dampener when he and Andy were having lunch at Quigley''s in DC.


    No one''s sure where Lab Rat is from. Taylor said his accent couldn''t be placed so I literally looked for a random city in North America and settled on Winnipeg.


    Have a random mythology fact: The Korean origin myth states that we are descended from bears. Story has it that a tiger and a bear wanted to be human so prayed to Hwanung, the Prince of Heaven. He gave them a bunch of garlic and mugwort and told them to meditate/pray in a cave for 100 days to¡­ I don''t know, prove their dedication or something¡­


    The tiger gave up part way through but the bear persevered and was transformed into a beautiful woman, who Hwanung then proceeded to bang. They had a son named Dangun, who would go on to found Gojoseon, the first Korean kingdom.


    So yea, if you''re Korean, your spirit animal is by default the bear. Odd, because our national animal is the Siberian tiger and not the Asian black bear. Even stranger since there are zero wild tigers in Korea nowadays.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.8 Intermission

    <div>


    Intermission 7.8


    Eugene Lewis


    2002, November 20: New York, NY, USA


    DC was still being rebuilt so we gathered at the national Protectorate headquarters in New York. I walked through a Door and into a designated room on Legend''s floor set aside for the purpose. I made my way to the roof, where I found only Legend, Eidolon, and Alexandria. I couldn''t attend, Last Christmas had made it abundantly clear what the Simurgh can do with a good tinker in her area, but I wanted to see my friends off.


    When I arrived, Eidolon was yelling at Alexandria.


    "What do you mean we''re not going?" he snarled. His suit glowed green from under the hood, a clever little trick with LED lights rather than a display of power on his part.


    Alexandria was as unflappable as always. "The CUI has declared that they will not tolerate foreign capes on Chinese soil, endbringer truce be damned."


    "You''re fucking with me."


    "I am not. They have stated their intention to fight against the endbringer with a combination of conventional military hardware and the best of their Yangban. If any cape who is not a recognized member of the Yangban arrives on scene, they will be fired upon."


    "So we''d be fighting those idiots on top of the Simurgh?"


    "Quite. At the bare minimum, it would cause an international incident. More likely, we will cause even more damage to the civilian population of Shanghai than if we did not go. Considering the Simurgh''s abilities, our involvement would generate too many opportunities for her to kill one of us or damage the CUI irreparably."


    "We had Contessa nurture powerful capes and minimize the loss of life," I reminded Alexandria bitterly. "Are you telling me this is the best she could come up with?"


    "She cannot predict the Simurgh; that has not changed. Nor can she make the CUI more cooperative overnight."


    "So what then? We just sit with our thumbs up our asses?"


    "We go about our lives. You were informed of an endbringer attack because I felt you should hear it from me."


    "Fuck!" Eidolon swore. "We should just go and fuck what the CUI says!"


    "If we do, it''ll result in an unmitigated disaster. We''d just give the Simurgh what she wants most. There is a chance that she''ll be driven off by the CUI."


    "And how likely is that?" Legend asked. We all knew the answer. A pair of blue scissors flashed through our minds. A lamb-like archer. A wolf''s head made of roiling smoke. We''d seen what it took to force the Simurgh to flee. No amount of conventional arms would be enough.


    "Nearly nonexistent," our friend admitted quietly.


    "Damned if you do, damned if you don''t."


    "I''m sorry. I felt you three should be informed even if we would not be attending."


    Legend let out a defeated sigh. Seeing the normally cheerful man like this made the world feel a little dimmer. "It''s not on you, Alexandria¡­ I''ll¡­ I''ll start organizing aid packages."


    "Same here. Even if they don''t want Protectorate, they might be more willing to accept the Guild in their borders," I said hopefully.


    "This is so fucked up. How many people live in Shanghai?" Eidolon asked. He was always the first to try and quantify our success by any metric, even more so than Alexandria.


    "Fifteen million," the strongest brute said.


    "Shit¡­ I-I''m going to go be alone for a while¡­"


    The four of us went our separate ways to deal with this in whatever way we could.


    X


    2002, November 20: Unnamed, Sahara Desert


    I stepped through the Door to find Alexandria, Rebecca now, crashing down from heaven like the fist of an angry god. She''d stripped off her iconic costume and helmet in favor of a set of generic workout gear, a gray sports bra and tights that I might have appreciated more under other circumstances. She collided with a sand dune with all the force of a meteor, creating a mushroom cloud of debris and sending out a rippling wave of sand for a hundred feet in every direction.


    Alexandria didn''t show it, but I knew by her silence that she wasn''t unaffected either. She tried to be as stoic as she could, detached and set apart from the world, our disciplinarian and objective counsel. She succeeded most of the time.


    But then there were times like these, times when even the invincible Alexandria felt the need to stop being Alexandria for a bit. I hovered a few hundred feet away and let her blow off steam. She didn''t scream or yell or curse. She didn''t throw a tantrum in the normal sense either. Instead, she beat the earth with the same single-minded determination with which she tackled every other challenge in life.


    "Is it dead yet?" I asked, trying to inject a bit of cheer that I did not feel.


    She glanced back at me with a withering glare. "Eugene."


    "Becky."


    "If I say yes, will you leave?"


    "You''re in a mood."


    "We just damned fifteen million people to become Simurgh bombs."


    "Was there a choice?" I asked, not as Hero to Alexandria, but as Eugene to Rebecca.


    "No," she laughed. It sounded hollow.


    "Then we move on. We move past this, like every other tragedy we weren''t good enough to stop. What''s the silver lining?"


    "There is none. Fifteen million people are as good as dead, Eugene. What silver lining?"


    "There''s always a silver lining."


    "At least it''s not America?" she asked acerbically. If sarcasm had physical weight, she''d have made a singularity. This was a side of her few ever got to see, the side filled with frustration and bitterness and regret, the side that raged in impotent fury at tragedies she couldn''t stop.


    She stood in the middle of that crater, trembling with the need to do something, only held in check by her own determination. She looked so young like this, without the makeup or the helmet, like a girl in her late teens rather than a veteran who was every bit my peer.


    I wrapped my arms around her. "I get it."


    Her hands came up to clasp around mine. I felt her take a deep breath and the trembling stopped. "I know, Eugene. I know."


    "We move past this."


    She was silent for a long minute, practically an eternity for her. When she spoke, it was with a wistfulness that I seldom heard from my friend. "He practiced here, you know."


    "Hmm?"


    "Andy. He used to practice with Anivia''s Grace here, an armor with a cold field that saps all heat and uses it to fuel a forcefield around himself that even I couldn''t break."


    "You told me about that. I made a stasis field based off it. You said he killed a lot of lab rats."


    "He did. He was on Lily #82 last I checked."


    "Crazy kid."


    "Determined."


    "Yeah."


    "Shanghai. It''s as good as gone."


    "It is. So what can we do about it?"


    "Nothing¡­" she trailed off. I knew that tone.


    "Nothing, but¡­"


    "But maybe we can use it to prepare for the future. The fall of Shanghai will make sure no one takes the Simurgh lightly again. We can use it to reinforce the importance of the endbringer truce. If we play this right, we can push for better international cooperation, better response times so we can make use of the thirty minute window. The Yangban will be gutted after this so even the CUI won''t be in any position to protest."


    "That''s assuming they don''t cover it up."


    "They can''t. FIfteen million people going murderously insane is impossible to hide even for us."


    "What can we do to prevent brainwashing?"


    She winced. "Nothing, not unless you have any ideas."


    I considered the question. Could I? How did the Simurgh''s brainwashing work anyway? The "song" sounded like an ear-piercing screech, but Andy said it didn''t matter. The song itself was just her playing with kid gloves for us; she didn''t need it to brainwash anyone. But everything had a vector. It didn''t matter what it was, everything had to cross some distance between point A and B, even if that distance was through a different dimension.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    So assuming the Simurgh''s song covered up an audio frequency that could not be heard but somehow carried enough force to adjust someone''s brain chemistry at range, it was a matter of finding that frequency and playing its reciprocal to cancel it out. Or I was way off and she was simply reaching through dimensions to bypass any distance on our earth.


    "I may have some ideas," I said tentatively. I explained my thought process to her. That was what was great about Rebecca. She wasn''t a tinker, but she absorbed information like a sponge. Her vast repository of conventional knowledge made her among the smartest people alive; she seldom had any trouble following along with complex ideas, even when discussing tinkertech.


    "How would we test its effectiveness? Even if you build working prototype dampeners, making enough for everyone would be impossible and distributing them to only some would be laughably cruel. Would some sort of speaker be possible?"


    "Like Last Christmas? Yeah. Something to counter her scream in a small area. But¡­ There are too many problems with that. She might usurp control over anything I make. Or she might simply change the frequency. Or not affect some people but affect others just to muddy results. Or sound might not even be how she does what she does in the first place."


    "Then for once, tinkertech isn''t the answer," she said matter-of-factly. She liked to let me come to my own conclusions. "Focus on building walls to contain the corrupted cities. Can you do that?"


    "The Guild-"


    "Can function without you for a few months while you come up with mass infrastructure projects. It''s imperative that we have a solution for the Simurgh, even if it''s only a band-aid."


    "You''re right," I sighed. It was yet one more thing for me to do. Even as I started brainstorming ideas for rapid construction, I made a list of tinkers I could contact. Several of them had helped build Cauldron''s base on this earth, albeit unknowingly. "How do we minimize the impact of fifteen million people?"


    "We''re going to leave that to the Number Man and Contessa. They can''t see the Simurgh, but they can still make hypotheticals of a worst case scenario in which a human tidal wave of murderers spews from Shanghai into the rest of China and make a Path to containing the damage. We can sell it to the CUI."


    "We''re not going to sell a plan that can save millions of lives, Becky."


    "We will, because the emperor wouldn''t trust it otherwise."


    "Politics makes me lose faith in humanity."


    "You still had that?" she asked with a wry grin.


    I snorted in laughter. "Did you joke? Rebecca Costa-Brown. Joke? I mean, it wasn''t very funny, but it was a solid effort."


    "Hmph. I''m smarter than you and therefore I''m also wittier than you, Eugene. You just don''t understand my humor."


    "Of course, of course. Come on, let''s go be productive." I called a Door and started to drag her inside.


    "Yes, lets."


    X


    2002, November 28: Unnamed, Ivory Coast


    Thanksgiving was typically one of my favorite holidays. No matter how much David got on my case about being an emotional busybody, I was the type to insist on a full turkey dinner with friends, or at least the Wards. I''d been looking forward to a nice dinner with my new coworkers at the Guild. Sure, most of them were blasphemous heathens who celebrated Thanksgiving Day a month early, but at least a few of us were American. I figured the rest of us would just have to reeducate them.


    Unfortunately, that wasn''t going to happen this year. Instead, I was in my lab on another earth testing out an energy-to-matter fabricator that could be used in building walls. It had been used before for Cauldron''s bases and the dam in British Columbia last year following the Behemoth attack, but it could always use more fine-tuning. That, and I''d rather work on this than on bomb-bracelets.


    I could see the necessity of it, but the idea of strapping bombs to brave volunteers who agreed to stand against an endbringer made me sick to my stomach. Just how fucked up was Andy''s future for this to have been a fact of life? And how close were we getting to that hellhole?


    I wasn''t sure I wanted that answer.


    So, fabricators.


    I had, of course, seen the CUI''s propaganda video celebrating their "victory" over the Simurgh. It was a military parade held in Beijing with jets, tanks, and a hundred of the "brave warriors" of the Yangban marching in lockstep. The video was also interspersed with footage taken from the endbringer battle.


    I had to give it to them; it was well-edited if nothing else. The song had of course been edited out in favor of what I assumed to be the CUI national anthem playing in the background. Missile platforms mounted on military trucks launched what seemed like an endless barrage of rockets at the endbringer. When they struck, the bird bitch reeled in apparent pain and showers of fractured feathers rained down on the earth below. It would have been a heartening sight, if I hadn''t also seen footage of her shrugging off Legend''s best explosive lasers without a care in the world.


    Twenty-four fighter pilots hopped into their planes. Then that footage was minimized to take up a quarter of the screen while three more shots of similar mobilization efforts were shown. Then again. And again. The CUI had been one of the few countries that had not seen fit to significantly downsize their conventional military in favor of capes and it showed. An estimated two hundred fighters of varying models took to the sky. Though the Number Man estimated their losses at close to fifty percent, the video claimed it was an overwhelming victory for the CUI''s "military genius and tactical leadership."


    "We need no western imperialists to defend our own. The false angel has been driven away and our city is whole. The Pearl of the Orient belongs to the Chinese Union," the tape concluded with a final dig at the state of DC.


    It made me furious, and not just because I was a true blue patriot. They were playing a game of political oneupmanship against a nation that frankly didn''t have interests in Asia anymore, not since Leviathan. And they were doing it while undoubtedly downplaying the danger of an endbringer.


    By all accounts, the Simurgh was driven off with the combined might of China''s military and Yangban. However, leaked (stolen) footage of the fight timestamped her departure at precisely thirty minutes. She wasn''t driven off; she left because she got what she wanted.


    The containment plan the Number Man and Contessa came up with had been offered to the CUI for a "modest" consultant''s fee of two million dollars, or its equivalent in Chinese yuan. The emperor''s proxy, of course, refused our advice. What use did they have for such a plan if there was nothing wrong with Shanghai?


    And then the murder rate shot up within the week of the Simurgh''s departure. It first began with the construction workers sent into clear out debris and pave the roads. Then, a single day later, every hospital simultaneously got attacked by a rioting mob that killed hundreds of medical personnel and thousands of patients. Travel was restricted in and out of the city in just five days of their "victory."


    At my urging, Contessa arranged for a Chinese hacker to "discover" municipal containment procedures in the US government. Our document had been doctored to look like protocols to be carried out in the event of a major pandemic. No amount of warnings from the US government or PRT would have sunk in because to them, western governments were fundamentally corrupt.


    I grunted in annoyance as I connected a dimensional stabilizer to the matter extruder. It would allow my fabricator to draw raw materials from an abandoned earth by converting them into set wavelengths before rearranging them in a predetermined pattern to "set" like overly complicated sci-fi concrete. ''It doesn''t matter,'' I told myself. ''Let the CUI be smug. At least they won''t have to commit genocide against fifteen million people.''


    X


    2002, December 23: Unnamed, Ivory Coast


    News and refugees flooded into the western world. China built a "Second Great Wall," but it was too little, too late. The CUI military did their best to set up a cordon around construction workers, but the intentions of their leaders couldn''t be hidden from the people of Shanghai for long. Throw in food and water shortages, sewage buildup, and an exacerbated sense of claustrophobia in an already jam-packed metro area and violent riots were all but constant.


    That wasn''t even mentioning all the Simurgh victims who had already broken cordon and escaped into the rest of China, over a million by last estimate. Even if only a quarter of them acted out the Simurgh''s whims¡­


    "What a shitty way to be proven right," I cursed. The executives of Cauldron were gathered in our headquarters to talk about the aftermath of the Simurgh''s second attack. Every seat was filled save the one to Contessa''s right. This wasn''t the first such meeting, but that emptiness felt crushing now.


    "How many people did we lose?" Legend asked. He looked exhausted, emotionally drained and so utterly done with the year. We could all relate.


    The Number Man began to pass around his brief. "An estimated 2.6 million people died in the month since the incident, either directly as they encountered Simurgh bombs, or from the ripple effects of their actions. Within the city, an additional six million died despite Contessa''s best efforts. More than a dozen separate attempts have been made by former residents of Shanghai on the ruling members of Chinese society. About a third were successful, but I suspect success wasn''t the aim."


    And wasn''t that a kicker. I glanced at the second strongest thinker in the world. Gone was her typically immaculate appearance. There were noticeable bags under her eyes and her olive skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor. No, it wasn''t makeup; I''d checked.


    What rumors we could hear from within the city spoke of a "misty phantasm" who arrived with the chiming of bells and the smell of incense. It would spread that scented mist throughout the city, putting large swathes of people, hundreds of thousands at a time, to sleep no matter the resilience of the individual, then vanish just as quickly.


    Somewhere along the line, Contessa had done what none of us could: She''d learned to operate Hyunmu''s gear. Or maybe he''d taught her. Who knew with those two?


    The "misty phantasm" would show up to quell unrest, but even Contessa could only do so much. Shanghai was a big place, and whether because it had limited juice or she herself wasn''t using it to its full potential, she couldn''t cover that much ground. In the end, she could only minimize casualties. Sometimes, all she managed was to make their deaths quiet as people waited for her to pass and looted the newly vulnerable sectors.


    At the very least, none of us could say she wasn''t doing her best to live her Path.


    "It''ll get worse before it gets better," Alexandria said. "We''ve ensured that detailed records of the CUI''s blunder were leaked to every government and media outlet in the world. No one will ever take the Simurgh lightly again."


    "I saw," David grunted. "They''re calling it the ''Shattered Pearl.'' Fuck, those leeches need a cute name for every damn disaster."


    "They have their uses. An international summit has been called in New York to discuss countermeasures. At that time, we will create a shortlist of movers who can ferry rapid response capes across oceans and incentivization plans will be put into place to secure their cooperation. An international agreement to wall cities struck by the Simurgh will also be introduced alongside tinkertech designed for the purpose. A hard cap of thirty minutes will be implemented in all future battles."


    "And we''re going to strap bombs on everyone, right."


    "We are. There is no other way. If a cape does not leave the battlefield within the allotted time, they present too much of a risk."


    "That''s¡­ That''s fine," Legend lied to us all. "This will help us save more lives."


    The table fell silent at that. We were well aware that not a single one of these measures addressed the source of our woes. If the Simurgh''s goal was to force the world to recognize her as a threat, she succeeded. She''d been called the "weakest" endbringer, the "baby" of the group. No matter how prodigious, an eleven year old boy drove her off after all. She couldn''t possibly be as big a deal as the other two¡­


    Eventually, the meeting continued. The Number Man told us more about what we could expect from the CUI. It would be wracked by political unrest for at least a decade more. The propaganda video it had pushed so proudly was now a millstone around its neck as it drowned in public outcry. Already, their Minister of National Defense hanged himself in shame; he wasn''t alone.


    I tried to quash the sense of dark vindication that rose in my heart when I heard that. I failed. I didn''t pay much attention to the rest of the meeting; the ripple effects were beyond my scope anyway. I was a tinker, an inventor, so invent I would.


    Author''s Note


    Kind of a weak chapter in my opinion. Narratively, it''s something that needed to happen for the danger of the Simurgh to sink in, but I felt like the impact of the Simurgh''s first appearance wasn''t there this time (for obvious reasons).


    The CUI very much went for a "There is no war in Ba Sing Se," approach. Surprised? You really shouldn''t be.


    Pretty melancholy chapter so have a nice, heartwarming animal fact: Sea otters hold hands when they sleep so the ocean currents don''t separate them.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.9 Intermission

    Intermission 7.9


    Sujeong Kim


    2004, June 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I tucked my grocery bag under one arm and unlocked the door to my house, subtly giving the plainclothes PRT agent walking his dog nearby a respectful nod. I''d have to get him something nice, maybe a bowl of warm hobak-juk. Phoenix never got too cold in the daytime, but the nights could have some chill to them.


    The man was my next door neighbor, one of three houses on the block that I knew for certain had been bought out by the PRT on Director Lyons'' orders. It seemed excessive, but I could see the need for it.


    The first few months were the worst. Reporters stalked my house. I needed PRT escorts just to visit the grocery store. I stopped taking on jobs to play at events altogether because it became obvious many of them wanted to turn my attendance into an impromptu interview. I was grateful that there were no villains out to "make an example" of me. Was it because of the respect for the endbringer truce? Or because the Founders visited consistently over the first while? Or maybe there were and I simply never noticed because they were handled in the background by people far more competent than I?


    It was enough to make me wish I''d remained in Babylon.


    Almost. But I couldn''t, staying holed up in Yusung''s lab sounded too much like running away from the sacrifices my son made, from the people he fought for. It took me weeks to come to that conclusion. I lived in the lounge, and later in Yusung''s hospital room. An invisible cape called the Custodian brought in food and somehow kept the base tidy. A well-dressed woman named Fortuna came to visit regularly.


    At first, she was the bane of my existence. I hated her. I projected onto her every single failing of the PRT, both real and imagined. She was why my son felt the need to fight a new endbringer. She was why my son was in a coma.


    Fortuna took it all and said nothing in her defense, only ever offering me an apology and a watery smile. Then one day, she returned with a saxophone, mine, dug up from the ruins of our house. In her hands was a songbook that Andy had been learning from. A collection of romantic, twentieth century, and modern era composers designed for intermediate students.


    I broke. I wept as my fingers danced along familiar keys. I''d picked up the sax as an elective back when I was studying in Munich, something forgettable to get me through cramming for classical recitals with my violin. I never expected it to be what''d connect me to my son. Truth was, I never advanced much farther than intermediate with the sax. Everything I taught him, I had to review on my own before our lessons. It had been worth it to see my son smile again after losing his eyes.


    Hours and days whiled by as I played my sorrows away. I liked to think he could hear the melodies we used to play together, even if I knew that was a lie. I played until my fingers were bruised, until I had no more tears left to cry. Then, when Fortuna returned, I asked her, "Why?"


    Why Yusung?


    Fortuna told me. Oh, I knew she hid things from me, but she told me enough, probably more than she should. She told me about a great evil, someone determined to destroy not just the earth, but all earths. She told me about how unimaginably powerful he was, stronger than the Founders, stronger than the endbringers¡­


    She told me about how Cauldron was founded to combat them, and how my son had a power even more impressive than his creations: the power of foresight. She told me of how he predicted endbringers, how he wanted to expand the Worldstone Network to save people, how he wanted to make petricite an alternative to the Birdcage.


    How he knew of Cauldron''s existence before they''d ever approached him, how he knew the dangers of this path, perhaps even better than Fortuna did in some ways.


    I hated her then. I hated Yusung too. For not telling me. For leaving me alone. It felt like I''d lost Namjoon all over again. I''d carried on then because I had a son to raise. Yusung made the hardship of moving across the world and starting a new life worthwhile, and now he was gone too.


    I played and played, filling the facility with music to drown out the pain. I poured it all out into melodies I learned by heart. I played until my fingers ached and my voice became hoarse, until there was nothing for me to give, until I felt empty of it all.


    I wondered if I''d been a bad mother somehow, if I could have done better, been more involved. Would he have charged an endbringer alone then? Would he have told me the truth?


    No, nothing would have changed.


    It hurt, knowing he would have done the same anyway. Yusung was that kind of bullheaded boy. A sobbing laugh welled up involuntarily. He got it from Namjoon, that stupid, bullheaded man I fell in love with. I''d begged him to take an assignment on shore, to give his ship to another man. Let someone else be away from his family for weeks at a time.


    I flicked on the lights and busied my hands with putting away the groceries. It didn''t banish the memories, but the banality of the task settled my mind, if only just a little.


    "You know, it''s really not the same without Yusung''s biscuits," Fortuna commented, in perfect Korean of course, from the living room sofa. She placed the cookie jar back on the coffee table but nibbled on one yakgwa in her hand.


    She''d appeared as she always did, seemingly from thin air. Years later, it became a game of sorts between us; I''d try to notice her before she spoke and she''d come and go like a protective ghost. I won once or twice, though I was certain she let me spot her.


    "It really isn''t," I smiled wanly. "I took up baking, you know. I still can''t get any of the cakes quite right like he could."


    "He cheated with his power."


    "He did. Did you want to stay for dinner?"


    "What is it?"


    "As if you don''t already know."


    "I don''t, actually. I only know everything some of the time."


    "Nurungji with sides of grilled mackerel, mu-kimchi, and stir-fried spinach."


    "Perfect, I could do with something light," she said with a soft smile.


    "Do you have somewhere to be?"


    "I do. There are some people I want to speak to who are in different time zones."


    "Then catch a quick nap here before you go," I urged as I started to prepare the mackerel. "I''ll wake you when dinner''s ready."


    "I will. Thank you, Sujeong."


    I worked in silence as Fortuna spread herself out on my couch. I glanced back at the younger woman. She looked so peaceful like this, with her fedora tipped to just shadow her was a mystery, even now. She seemed so scarily competent one second and so vulnerable the next.


    I was grateful for her. I knew of course that she allowed me to mother her. She dropped by just to eat and talk sometimes, and sometimes for a nap like now. She was the one who introduced me to Penelope and the other Wards, Yusung''s old team, and convinced me to start holding individual music lessons.


    It was¡­ It was nice to have distractions.


    X


    2004, October 22: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I dipped a spoon into the galbi-jjim and tasted the sauce. It was perfect, savory and not too sweet. I''d left it simmering all day for this meal. It''d taken some cajoling, but Fortuna had been convinced to allow the Door, whatever tinkertech device that was, to open into my house for others once a month or so. I used it to make a meeting place where Yusung''s old friends could catch up face to face.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    The first to arrive was Raquel, the Masked Bandit and Wards Leader of Wards Team One. She didn''t actually need a Door, but insisted on it anyway because "mystery portals are awesome." She had unmasked to me with Director Lyons'' permission last year. After all, who was I going to talk to? What was one more secret? At this point, there was a decent chance I knew more about the underlying mechanisms of the PRT than a local director.


    I felt privileged to know her face anyway. It was a little different than the secrets of Cauldron and Babylon, more personal in a way. This wasn''t something Yusung knew but couldn''t tell me for my protection; this was a friend he cherished. She still wore the petricite amulet around her neck even though she''d long since learned to control her overactive power.


    Raquel was the only one of Yusung''s old team who remained in the city. At seventeen, she was among the most experienced Wards in the city, an honorary firefighter, and an expert in rescue operations. She''d quickly shed her cutesy persona, presenting a professional image before the public. She hadn''t grown any and still wore the silly raccoon tail and mask, but now only joked on camera to put civilians at ease. She''d developed a reputation as a reliable and personable heroine and an expert in her niche.


    "Mrs. Kim!" she squealed as she wrapped me up in a tight hug. "Hi! How was your day? Mine was super long. I swear, if I have to explain to that idiot Cactus Jack one more time how S&R is supposed to go, I''m going to kick his butt. Like, seriously, you can''t tell civilians their relative is lowest priority triage because we''re out of potions and he''s already bleeding out! How insensitive can you be?"


    I laughed and patted her back. Out of the public eye, she was as excitable as ever and I was grateful for it. She brought a bit of color to my life, a spot of randomness that made the house feel more lived-in.


    "Welcome, Raquel," I said. My English had improved a great deal thanks to conversing with her and Penelope.


    "Mmm! What''s that smell?"


    "Galbi-jjim, braised short ribs. I also made some japchae and fresh cucumber kimchi."


    "Awesome! You''re the best."


    The Door opened in my living room, admitting a familiar couple. The man was tall, with sandy-brown hair that always looked tousled by the wind no matter what he did to tame it. He wore an easygoing smile on a scruffy but handsome face, a look that was only marred by the fact that half his right ear was missing.


    The woman was similarly tall, with a svelte but well-muscled build and long, blonde hair she wore in a messy bun. Her blue eyes zeroed in on Raquel and me. She spread her arms wide and I felt an invisible pressure tug us towards her in a big hug. She''d really gotten the hang of her second trigger.


    "Hello, Mrs. Kim. Hey, Raq," she said softly.


    "Hey, Penny, David," Raquel mumbled. "How''s Albuquerque?"


    "Ugh, don''t call me Penny. It''s Penelope."


    "But Penny is so much easier to say."


    "It sounds too cutesy."


    "You let me call you Penny," David said with a chuckle.


    "Because otherwise you make up increasingly cheesy pet names," the boxer grumbled. "Anyway, Albuquerque''s great. Much quieter than Phoenix. I heard you and Oathkeeper took out a new gang trying to muscle in after the Crips."


    "Ugh, don''t remind me. They weren''t even going for a drug monopoly like normal gangsters. No, they had to try their hand at human trafficking. That was the only reason I got called in, so I could get hostages out. One of them didn''t make it."


    "You did good work, Raq," David said with a firm nod and a comforting pat on the shoulder.


    "Yeah, I guess. I got to see Oathkeeper go ballistic on them so that was nice. Pretty sure their brute''s okay¡­ Has a new phobia of samurais I bet."


    I smiled as the three heroes caught up. It was nice to let them meet up in person like this. I really only knew Raquel and Penelope, the latter after we got to talking when she visited Yusung''s hospital room, but they were my son''s friends. This connection they had, the relationships that no one seemed to fully appreciate until they were cut away, I didn''t want them to lose it. They''d always be welcome in my home.


    The Door opened a final time to admit Yasmine de la Rosa, Hat Trick and member of Protectorate Oakland, the last of their group. She was a young woman of nineteen, who looked like she could be Raquel''s older sister. After graduating, she applied to and was accepted to UC Berkeley.


    "Yo, what''s up, homies?" she yelled boisterously as she gave her friends a hug one by one.


    "Homies? People actually say that?" Penny asked, brow quirked in amusement.


    "They do in Oakland."


    "Are you still studying to be a paramedic?"


    "Yeah, shit''s hard. Like, I can cheat with the right hat, but it doesn''t feel right, you know? I wanna be able to help people without wearing a mask."


    "I feel that. I''m still trying to decide on what I want to study. Maybe forensics like Dave?"


    "Ehh, no offense, but I can''t see it," her fiance said with a carefree chuckle.


    "And what''s that supposed to mean?"


    "That you have no interest in biology or chemistry."


    "True¡­"


    "Don''t sweat, babe, you''ll figure it out."


    The four of them bickered and bantered like the old friends they were, mocking each other one moment and encouraging one another the next. It was heartwarming to watch, a glimpse of the relationships my son had.


    With them being scattered all over the United States, the Door was the only way for them to gather like this. In a way, I felt that keeping their friendship alive, even if just as a movie night once in a while, was something I could do for Yusung. He''d wake up one day and though they each went their separate ways to pursue their own ambitions, I wanted them to be available when he awoke.


    X


    2004, December 27: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    I sat at my kitchen table, reading over ongoing news reports, both domestic and international. I didn''t need to, but keeping abreast of current events made me feel a little closer to my son, to know all that he had fought for and influenced in his short time as a hero.


    Not everything was about him, but if I looked closely enough, I thought I could spy Cauldron''s hand working between the lines. It was hard to imagine that my son was part of a global conspiracy, but seeing the good they wrought in the world made waiting for him to wake just a tiny bit easier.


    The world had changed a great deal since Last Christmas. Just this year, a new tinker by the name of Dragon stepped onto the scene and joined the Guild. By Narwhal''s own admission, she completely revamped their logistics and intelligence branch, rooting out several international crime syndicates by following money trails no one else noticed. And unlike other heroes, she did it without ever making a public appearance. No one knew what she looked like or where she lived.


    When I asked Fortuna, she just gave me a jaunty smirk and said I ought to expect a great deal from the new tinker. That made her Cauldron, somehow; I just hoped the new security measures they were taking could keep her safe.


    The Guild grew in more than just personnel and powerful capes. Hero, Yusung''s old mentor, started to take on higher profile missions. Though he failed to contain the Ash Beast in Sudan in October, he did manage to drive the walking natural disaster away from civilian sectors. Dragon had since dedicated a drone to monitoring him through the Sahara with the help of some kind of solar-powered drone.


    In Europe a month later, Hero, Narwhal, and a select group of Guild and local heroes managed to prevent the assassination of the King of Spain, Juan Carlos I. In doing so, Hero destroyed one Blasphemy and did something that caused the other two to disintegrate along with their sister, hopefully ending the tinkertech threat once and for all.


    Fortuna wouldn''t explain why, but she had been extraordinarily happy that evening, happier than I''d ever seen her. The normally taciturn woman had even tried her own hand at baking. She was annoyingly good at it, though I suspected she was good at everything.


    I started as the doorbell rang. So few visitors actually used it that I knew right away who it was. If she was here, it meant I''d gotten lost in thought again and let the morning pass me by. On the other side was a young, Japanese girl of fourteen. She wore her chestnut hair in a high ponytail that suited her tank top and shorts. A black violin case was in one hand.


    "Hey, Mrs. K," Alice Nohara greeted as she stepped into the house. Behind her, I could see her bike parked in my driveway.


    "Hello, Alice," I greeted back. "Aren''t you cold? It''s December."


    "Yeah, but it''s also noon in Phoenix."


    "Children¡­ Fine, fine. Did you do your homework?"


    "Ehehe¡­ Yes¡­?" I raised my eyebrow in silent judgment. I set up my music stand and opened the book to what should have been her homework. All children were the same; if you stayed quiet, they''d fill the silence on their own. "I mean¡­ I kinda did it¡­"


    "How do you ''kinda'' play a music score?"


    "I had to help mom at the restaurant?"


    "If I call Shigure, will she tell me the same?"


    "No¡­" she looked down guiltily.


    I wasn''t too upset, she''d been making good progress and earnestly paid attention when I taught her. "Alright, you''re forgiven. Let''s go through this piece three times before moving on."


    "You won''t tell mom?"


    "No, I won''t, so long as you pay attention during the lesson," I promised her. "Really, I keep telling Shigure that music should be fun, not a chore."


    "Exactly! I like the violin, I do, it''s just¡­ life gets in the way a little bit."


    "That''s fine, Alice. You''re young. You''re allowed to get distracted sometimes. Just make a bit more effort?"


    "Okay, Mrs. K."


    "Good. Now, from the top."


    Author''s Note


    Short-ish chapter, but I felt like I couldn''t do an intermission arc without touching on Andy''s mom at all. She''s not terribly interesting so I ended up cramming a lot into one place. Hopefully it read fine.


    Hobak-juk is pumpkin porridge made commonly in Korea using danhobak, or kabocha squash in English. It''s got a dark-green rind and a vibrantly yellow flesh that is sweeter than other pumpkins. The porridge is very sweet, nutty, and velvety smooth, with some other spices that makes it straddle the line between a meal and dessert. It''s not my favorite if, but it does feel great in the cold.


    Fortuna''s social-fu is stupid. It''s also perfect for letting someone completely empty themselves, only for her to build them up again.


    Remember, way back in 2.9 when Shigure Nohara (Alice''s mom) expressed an interest in getting her daughter some violin lessons? No? Well, I do. It came with a mountain of salt because "Alice" is the fanon name for Bakuda.


    I''m going to preempt a question: Newfoundland, if it happens at all here, happens May 2005. It''s something Cauldron penciled into their calendar with the caveat that shit might be different.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 7.10 Intermission

    Preface


    This chapter covers Riley''s trigger. I''m opting to skip my usual timestamps from her POV because the whole event is chronologically a mess and takes place over weeks of torture that a six year old has no frame of reference for.


    Intermission 7.10


    Riley Grace Davis


    I cried.


    Daddy said good girls don''t cry, but daddy wasn''t here. Chuckles was here.


    Chuckles was a bad man, a bad clown. He didn''t talk, he never said anything, but he was bad. Mean. I didn''t know what word was worse than mean, but he was that.


    He was big and fat, with thick arms like Uncle Jimmy. He wore a red jacket with puffy white ruffles around his neck that had splotches of brown like he spilled ketchup. He smiled, big and wide with teeth like yellow stashi-shells. His white face turned so quickly that his red nose looked like a blur. A scary laugh came out and the sound made me feel cold.


    In his hands was Milo. Dad got Ollie and me a puppy last month. Daddy called him a poodle. He said I was a big girl now and I could help Ollie care for Milo but I knew Milo liked me best, even if we were too nice to tell Ollie. Chuckles the Bad Clown held Milo in his hands and Milo shook because he was scared.


    I looked at them with dry eyes. I cried. I called him names. I said please. I hit him. I tried to bite the bad clown. But he didn''t stop. He never stopped because he was bad. I couldn''t cry anymore. I had to play the game Mr. Jack showed me. I reached into the first-aid box mommy kept in case I tripped and scraped my knees. I pulled out a roll of white so I could play doctor with the bad clown.


    But Chuckles shook his head. He instead pulled out daddy''s fishing rod. Daddy said he''d show Ollie how to catch big fishies so mommy could make tasty fish fingers for us.


    Chuckles didn''t use it right.


    He wrapped the string around Milo''s neck and threw Milo into the pool.


    "No!" I cried. I jumped in after him. Milo was a good boy. He didn''t deserve to hurt.


    I grabbed the string and pulled, yanking him out. He was small; his fluffy fur stuck to him and made him look smaller.


    He shivered and so did I. There were bandages I''d wrapped around him before but they were turning brown now.


    "No," I whispered. I cried again. I put him on the ground and tried to kiss him. I loved Milo and it worked for Snow White. Daddy said it worked when people drank too much water if I pressed their tummy at the same time. "Nonononono, Milo¡­"


    I pressed and kissed and blew into his mouth. Behind me was the laughter. The clown laughed and giggled and I hated him so much. He hurt Milo. His friends hurt Ollie and daddy and mommy.


    I tried to help Milo. I kissed him and he stopped shaking. I thought that was good. He wasn''t cold anymore.


    I kissed him and pressed and felt something pop and I cried because I knew I did something bad.


    Milo cried and growled quietly and I knew it was because he was hurt and he was a good boy.


    I tried. I tried so hard. I tried and tried but I couldn''t help Milo. I didn''t know why it wasn''t working. I loved Milo. I kissed him. He needed to get better or the bad man would win.


    I pressed and kissed and blew and listened to the bad man laughing as he watched.


    And Milo became cold.


    X


    I kept playing doctor with the bad people. Doctors helped people and I was a good girl so I had to help daddy and mommy and Ollie. They put daddy and mommy and Ollie in different rooms of the house and hurt them. I had to see what was wrong and make them better. Mr. Jack showed me how to use al-kol to clean cuts before wrapping them in bandages. He then cut mommy.


    "For practice," he said. He smiled and he had a silly beard like a goat. I called him a bad man but he smiled wider and cut mommy more so I didn''t tell him that anymore.


    Two people watched Ollie. One was a woman like mommy but with no hair on half her head. She said she was Screamer. Everything got loud when she was around. She made Ollie yell so loud. It hurt my ears but she laughed and said it made her feel alive. The other was a man who had brown hair and brown eyes and was shorter than daddy. He was gross. He made nasty bugs come out of his mouth.


    The bugs were bad. They hurt Ollie. The bad man let his bugs eat Ollie and I had to play doctor to make him all better. But I was running out of things from the first-aid box.


    At first, Ollie moved too much. He screamed and it hurt my ears and made me cry and I couldn''t pour the clear stuff to clean him. He made me splash so much. Ollie was dumb but he hurt and he was my big brother so I had to make him feel better because I was a good girl and I was playing doctor.


    But now he didn''t do anything. He didn''t say anything when the gross man''s gross bugs ate him little by little. I could clean him and wrap him easier now.


    That just made me more afraid. It hurt. I knew. He was going away too. I was running out of bandages. I was so happy I could spell bandages for mommy. Mommy was a nurse and helped people with bandages. I had to be good like mommy and help Ollie but I was running out.


    If he didn''t make me spill and waste them then maybe he''d be here longer.


    But I was also running out of Ollie. No more fingers and toes. No more arms or legs. Knees or elbows. Little by little, the gross man''s gross bugs nibbled at Ollie. They were like hamsters with almonds. Mommy said making bad things seem not so bad was called op-timey-sim. She said it could help me feel better.


    I didn''t feel better.


    I was running out of Ollie to wrap up. He cried and moaned and the bad lady made it sound so loud. I wanted to make him feel better because he was stupid but he was still Ollie.


    And then he was gone too.


    Just like Milo.


    "Stupid Ollie," I whispered as I wrapped him over and over again.


    X


    It was cold in daddy''s room. There was a tall lady with white hair and a big, muscly man with red skin. They didn''t tie daddy down like the gross man did with Ollie.


    A knife fell to the floor with a loud clang. Daddy looked down at his feet. He didn''t have a shirt anymore and there were lots of bandages wrapped around him. Spots of brown covered the white but I didn''t have any more to fix him with. A striped lady got me more yesterday but I was out already. I didn''t want to play doctor anymore.


    He lost his glasses too, and there were lots of purple spots I couldn''t cover. His eyebrows were big and puffy and I couldn''t see one of daddy''s eyes anymore. He looked scary and sad and I didn''t know how to make him better.


    "Pick it up," the red man said. He was smiling but it was too big. He had so many teeth. It felt wrong because he was hurting daddy. "Pick up the knife. If you kill me, you can go save your wife, you know? Hahaha!"


    Next to him, the white-haired woman rolled her eyes. The air felt colder in the room. It was hard to move my fingers when she was next to me. She held me by the shoulder and kept me from going to daddy. I didn''t cry though. That just made the tears freeze and my cheeks hurt. She would let me go to daddy when the red man was done being mean. She always did, because that was what Mr. Jack said doctors did and we were playing doctor.


    "Don''t you want to save your daughter?" she said. Her voice was soft. It didn''t belong on the mean lady. "You kill Crimson and you can be the big damn hero."


    Daddy looked down at the knife between his feet. He looked back up at the mean people and then at me. The room became colder and daddy''s body shook as he knelt. His hands shook as his fingers closed over the handle.


    The red man spread his arms a big, scary smile. "Come on, stab me! You might actually kill me this time."


    I didn''t want to watch. The big man did this every time it was his turn to play with me. He made daddy fight and daddy always lost. And then he cut daddy and drank his blood and all of his cuts would be better while daddy''s got worse.


    But this time it was different. This time, daddy''s eye was the same as Ollie''s. I saw and knew daddy would be leaving too.


    He looked at me and his face was empty. He didn''t smile anymore. He saw me and I saw daddy cry again.


    Daddy remembered me; maybe he wouldn''t leave.


    And then he turned the knife and pressed it into his neck. There was so much red. The blood pooled, flowing too fast for even the white-haired lady''s cold to slow down.


    Daddy looked at me and mouthed, "I''m sorry."


    "No, I¡­" Daddy¡­ He left too¡­ I couldn''t¡­ I didn''t understand.


    Why? Why was everyone leaving me? Why were the bad men in our house? Why couldn''t I save people? If I had more bandages, if I had more al-kol, could I have fixed them? There were other things in the first-aid box. Mr. Jack didn''t teach me how. If I knew more, maybe I would be better at playing doctor. Maybe I could save people like mommy.


    Maybe they wouldn''t have to go away¡­


    I didn''t understand¡­


    I didn''t want to be alone¡­


    "Please, come back¡­"


    [Destination]


    [Trajectory]


    [Agreement]


    X


    Fortuna


    2005, January 16: Boise, ID, USA


    I took a sip of Yusung''s aptly named Elixir of Sorcery. I''d developed a mild fondness for this stuff, and not strictly for the power it granted me. It tasted like blueberries going down, albeit with a mysterious aftertaste that was simultaneously familiar yet foreign.


    The Slaughterhouse had always been troublesome to predict, even for me, and it wasn''t until Yusung explained the mechanisms behind Jack''s Broadcast that I understood why. Broadcast, the Shard that acted as Scion''s primary communication hub, did its best to keep Jack alive by informing him of incoming danger orchestrated by parahumans. It was a strictly defensive ability, but one that made him a wildcard to go up against.


    Jack could not speak to Broadcast of course, but his Shard''s influence manifested as "good instincts" on Jack''s part or "poor luck" on the part of his attackers. Yusung said that in extreme cases, parahuman powers would subtly malfunction in order to keep Jack alive. It allowed him to win against most parahumans and instinctively avoid battles with those he couldn''t triumph over.


    That explained why attempts by thinkers to act against him failed, and how he could keep his band of murderous fools in line. I had yet to act directly against him, but all evidence suggested even the Path to Victory was not exempt from this.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    If Broadcast was hellbent on ensuring Jack''s survival by effectively acting as the world''s most inconvenient tattletale, it stood to reason that the best way to kill him was to enact an alpha strike that he could not avoid nor defend against without relying on my own Shard.


    Tricky, but doable.


    The Path had cleared in Boise as Riley''s connection to her Shard established itself. Jack had outlived his usefulness; he would die tonight.


    I spun the Dream Blossom Censer in hand; the staff was a familiar weight by now. Its royal-blue petals spun through the air as a haunting mist began to fill the Idaho morning. The fragrance of flowers that did not exist on this earth filled my nostrils as the magic took hold, fruity yet potent, enticing yet inscrutable.


    I''d chosen the hour specifically to coincide with the rising sun. Fog wasn''t too common in the Boise Valley area, but there were an estimated twenty such days per year, particularly during the winter months. It wasn''t unusual for moisture to rise from the river and blanket the city before the noon sun cleared the skies.


    I smiled faintly as the magical mist traversed through all obstacles. Even if he started running now, it was too late. I knew from experience in Ellisburg and Shanghai that so long as you were in the area, there was no escaping it, even the slightest trail of vapor would be enough to lull you into a magically enforced sleep. The only way to avoid the enchantment was to either be the one wielding the censer, or avoid the mist altogether.


    I stepped into the Davis family home. It was a quaint if well-furnished affair, Isaac "Call me Ike" Davis inherited the house from his grandfather, and though there were several touch-ups throughout the decades, the house looked more or less as it did when it was first built. There were two stories, a single-car garage, and a small pool in the backyard.


    Out on the lawn, as big as a truck, was Crawler, napping like the world''s most hideous guard dog. Yusung said he''d get much bigger as he adapted and grew, but he''d die like the rest if his corona was destroyed. I did not know where it was, only that it wasn''t in the brain as was typical of most capes. No matter, I''d come back for him; I just needed him out of the way for the moment.


    Next to him was Hatchet Face, a hulking brute of a man with a power nullification aura. He was otherwise a fairly standard strongman type, easy to deal with so long as I was prepared.


    Either cape would have been formidable under normal circumstances, but Yusung and I were involved; "normal" never quite applied where we were concerned. I gave them only a second''s glance and strolled past into the house proper.


    It was amazing how welcoming it all looked. There was a large, hickory coffee table that Ike''s father built for his final year of high school woodshop. A family picture hung on the mantle, taken just days after Riley''s birth. The infant''s blonde locks had been darker then. Jack had left the majority of the house untouched and I wondered if this was Broadcast''s doing or his own, twisted understanding of psychology.


    It had been clear from Jack''s previous actions as well as Yusung''s records that he was no fool. He meticulously studied parahuman science and trigger theory, at least as best as he could while living a nomadic lifestyle. He conducted inhumane experiments, repeatedly bringing people to their breaking points to see if he could manually induce a trigger event. I didn''t know if his curiosity was triggered by Manton''s own studies or if they simply enabled the other, but the two made for a frustrating pair.


    It was all hilariously, unsustainably dangerous of course, not even I would willingly put myself in the line of fire of a fresh trigger, but Broadcast made it all possible. I thought about what would be waiting for me as I walked through the house.


    The family had built up a fair amount of miscellaneous surplus over the generations. Though I couldn''t call the place messy, there was a feeling of crowdedness that made the place feel more lived in somehow.


    I peeked into the backyard briefly. There, slumped over a pool chair, was Chuckles the clown. The brute-mover was sawing logs and wore a contented smile on his face. At his feet was the broken body of Milo, the family poodle. I saw the dented torso, imprints made by tiny hands into ruffled fur as Riley desperately tried to perform a procedure she couldn''t possibly know, and felt an oppressive urge to wake the clown so I could have the pleasure of making him scream.


    My mana, a tiny drop compared to my young friend, flared and the scent of flowers brought me back. Three years ago, the sight would not have phased me in the slightest. But without the Path active, I found myself wrestling with my wrath. It was times like these I remembered, for all his influence on Cauldron, I felt his hand more than any of my colleagues.


    He''d¡­ He''d humanized me, reminded me to be Fortuna on occasion, for better and for worse. On occasion, he taught me that Fortuna had a strength Contessa lacked.


    I swallowed thickly and shot Chuckles a final glare before continuing my search for Jack. I skipped over the rooms with Ollie and Ike in it, I''d be back later, and beelined for the master bedroom.


    Jack and Riley were alone, the Siberian nowhere to be found. Yusung mentioned once that in the alternate future, when Skitter stung Manton''s eyes, the projection of his daughter flickered. For all its power, the projection required a significant amount of focus on the part of its creator. He was almost certainly nearby; it was time I tied up that particular loose end. But first, extraction.


    I gave Riley a quick once-over.


    The young girl looked peaceful lying there. She was slumped over on her side, her hands clasped in a literal death grip over her mother''s.


    Bianca Davis was dead, and only recently by the look of things. Her stomach was torn open in a perfectly clean cut, her blood replaced by some sort of green fluid that had been hooked up to a jury-rigged pump made from a hand vacuum. Countless lacerations littered her body, some crude, others clean. I could easily tell the difference between Jack and Riley''s workmanship.


    I gazed into the mother''s eyes. They were beginning to glaze over but I thought I could spy a hint of warmth there, frozen in one final smile to encourage her daughter.


    "Be a good girl."


    Emotions rose up unbidden and I felt my chest tighten. Was I a good girl? Did Cauldron''s ultimate ambition absolve me of my sins? Was there a time when my own mother told me these words? I didn''t know; I didn''t remember. That ship sailed the moment I met Eva.


    I shook my head and looked once more into the dead woman''s eyes. I''d allowed this. All of this. Across not just Boise but every city in the United States that the Slaughterhouse deigned to visit. I could have stopped them at any time, could have given Hero the greenlight, especially after Yusung joined us. After we knew about Broadcast, arranging for Jack''s death was as simple as what I was doing now.


    I looked at Riley one more time. She was adorable, and the contrast made bile rise into my throat. Had I not known better, I would never have named her as the most gifted biotinker in the world.


    Gently, I gathered her into my arms. She instinctively sought out my body heat and leaned into my breast. I felt cold, knowing how little I deserved her affections.


    She was it. She was the reason I''d allowed Jack to live this long. She was the reason I''d allowed her family to undergo unspeakable torture. I''d overruled Andy and Eugene. I''d weighed the power of Bonesaw against thousands of lives, and decided her inclusion mattered more.


    "I hope you''re worth it, Riley," I whispered into her ear. "Door, Riley''s room."


    I stepped inside the room prepared for her in advance. It was a child''s playroom in full, rubber floors and all. I tucked her into the plush bed and walked back out.


    I reached for the holster on my hip. My fingers closed around a walnut handle, finely crafted to fit the swell of my palms comfortably. I drew the seven inch blade and watched it gleam as it caught the morning light. Its pearlescent-white sheen was a hue only seen on one alloy in the world: petricite.


    The blade whirled as I spun it in my fingers. Yusung had named it Sobriety, in direct opposition to Tequila, the first person he ever killed, the first he ever loved. It was a blade proven to disrupt master powers, in case he woke up, and, if I allowed myself to be honest, there was a certain poetry in ending Jack with this blade in particular.


    I thrust from below the neck, plunging my blade upwards through his chin and into his brainstem. His eyes fluttered open from the sudden shock, but he could only manage a few strangled gurgles as his lifeblood pooled onto the carpet of the master bedroom.


    His death was anticlimactic for someone who could have kickstarted the apocalypse. It was far too painless and I found myself wishing I had the opportunity to express my displeasure more plainly. And yet, I promised: No chances. No gaps for Broadcast to pull its strings. He was too dangerous to keep alive, no matter how satisfying that would have been.


    Maybe, if this were a novel, he would have made a break for it, perhaps set up some grand battle, but I refused to let that happen. I refused to allow him a single moment of grandstanding more than I needed to. The Path must be followed, but this, in this singular day when I''d paused the Path, this was one kill I could be proud of.


    With Jack dead and Broadcast offline, I allowed the Path to reinstate itself.


    I walked from room to room, quietly murdering every one of the Slaughterhouse. Crimson had long since reverted back to his base form and though he was a minor brute even now, that didn''t stop me from jamming Sobriety up through his mouth and stirring it like a straw.. Breed''s larvae gave me some trouble, but the insectoid creatures were organic and fell asleep all the same.


    Winter and Screamer died without a sound, lacking brute packages to inconvenience me. Chuckles was only a brute in his torso, his head and legs having mover powers, as if Shards couldn''t get bizarre enough. Manton, I found passed out in Ike''s home office, an empty whiskey bottle lying on the ground.


    I killed and killed until only Crawler and Hatchet Face were left. I then called on a set of Wrenchbots, robots made by Yusung to run his lab in his absence, and had them ferry the nullifier into an isolated holding chamber. Whatever name Riley chose in this timeline, I had no doubt she''d delight in the chance to study his particular shaker effect. A single fascinating research specimen couldn''t make up for what I owed her, but perhaps it''d start as a "sorry."


    Then, when I had nothing left to do, I returned to Riley''s room and gave my colleagues the greenlight to clean up Crawler. He wasn''t valuable enough to keep around, even if his adaptive regeneration was interesting.


    By noon, Legend and Eidolon had leveled the area within eight city blocks, giving false indication of some grand battle that had not taken place.


    The Slaughterhouse was no more.


    X


    2005, April 9: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    It took a little less than three months before I felt comfortable bringing Riley to Sujeong. The Slug had gone over young Riley''s memories with a fine-toothed comb, adjusting them to mute her trauma as best he could. She remembered the events following Jack''s arrival, albeit as if in a thick, hazy dream.


    It was about the least objectionable thing I''d done this year. A six year old shouldn''t have to remember her entire family being tortured and murdered, even I could agree with that. Ameliorating the effects of her trigger was as best as I could do without changing her fundamentally, something I knew Yusung and his mother would have problems with.


    I led Riley by the hand, through a Door and into Phoenix proper. The world''s littlest tinker was now dressed in different shades of pastel blues, with a soft, green ribbon that framed and accented her doll-like face.


    "Woah, it''s hot, Miss Fortuna," she gasped as she walked out into the Phoenix sun. April was the middle of spring, but Phoenix didn''t know anything about that. It was a toasty eighty-six degrees out, with not a cloud in sight.


    "It is. Come along, Riley. Let''s go meet your new mommy."


    "Will¡­ Will she like me?" she asked, a bundle of nerves now that she was outside the Kim family house.


    That, was honestly a fair question.


    Getting the adoption papers ready was a simple affair. It didn''t even require anything illegal on my end. Behind the scenes, everyone could agree that a six year old girl who triggered from the Slaughterhouse deserved the best possible care. She deserved a guardian who would love her, cherish her, and nurture her abilities.


    Lo and behold, there weren''t many empty-nesters with experience raising a tinker, especially not a young, precocious tinker with an extremely versatile specialization that could put most heroes to shame. Funny, but the mother of the tinker who''d upended the medical industry when he was eight just so happened to have room in her house; what a coincidence.


    With Sujeong, she would be loved, protected, and when Yusung came back, mentored. And, with Yusung''s old team visiting on the regular, Riley wouldn''t lack for strong and morally upright female role models. There really was no one better to care for Riley.


    Getting Sujeong to accept Riley into her care however, that was a challenge. She didn''t not want Riley per se. Rather, she clung to the foolish notion that she was somehow guilty for Yusung''s state, that her actions or inactions had somehow led to him playing the world''s most outrageous game of chicken against a fresh endbringer.


    She didn''t feel worthy of caring for anyone else.


    I suppressed a sigh; RIley would interpret it as me being upset with her. It took a while but I finally coached Sujeong into accepting that things weren''t her fault. Slowly, first with the music lessons, then by allowing myself to be talked into arranging get-togethers for the former Phoenix Wards. Healing the mind was the work of years, and in some ways the most challenging thing I''d done.


    "She''ll love you," I promised Riley with an earnest smile. I''d make sure of it.


    ''They''ll be good for each other,'' I thought as I led Riley up the steps. A girl who desperately needed love, needed to be told she didn''t always need to be a "good girl." A mother who longed to care but found herself trapped in the memories of the past. They''d require work, constant oversight and nudging, both overt and subtle, but they could be good for each other.


    Maybe they weren''t the perfect puzzle pieces to slot together, but as always, Cauldron would have to work with what we had.


    "Ready?" I asked Riley.


    "Uh-huh. Ready."


    Author''s Note


    This closes out Intermission. I suppose I could have glossed over Riley''s trigger, but I wanted to challenge myself, both because it''s so much darker than what I normally write and because Riley offers a unique perspective.


    Writing from a six year old''s perspective is hard. Children obviously don''t have a big vocabulary. They also typically notice details but ascribe different meanings, get distracted, or hyper-fixate on things and seem repetitive. I hope I managed to convey that well enough.


    I don''t know where the Davis family is originally from, dunno if that was ever clarified by Wildbow. Doesn''t actually matter so I picked a friend''s hometown (Sorry, Kat).


    I also took a guess at the list of S9 members. Shatterbird and Mannequin don''t exist so I filled in the blanks with old members whose times of death are unclear in canon.


    Riley actually triggered before her mom died. She used her power to keep her mom alive until her mom eventually gave up on life and told her, "Be a good girl." I forget if this caused her second trigger in canon, but it''d explain how overpowered she is.


    Fortuna''s comment about the Siberian is referring to 14.7, when Skitter, Legend, and others found Manton. Lisa posits in another scene that Manton''s range is miles, but remains close by, possibly for better control and responsiveness from the projection. So no, despite a lot of fanon, the Siberian shouldn''t exist without conscious input from Manton.


    On another note, did Fortuna social-fu Sujeong into building a healthy home that is tangentially connected to Cauldron for the purpose of raising Riley in a child-friendly environment?


    You can''t prove anything.


    The initial plan was to have Andy wake up and then immediately kill off the S9, but the more I thought about it, the less it appealed to me. Thoughts about that are complicated, but the gist is that I think either the S9 deserve a full villain arc, or they shouldn''t even be in the story. Having them Contessa''d is my compromise in that sense.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.1 Respite

    Respite 8.1


    2005, July 2: Cauldron, Ivory Coast, Africa


    I couldn''t afford to put it off any longer. I woke up yesterday but had the Custodian refrain from informing anyone. I wanted to take a day to collect myself. It only felt like a moment ago that I invoked Lamb''s Respite, pausing the literal concept of death for the entire world for just a few seconds. Those few seconds had cost me, the deathly mana coursing through my veins taxing my body in ways I just wasn''t equipped to handle.


    I found out that I''d been out for three and a half years. My body had grown, and though the potions kept me healthy and hale, I couldn''t help but feel a bit like a stranger in my own body. I wasn''t too much taller, five-two or three compared to my previous height of four-eight, but it was still jarring.


    However, I couldn''t afford to sit idle. I''d missed too much. The first thing I did was read the files on the laptop by my nightstand, no doubt Fortuna''s work. It contained a brief summary of everything I''d slept through, from endbringer attacks and global crises to the expansion of the Guild and the rise of new S-class threats in China.


    More importantly, it contained details about the milestones in the lives of my friends and family: David and Penelope were married with a kid on the way; they were the new power couple in Albuquerque. Steven and Hassana had a daughter, Chioma Kajiya, named for her maternal grandmother. Colin moved up to Brockton Bay and recently took over leadership from Paladin. Eugene led the Guild.


    Yasmine was in Oakland and had made a friend who was a part of the local Elite chapter there, though whether she knew that was another matter. I''d have to follow up on that. I wasn''t sure who was the head of that chapter, but it couldn''t hurt to pay them a visit.


    Which only left Raquel from my original team. She graduated from the Wards this June and was making waves before that, helping to take down a human trafficking ring in the area. I heard about her PHO handle and found it hilarious.


    But the biggest change, the one that made me hesitate, was Riley Grace Davis, now Davis-Kim technically. I''d missed her trigger, and Fortuna subsequently going to town on Jack and his merry band of psychopaths shortly after. She''d used the Slug to mute Riley''s traumas and shaped her into a functioning child before convincing mom to adopt her.


    I had a little sister.


    I had a little sister.


    I wasn''t sure how to feel about that.


    No, no matter my thoughts, I really couldn''t put this off. I got up and called for a Door to Phoenix. It was Saturday morning, which probably meant they''d all be home. I found myself some casual wear courtesy of the Custodian and took the long way around, wandering through the neighborhood as I thought about what I wanted to say.


    What could I say? I was gone for three years. "Hi, I''m back?" In what world was that enough?


    My heart pounded in my chest. Somehow, as cliche as it was, my body was trembling even more than when I''d chased the Simurgh into the sky. Living in a superhero world, I could usually just stab my problems. A problem I couldn''t punch through was a bit more nerve-wracking.


    ''You fought with power that was not yours, pup,'' Wolyo growled, an echo that rang through my soul.


    ''Yeah, I''ve got some growing to do,'' I admitted. As much as it stung, Wolyo was right. Even before invoking the Lamb''s Respite, I felt the stress the Mask put on my young body, like a balloon pumped to bursting. Eventually, when my body could handle no more, the Mask faded back into the altar in my soul.


    ''In time,'' Farya soothed, ''one battle at a time, little flame.''


    ''Thanks, Farya.''


    Too soon, I stood at my mother''s doorstep. Her door was as nondescript as could be, a screen door coupled with a flimsy little thing of eggshell-white. My eyes saw the hidden, tinkertech security measures embedded into the walls, but it was otherwise a humble place. I''d read that she got harassed by paparazzi and whatnot early on but Director Lyons made sure she wouldn''t be bothered. I''d have to thank her personally for that.


    I took a deep breath. I could see mom inside. She was in the master bedroom, seated on her bed and brushing a little, blonde girl''s hair. Riley, presumably. My new sister was¡­ adorable. Then again, she was six; that came with the territory. Mom was nodding indulgently as Riley babbled about something I couldn''t hear. She had a picture book about dinosaurs on her lap and I wondered if I''d be seeing any additions to Babylon in the near future.


    I rang the doorbell. It sounded oppressively loud to my ears. There was a certain finality about it. I was committed now, no putting this off. I watched Riley dash down the stairs to the door.


    She knocked back and said with a serious expression. "Knock knock."


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    I rolled my eyes but decided to play along. "Who''s there?"


    "I don''t know, I should be asking you that."


    "I don''t know, I should be asking you that, who?"


    "If I knew, I''d open the door but mommy said I shouldn''t talk to strangers. Oh well, bye bye, Mr. I don''t know, I should be asking you that, who~~"


    "Hey, wait a minute," I called as she started to skip back upstairs. I''d just been had by a six year old. "I''m your brother!"


    "Lame! Mommy says Andy oppa is asleep," she said with a frown. "Mommy doesn''t like talking about him because he makes her sad. He''s a bad boy."


    I winced at the pang of guilt that shot through my chest. "Yes, yes he is," I agreed, "but he''s awake now."


    "Liar, liar, pants on fire. When oppa wakes up, he''s going to beat you up. He''s super strong."


    "I would if someone pretended to be me, but I can''t because I am me."


    "Prove it."


    "Okay¡­" I thought about something I could tell her¡­ that wasn''t her trigger¡­ "How about this? Fortuna is my good friend."


    "Yeah? You know Miss Fortuna?" she asked, excited now.


    "Of course. I can make a Door, just like her. Do you know what a Door is?" I didn''t want to just make one into the living room for fear of scaring her. "Has Fortuna shown you Doors?"


    "Uh-huh! She says everyone at Cauldron can make Doors and I''ll be able to one day too!"


    "Well, if I can make a Door, that''ll prove I''m Andy, right?"


    "But¡­ Nu-uh, only that you''re from Cauldron."


    "I am from Cauldron."


    "Prove it."


    "Okay, watch. Door, my living room."


    Sure enough, a familiar portal connected the house''s doorstep with the living room carpet. I pulled off my shoes and walked on through. There, Riley got her first look at me. She looked even smaller now that we were face to face.


    She let out a little gasp and promptly hid behind the couch. I shrugged and put my shoes on a little shelf set aside for the purpose.


    "Riley, what are you doing?" I asked curiously. "You know I can see you anyway, right?"


    "Nuh-uh, only Andy can do that. Mommy says he can see through walls."


    "Yup, that''s because I have special eyes I made out of True Ice."


    "W-Well, how many fingers am I holding up?" she said stubbornly. Behind the couch, she had two fingers in one hand and four in the other.


    "Your left or right hand?"


    "Left."


    "Four."


    "No¡­"


    "And two now. You switched."


    "I didn''t¡­"


    "Riley, are you lying?''


    "... Are you really my big brother?" she asked shyly.


    "Yup, why? Is that bad?"


    I took a seat on the couch, and reached out to ruffle Riley''s hair. Then we heard mom''s footsteps on the stairs. "Riley, who was that? Did you scare them away again?"


    I froze. This was it. I got swept up in humoring a child and forgot my nerves, but the butterflies returned with a vengeance. Mom came down and froze as she caught sight of me.


    "H-Hey, mom, I''m home," I said with a shaky smile.


    "You!" The next moment, my own shoe was flying at my head. I grunted in discomfort more than pain.


    And then I was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. She held me tight, like her life depended on it, as if I''d vanish into thin air if she dared let go for a second. I felt her body tremble and warm tears wet my cheek. She was still slightly taller than me, but she felt so fragile like this.


    The dam broke. Everything she held back, all the feelings she''d stamped down on for the sake of being "Hyunmu''s mother," she let it all out. She wailed as I held her. She shook like a leaf in the wind and I felt as if she''d shatter at any moment.


    I hugged her fiercely. "I''m home, mom."


    "You''re home," she said with a watery smile. "You''re home."


    ''I am."


    "You¡­ I thought¡­ No, I knew you would wake up."


    "Of course, I''m your son."


    "You''re home¡­"


    "I am."


    She held my face in her hands and looked deep into my eyes, the blue crystals I''d carved for myself, as clear a proof as any that I was who I claimed to be. "This isn''t a dream."


    "It''s not."


    "You''re really home," she whispered, slowly internalizing my return. It wasn''t easy for her, even before I left. Dad died in Busan and mom called in every favor she could to move us across the world, away from the sea.


    I became a hero. I met people, friends and mentors I cherished. I built miracles and changed the world. I thrived in the States. She¡­ didn''t. She had no friends here. She barely spoke the language. She left behind everything. What little she built for herself, she did so around me, catering to my needs, my wants, even moving back to the coast in DC to allow me to grow. For the past several years, it wasn''t an exaggeration to say she lived for me.


    And I''d left. Faced down an endbringer to be the big damn hero, only to leave her behind. Just like dad.


    In that moment, I felt just how fragile a mother''s love could be.


    "Welcome home, son," she whispered into my ear.


    "It''s good to be home, mom."


    I grabbed Riley and yanked her into a family hug. She let out a cute eep but settled between mom and me. Truthfully, it was a little hard to think of her as "my sister," but I had to make the effort. I owed it to both her and mom to try. She looked thoroughly baffled, the complex wave of grief, relief, and delirious, tear-jerking joy a bit much for her to understand at her age.


    There was much to do. I had a little sister to teach. I had so much to build. There were people I needed to check in with, people I had to thank. Then there were people who needed Isolde crammed up their asses, the bird bitch up top included. The PRT would probably make a huge deal of my return; I saw countless PR events in my future. Everything from Babylon to David''s therapy sessions, it all needed a more thorough examination than I could manage in a single day of review.


    But all of that could wait. Here and now, there was nowhere else I''d rather be.


    I was home.


    Author''s Note


    Super short chapter. I don''t think I''ve written one this short since the early days of this story, but maybe that''s appropriate. It''s a good stopping point and I didn''t want to artificially bloat the chapter''s word count.


    I wrote 3k words on Andy reading reports in bed but there''s a 10 chapter arc about what happened in the interim so let''s skip that.


    I hope I got the childishness and emotional turmoil right. I think I''m getting better, but it''s still the weakest part of my writing I think.


    Animal fact? Sure, have a cute one, though I don''t know if I used it before: Rats are ticklish.


    Turns out, rats groom and tickle each other during play. If you use a device keyed to high frequencies, e.g. for detecting bat sonar, you can actually hear them laughing. Humans can tickle them too and lab rats will actively play with their handlers.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.2 Respite

    Respite 8.2


    2005, July 6: Cauldron, Ivory Coast, Africa


    "What''s the rush?" Eidolon asked as he stepped into our meeting room. "I had plans today."


    My chair, a large, leather thing that threatened to swallow me whole even with my newfound teenage height, had been turned so the back faced the room. I''d have loved to have a white cat on my lap so I could do the full Bond villain schtick, but alas, pets weren''t allowed at the Kim household. I''d have to see if Riley could change mom''s policy.


    Fortuna, not quite in Contessa-mode, lounged beside me like a big cat herself. Her trademark fedora was skewed to the left, partially depressing her bangs so they better shadowed one eye, giving her an air of mystery.


    "Oh? Is coaching little league baseball more important than a Cauldron executives meeting?" she asked with a coquettish smile.


    That almost made me blow my cover. Eidolon? Coaching little league? Either the man finally discovered a hobby or he was being punished for some reason. And what a cruel punishment, to subject those poor children to the workaholic mess that was David Stabler.


    "No, but we do have a game this Saturday. It''s a commitment I made; I should be there."


    "You can admit you enjoy it, you know," Legend said with a chuckle as he floated in, Hero at his side. "I hear the Starships are doing well."


    "They''re alright. What''s this about?"


    "Not a clue. Contessa? Good news or bad?"


    "Are surprise meetings ever about good news?" Eidolon huffed.


    Hero took a seat and looked around. "Alex isn''t here so¡­ Birthday party?"


    "Really?"


    "Hey, a man can hope."


    Just then, the woman in question flew in with the Number Man and Doctor Mother following behind. "Hyunmu is awake," she said succinctly. "And sitting right there."


    I swiveled the chair to face them, rolling my eyes. "You''re no fun, Becky. I had this whole Bond villain reveal planned."


    "Life is no fun. And then you die. Not me of course. I''ll be around to spoil your grandkids'' fun."


    "Truly Cauldron''s greatest sin, inflicting you on future generations," I drawled. Then more brightly, "Hey all, had a nice nap. What''d I miss? You know, besides a new baby sis."


    "Andy!" the room erupted into a frenzy. One moment, Hero was in his seat. The next, he was in front of me, patting me down and running a dozen different scans.


    I let him have this. "I''m fine. Really. For me, it feels like 2002 was only yesterday."


    "That''s not reassuring."


    "Yeah, well, I''m back and ready to get to work. I''ve been catching up on everything and wow, you guys have been busy. Seriously, bravo. You''ve accomplished a lot."


    "Not all of us were taking a snooze, princess," Hero teased. "Are you sure you shouldn''t take a week off? When did you wake up?"


    "Friday. And yes, I''m fine."


    "Today''s Wednesday, Andy. Take another week off. No, two."


    "Really, I''m fine," I repeated. I had a feeling I''d be doing that a lot over the next month or so. "I made all the best meds in the world, remember? I gave myself a checkup."


    "We have investigated ourselves and found no wrongdoing," Eidolon snarked sarcastically. "You know what that sounds like, right, kid?"


    "Like someone finally explained the concept of humor to you?"


    "I liked it better when you were asleep."


    "Great to see you too, Eidolon," I sassed back. And, truthfully, it was. Comparing this acerbic, sarcastic asshole to the man I remembered was like comparing night and day. He still wasn''t pleasant to be around, but at least he wasn''t so single-mindedly focused on being the paragon of heroism that he couldn''t be deviated for even a moment.


    Clearly, whoever his therapist was, she deserved a raise. This bore further examination, but I could conceivably entertain teaching him how to drain other Shards to recharge himself now.. maybe¡­


    The Number Man, Kurt, coughed pointedly. "Hyunmu is evidently fine. Now, if we could get to business?"


    And so, the first Cauldron meeting began since my awakening. The documents Fortuna arranged for me were largely up to date, but there were details they''d left out that kept the meeting pertinent nonetheless.


    For starters, something that didn''t exactly make the news: Richter had been quietly recruited into Cauldron. Theresa Richter, Dragon, was a famed hero now, the backbone of the Guild and warden of the Birdcage, but that didn''t mean her father felt the need to join her in the limelight. Rather, he''d been convinced via Fortuna''s social-fu to relocate to Babylon.


    From there, he built several failsafes scattered across alternate earths so that his potential passing would not shackle his daughter indefinitely. Most of her limitations were designed to be released over time, just as a child was entrusted with more responsibility as they matured. Any of the Cauldron executives, Fortuna and Hero especially, would be able to take over Dragon''s "maturation" should the worst come to pass.


    When the programming tinker wasn''t managing his daughter''s operations, he worked closely with the Number Man to keep track of our finances. He''d also released several other programs, capable of machine learning but not quite sentient, for a variety of purposes, mostly dealing with money laundering, corruption, and cybercrime.


    I was a little miffed that they''d started to treat the Babylon facility as an all-purpose tinker safehouse, with Hero and Dragon also having their own labs there, but a bigger part of me was excited to meet one of the few unambiguously good people in the setting.


    The only other major bit of news was the destruction of the Blasphemies, not because of who they were, but because of how Hero did it.


    Hero, proving that he hadn''t been sitting with his thumbs up his ass, saved the king of Spain, Juan Carlos I, from the rogue tinkertech constructs. Then, to prevent the Blasphemies from reforming themselves, he''d touched on a Shard-exclusive wavelength to dismantle them for good.


    Like with tinkertech in general, he had only the faintest idea of exactly what he''d done. He described it as identifying, isolating, and analyzing the unique signal the Blasphemies used to communicate with each other, only to then block it off through a "trans-dimensional reciprocal wavelength predicated around sympathetic signals."


    As far as we knew, no other tinker had seen fit to contribute to the Blasphemies. No one was trying to remake them, nor were there any hints at a new rogue unit being formed. We''d have to see to determine long-term results, but we were hopeful that Hero''s work fully sealed off that avenue of Shard communication for good.


    More to the point, Hero had touched the Shard network.


    Sure, he didn''t really understand fully how he''d done it or why what he''d done was so important, and even if he did, there was a lack of vocabulary in proper science to describe the process, but he touched the Shard network. If we were correct, he was the first person to ever successfully communicate with Shards, however indirectly, and in turn to hamper said communication.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    It was super exciting to hear, not least because I felt greatly vindicated in making him do his goldfish impression years ago. It was hard to keep in mind sometimes, but I wasn''t the only "genius" tinker in the room. Truthfully, without the World Rune embedded into my soul, I had a feeling I wouldn''t even be competitive with the guy. Keeping the guy alive might be my greatest contribution to Cauldron''s cause because by the way things were looking, Hero was our best bet for stopping the Cycle.


    After I fully explained and stressed the significance of his discovery, he made it his goal to understand the process. Hopefully, with a better understanding of the network, we''d be able to shut it down, or divert the Shards'' energies for more productive uses.


    "Alright, great. Hero''s got his new project, we''ve got Hatchet Face lobotomized and on ice, Peter Pan''s got a few more Case-53s that want to emigrate out of Neverland, and Melpomene stopped someone in Thailand from finding out about Cauldron," Eidolon listed off. "Anything that needs me to be involved?"


    "No, not unless you have any thoughts on how we should reintroduce Hyunmu to the wider world," Alexandria said. She turned to me with a taciturn stare. "Congratulations on being the only Ward to undergo orientation three times."


    "Nope. Have fun, brat."


    I watched him leave with a curious glance. "So¡­ Therapy''s really working out for the guy, huh?"


    "Somewhat. His grandfather was a big fan of baseball and this helps him feel closer to him," Fortuna explained. "It helps that he has a lunch date planned after."


    "Date? Like romance? Or at least sex? We''re talking about the same guy, right?"


    "Three years is a long time, Andy."


    "Clearly. Well fine, I don''t need to keep digging into his personal life; I''ve got plenty on my plate as it is."


    Hero coughed pointedly at that. "You. Did you want to remain in the Phoenix area?"


    I considered the question. Naturally, I wanted to stay with my mom. But by the same token¡­ "Do we have to tell people I''m back? My priority is to train to use the Mask and my armor. Then work on the hextech capacitors to build a mech. Oh, and make new potions, expand the Worldstone network, and add some more enchantments. Honestly? I think I can be more productive being a hermit in Babylon than I can as a Ward again."


    "Be that as it may, you''re going to have to enter the public eye eventually. Especially since you''ll be setting an example for young Riley."


    "Oh¡­ Oh fuck¡­ I''m going to have to teach Bonesaw bioethics¡­"


    "Not true. Riley is not and never will be Bonesaw. You shouldn''t treat her any differently because of what you saw in your vision, Andy," Legend admonished.


    "You can say that because you don''t know what I saw¡­ but point. Riley isn''t Bonesaw and she never will be if I have anything to say about it."


    "Exactly. And don''t you want to meet up with your old friends? I hear Raquel is still around Phoenix."


    "Yeah, I read that in the files. I should meet with them, get it all out of the way. Any chance I can avoid any public appearances though?"


    "Not entirely. You''re a hero, one of the biggest. And that means people will want to know you''re safe and sound."


    "And not crippled for life or anything."


    "Yes, that too."


    "You''re conflating a public appearance with public commitments," Alexandria added. "At this point, I think it''s abundantly clear to all that you are unlike any Ward in the system."


    "Does that mean no PR events?" I asked hopefully.


    "Not none, but relatively few. No pointless patrols to show the flag. No school campaigns. We may have you give some lectures at the university-level, demonstrate what you''re building, perhaps be seen visibly cooperating with other tinkers, but your time is too important to be wasted on meaningless PR campaigns."


    "Oh, yeah, that sounds a lot better. So, Phoenix, huh? Feels like I''ve come full circle."


    "You have. I''ll inform Director Lyons. She''ll have to be read in on some things, such as you having a lab out of the city."


    "Thanks, Alex."


    "Welcome back, Hyunmu."


    X


    "How was your meeting, Yusung?" mom asked as I came through the Door. She was seated at her piano, trying her hand at music composition. Riley was on the ground next to her, doodling all over a coloring book.


    If there was one thing I could say for Cauldron, it was that the Number Man did right by my mom. She lived the life of the idle rich, teaching music lessons more to keep busy than because she needed money.


    She had initially vehemently refused any money from my Wards stipend or pharmaceutical dealings, saying that parents should be doing the providing, not the other way around. That went out the window within days when the paparazzi started to hound her for her opinion in a language she barely spoke.


    "Hey, mom. Hey, Riley. Meeting was fine," I said. Truthfully, I hadn''t even bothered to get dressed for it, slipping into Cauldron HQ directly after rolling out of bed at ten in the morning.


    "Hi¡­ oppa¡­?" Riley said, testing the unfamiliar word on her lips.


    "Just Andy, squirt. Say, mom?"


    "Hmm?" she hummed, plucking at a key.


    "What are we doing about Riley''s schooling? She''s six, right? So elementary school? First grade?"


    "We''re going to homeschool her, at least for a while."


    "Alright, I can help with that, right?" I asked.


    I still wasn''t sure about having Riley in the family. In a way, I''d always known this was a distinct possibility, but that didn''t mean I was ready when she was dropped on me so suddenly. Even so, I wanted to do my best. Legend was right; she deserved the chance to become someone new and it was up to me to give her that chance.


    "Of course, Yusung. Reading, grammar, math, science, and social studies are required by law. Fortuna and I spoke and she thinks she can acquire a discreet tutor for language, math, and social studies. I''ll be teaching Riley music as part of her extracurriculars."


    "That''s great, so I need to add brushing up on first grade science to my to-do list?"


    "No. I don''t know how she did it, but Fortuna added tinkering and parahuman studies in lieu of science. You''ll be free to teach her everything you know as you see fit."


    "Got it. Biotinkering instead of biology," I nodded. "Bioethics and lab safety first. And then¡­ epidemiology¡­ Yeah, that sounds important for Riley to know."


    "We can tinker together?" Riley asked, looking up from her coloring book with a hopeful smile.


    "Yes, Riley. We''ll be working together a lot."


    "Yes! We''re going to make so many cool animals!"


    As she ran around the room with an excited squeal, I muttered, "I''ll throw in Shojin kenpo for physical education while I''m at it. Maybe bleed off some of that energy."


    Mom chuckled, "You do that. I think you two can get along well together. She really looks up to you, you know."


    "How? We''ve never met. And she''s probably only heard the sanitized stories about me."


    "Petricite," she said matter-of-factly. I remembered then: Petricite was power-inhibiting wood. Riley could probably learn a lot from that. "Fortuna set up a small lab for her in Babylon and she''s really taken to some of the wildlife there. Most of what she''s been doing has been trying to understand Petricite though."


    "Ah, that makes sense. Which reminds me; I''ll have to take a tour of my facilities, make sure everything''s as it should be and figure out which of my projects I should rush first."


    "Ooh! Can I come? Pleasepleasepleaseplease?" Riley ran into me, clinging onto my stomach like the world''s smartest koala, not that that was a particularly high bar.


    I gently pried her off. "Nope, not this time. I need to take inventory on my own, Riley, okay? I promise I''ll give you a tour when I''m ready though."


    "Promise?"


    "Promise."


    "You''ll show me all the cool stuff you made?"


    "Yup."


    "Potions?"


    "Sure."


    "And Graggy Ice?"


    I froze at that. I''d honestly forgotten I made the damn thing. I was trying to make hyper-efficient, stable explosives if I recall, kinda like Ziggs. "Graggy Ice?"


    "Yeah! Auntie Fortuna said you had it but wouldn''t tell me what it was. What is it?" she asked enthusiastically.


    "It''s beer. The perfect beer."


    "Oh, like the kind that Uncle Eugene sometimes drinks?"


    "Yup."


    "Can I have some?"


    "No. Absolutely not. Mom would kill me if I gave you booze."


    "And who said you could make booze, hmm?" mom asked pointedly, eyebrows arched in judgment.


    "Ah¡­"


    "Andy''s in trouble~ Andy''s in trouble~" Riley sang in that obnoxiously adorable way only a six year old could.


    "Ugh¡­ This is Fortuna''s fault¡­"


    Author''s Note


    The Blasphemies were made pre-canon by an unwilling, unknowing cooperation of tinkers. Shards seemingly hijacked their bodies during their fugues, creating a connected S-class threat that went around assassinating political figures in Europe. I''m using them here as the jumping off point for Heroes development as he begins to fully comprehend the Stilling and all it''s supposed to be able to do.


    In some ways, this is coming full circle. With one caveat: Some of you may have noticed, but Rebecca, and Cauldron by extension, made zero attempt to regulate or direct Andy''s tinkering. He is now well and truly an executive, with all the privileges and expectations involved.


    Animal fact? Sure. Koalas are shit-eating, disease-ridden, smooth-brained idiots. I mean that literally. Eucalyptus leaves are not nutritious. They''re so not nutritious in fact that they''re actually fucking toxic. Not only that, koalas cannot digest them naturally. To digest eucalyptus, they need special bacteria in their gut. The only way for a baby koala to get this bacteria is to eat their mother''s shit, a viscous, green substance called fecal pap.


    And yes, they really are smooth-brained. For those of you who don''t know why that matters, the wrinkly bits of your brain gives your brain more surface area, allowing it to pack in more neurons per volume. It''s literally the part that gives humans (and animals) advanced cognition. Koala brains are almost entirely smooth.


    Let me give you an example of just how stupid a koala is. If you pluck eucalyptus leaves out of a branch and put them onto a plate, a koala will not eat those leaves and promptly starve. They no longer recognize the leaves as food. Yeah, they''re that bad.


    Also, something like eighty percent of them have chlamydia.


    They deserve to die out and the only reason they''re alive is because pretty privilege made them the posterboys of Australian conservation efforts. Kinda like pandas and we all know how I feel about pandas.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.3 Respite

    Respite 8.3


    2005, July 7: Babylon, Ukraine


    My lab was more or less as I''d left it. It was actually several facilities spliced into one so that I could better coordinate all my various "specializations." A chemistry lab looked very different from a manufacturing hub after all.


    The centerpiece was of course the Nexus, a colossal mana crystal engraved with runes that connected it to my soul, and from it, to the infinite reserve that was the World Rune. As my own integration of the World Rune grew, so too did the Nexus'' output. At this point, I was up to nine of twelve and was missing just Approach Velocity, Future''s Market, and First Strike.


    From the Nexus led three mana channels that led to three separate facilities. One was dedicated to the production of basic potions: Health, Sump Tonics, Petricite Elixir, and in much smaller quantities, the Elixir of Sorcery.


    The second channel powered a series of modules and charging stations dedicated to a small squad of Wrenchbots that maintained the lab''s production capabilities. The Custodian was great. With her power, she alone was sufficient for maintaining the cleanliness of all of Cauldron''s facilities spread out across multiple continents and worlds.


    However, she was no tinker. And though my tech didn''t randomly "degrade" as tinkertech typically did, that didn''t mean hextech didn''t have its own wear and tear. My tech wasn''t unbreakable nor infinite just because the World Rune was. The Wrenchbots were great for general maintenance like that.


    There was also a larger charging station for my Plaza Guardian, or Forest Guardian now I supposed, the one I''d built for the sole purpose of watching over the people who called Babylon home. The hextech mech was a bit of a prototype, a test to see how I could go about building bigger combat droids. Rather than a series of weapons modules, it was equipped with fire extinguishers, net launchers, chainsaw, gardening shears, and shovel, best suited for being the guardian and gardener of what was quickly becoming a fantasy forest.


    Off in the corner of the second facility was a series of mechanical parts, pieces I''d only just begun to workshop. After the Forest Guardian, I''d wanted to build a Hextech Galio of my own, something I could ride into battle against Behemoth.


    That never panned out of course. With the completion of the Mask, it was hard to consider a way in which my offensive potential could be improved. After all, what was more lethal than Death?


    ''Nothing,'' Wolyo sneered in my mind. ''You have enough weapons, child.''


    ''You''re not wrong. Between Curtain Call, Isolde, and you two, I''m really not lacking firepower,'' I replied. Even against the Simurgh, the fault was with me, not my creations. I was too weak. I failed to withstand the backlash of becoming one of the Kindred.


    ''So train,'' Farya said simply. ''Train and grow strong, until we never have to leave you again. We are three now.''


    ''I will. But that doesn''t mean there is nothing that can be gained by building more either.''


    Unsealed Spellbook, one of the three keystones, granted me knowledge of what I once knew as "summoner spells" in my past life. The keystones also gave me an advanced knowledge of runes and matrices, enough to engrave those spells for others onto enchanted objects. I''d given my mother three rings containing Heal, Barrier, and Teleport, each keyed to activate at the first sign of danger.


    There was no reason I couldn''t do something similar. In fact, I realized I hadn''t been using my runes correctly. I wasn''t a Champion with a hyper-specific skillset. Nor was I bound by the limitations of the game. I was the wielder of a World Rune in its entirety, the sum total of all innovations made across all of Runeterran history. I ought to be combining runes, focuses, and spells to get something truly unique.


    Anivia''s Grace, my armor, was a good start. The White Walkers, boots that mimicked Sun Wukong''s cloud-stepping, were also an interesting use of Ghost. Curtain Call, Jhin''s sniper-coilgun hybrid fused with the Lucian''s relic pistol, was a solid ranged option.


    But I could do more.


    As I looked at what might have one day been a Hextech Galio mech, I considered all the different things I''d seen. It wasn''t as though League of Legends was the only game I''d ever played. Nor was I so uncreative that I could only make the weapons of Champions.


    I had to finish my tour of Babylon, get an idea of what I was working with, but I couldn''t help but feel as though I''d made a breakthrough, if not in tech, then certainly in my perspective.


    X


    I looked at the third branch that led from my Nexus. It was supposed to be a biotinker''s lab. The potions lab was great for alchemy and chemistry, but it was hardly a medical bay. That was what the third branch was supposed to be.


    I dialed up Fortuna. She picked up in moments, no doubt expecting me. "Say, Fortuna?"


    "Yes, Andy? How''s Babylon?" she replied, voice coy and teasing.


    "Are you the one who installed generators to my biotinker lab?"


    "Yes. There was a free connection lying around and you did say the Nexus is an unlimited source of energy that draws from your soul."


    "So you used one of my hextech capacitors."


    "So I used your hextech capacitors."


    I looked around. Hextech fundamentally transmuted mana into electricity. That was Heimerdinger''s great contribution to the City of Progress, a way to industrialize magic. Fortuna hadn''t actually built anything, but she had taken what I had lying around to harvest more energy from the Nexus.


    "Dare I ask what you''re doing with all this power?"


    "Nothing too bad. I''ve been using the generated power to supply the rest of Cauldron. Your generator requires less frequent maintenance and is far more efficient."


    "I hope you realize, you turned a coma patient into your battery," I drawled. "You''re definitely evil, you know."


    She chuckled. "Was that ever in doubt?"


    "Well, I''m going to need to reroute all of this for my own use eventually. Or maybe I can give the biotinker lab to Riley?"


    "I''m sure she''d love that. Give me a week to set up alternatives?"


    "Fine, will do. Anything else I should know?"


    "About your lab? No. No further changes have been made."


    "''My lab,'' you said. Not ''Babylon'' as a whole," I said, a question implied. I knew her well enough to be suspicious. "Dare I ask?"


    She hummed cheerily. If there was a "Path to Conveying Shit-Eating Grin Through Phone Calls," I knew she''d be running it. "That depends. How do you feel about godhood?"


    "Excuse me?"


    "Congratulations, you are worshiped as the primary aspect of a multi-faceted god by the immigrants of Babylon," she said dryly.


    "How? I thought that was a joke?!"


    "We took on immigrants from other worlds if you''ll recall."


    "Yeah, so? They''re just here to gather petricite trees and whatnot."


    "They came from civilizations that had very little in the way of technological development. Though the exact century analog varies, many came from the Iron Age, medieval times at the latest."


    I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I could see where she was going with this. "They were whisked away to a whole new world. And they saw that this land was converted into a magical forest with a facility that churns out magic potions and tech beyond their understanding."


    "Correct. Even before your slumber, they were under the impression that they were in service of some godlike sorcerer. The ''witch-lord,'' I believe is the name they coined. Your introduction of the Forest Guardian and Wrenchbots didn''t help matters."


    "Fine. How bad is it?"


    "Congratulations, you are the avatar of the turtle-god, the patron of smithing, alchemy, healing, farming, harvest, and all other forms of human production and progress. According to your burgeoning cult, you may also be engaged to the goddess of winter , the great Winter Eagle. Or fought a titanic battle that drove her away and ended in a treaty that made the seasons. There are several folk tales surrounding your summoning of Anivia by the way. Fascinating stuff," she said, not even pretending to hide her amusement.


    "How¡­ That doesn''t even make sense," I sputtered. "They''re not even unified domains. What do any of those have to do with turtles?"


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "You use the turtle shell as your maker''s mark. You are Hyunmu, the Black Turtle of the North, are you not?"


    "... I hate you sometimes¡­ And the ''god of the harvest'' thing?"


    "Do you recall the Freljordian grain you used to make Graggy Ice?"


    I let out yet another sigh. "You planted them here, didn''t you?"


    "We did. They grow taller, stronger, and healthier while being hyper-resistant to the cold. They also provide a much better yield than the genetically unaltered crops the people were used to. I believe they still have a harvest festival in your honor."


    "You''re having way too much fun with this."


    "I disagree," she replied glibly. "I think I''m having just the right amount of fun. Your budding cult has been a steady source of amusement over the years. Besides, having Riley tamper with the genetic makeup of the wheat is one of the most beneficial means of focusing her tinkering. So far, we are considering introducing the crop to Earth-Bet at large."


    "So Babylon is a microcosm for product testing purposes?"


    "Precisely."


    "Still, a god? I''ve never even been out of the lab here."


    "You summoned a giant phoenix made of ice with a wingspan that spanned the breadth of the entire horizon."


    It hurt. Fortuna''s matter-of-fact words hurt like a spear of True Ice to the chest. I had done that ritual on the winter solstice so I could upgrade Winter''s Approach to Anivia''s Grace. The people of Babylon saw, and for once, they were right: Anivia was indeed a goddess. In a way, it could be taken as a literal divine sign.


    That made me question everything I''d ever done. "Fortuna?"


    "Yes, Yusung?"


    "Am¡­ Am I a god¡­?"


    "Is that such a bad thing? You provide for them, however indirectly. We don''t even tax their grain. The ''witch-lord'' is the single most benevolent feudal lord in history, capable of miracles their minds cannot comprehend. Men throughout history have claimed as much for far lesser accomplishments."


    "Yeah, but that doesn''t mean I should have a god complex."


    "So don''t develop one. Yusung, you are whoever you wish to be. The opinions of primitives should have no bearing on your sense of identity."


    "They''re not primitives," I said weakly.


    "They are in every way that matters. More importantly, my point stands: Their opinions should not color your self-perception."


    "I¡­ Yeah, you''re right. It just caught me off guard. I guess I''ve been neglecting Babylon as a whole."


    "You have, though not through any fault of yours. I suggest you meet with Rinke when you have the time."


    "Why? Has he started worshiping me too?"


    "No, but he does think rather highly of your magic forest. I believe he wanted to introduce several fantasy animals to ''suit the aesthetic.''"


    "Why would any of that sound like a good idea?" I asked.


    "Because he may consider it whether you like it or not. If you speak with him now, you''ll be able to veto anything he is planning."


    "Must I? So long as he isn''t killing off the people here, I''m more or less okay with whatever."


    "Very well, I''ll pass that on."


    "Thanks, Fortuna."


    "You''re welcome."


    The line went dead and I was left contemplating the nature of godhood. Now that I had a minute, it was a little funny. I''d been a Christian in my past life. I wouldn''t ever dream of calling myself a god. And yet, here I was, deified without even noticing.


    ''Is that such a problem?'' Farya''s melodic voice echoed in my mind. It still had that beautiful, haunting note that sent shivers down my spine. ''It will not affect your actions.''


    ''I guess not. It''s just unexpected, that''s all.''


    ''You knew you would cease to be human. The Fox said as much.''


    ''Yeah, but I didn''t think other people would treat me like this, and without ever meeting me.''


    ''Even a mouse may cast a frightening shadow.''


    ''Are you saying that it''s because they don''t know me that they can deify me?''


    ''Indeed. This could be useful however.''


    ''How so?''


    ''Spirit gods are entities that gather strength in accordance with faith. Janna the Storm''s Fury. Ornn the Firebringer. Nagakabouros the Mother Serpent.''


    I paused at that. Faith-based entities did exist on Runeterra. Janna specifically had lost much of her power until recently. Just because Anivia was there at the creation of the Freljord didn''t mean she wasn''t influenced by the faith of her people. Hell, even Valhir kept followers, his Ursine.


    But that didn''t mean I was a god¡­ did it?


    ''Farya? Are the Kindred influenced by faith?''


    ''Of course we are. The Fading Icon was forgotten,'' Wolyo answered with a snort.


    ''And if we can cultivate faith in you¡­''


    ''We can ensure we will never fade,'' Farya finished for me. ''We can acquire more power. It is not a hardship to guide the lost to the other side.''


    I didn''t like it. I didn''t feel that I''d done anything to be worthy of worship. I''d known immortality was something I''d have to struggle with, but deification?


    That felt like a step too far. I didn''t think a mortal had any business claiming the mantle of a god. Even the Aspects were more vessels rather than true gods. Ascended? Sure, those were a thing, but all but Nasus went murderously insane.


    But I couldn''t deny its usefulness either.


    X


    2005, July 7: Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia


    The largest salt flat in the world stretched out before me as far as the horizon. The salt and the shallow water reflected the sunset, dying the scene a mesmerizing array of oranges and yellows. The vista made me feel almost as if I was standing on nothing and the sky stretched out forever. Being able to claim the entire flat to myself, one of the greatest examples of nature in all its unspoiled beauty, was easily one of the better perks of being a Cauldron executive.


    It felt good to be out here. The world had largely moved on from Hyunmu. Other things made the news cycle. People who weren''t in my direct social circle found different interests. The differences I made in the world were noted, but more in a "imagine what he could''ve done had he not met the Simurgh" sort of way.


    Even my friends, the Phoenix Wards, weren''t Wards anymore. Hell, David and Penelope had a kid on the way! I may have been asleep for only three years, but Earth-Bet was a very different place than the one I knew.


    In that sense, this plane of seemingly infinite white was my quiet place.


    I danced with Isolde in hand, going through familiar motions in a strange body. I wasn''t that much taller, now five-four, stronger and faster too, but the more mature body was enough to throw me off ever so slightly. I hoped that by engaging in these familiar kata, I would be able to better accustom myself to this new body.


    I started off slow, working from the ground up in every martial style I knew. Most of them began with footwork. They were basic, things taught to children and the greenest of acolytes, but they helped more than the advanced techniques at the moment. Simply moving from foot to foot, allowing myself to feel the way my muscles tensed and my center of gravity shifted, that was grounding in ways I couldn''t quite put to words.


    I then began with the unarmed kata of the Shojin Monastery, Isolde shrunken until it looked like a large pair of gardening shears and clenched in one hand. Its blades and spikes let it double as a hybrid between a dagger and a brass knuckle.


    I ran through the sequence again and again. My movements were more of a dance than a combat art at this stage. It wasn''t enough to approximate the right motions; I needed perfection, to know I was in full control of my body at every stage of the kata.


    Then faster. And faster. Until I moved onto more complicated dances.


    I''d been at this for hours, flowing from one form to another until I felt I could engage in the kind of high speed that defined an endbringer battle. Then I started to mix the sword forms of Master Yi, Isolde expanding to strike down imaginary foes. I only stopped when I saw a Door open behind me.


    "Andy, dinner''s ready!" Riley said, barging right on through. I stamped down the wave of irritation at someone else entering my quiet place. It wasn''t as if I owned the salt flats here. "Woah, what is this place?"


    "It''s the Salar de Uyuni," I explained patiently, "a natural geological formation that forms when a lot of flat ground gets covered in a lot of salt water."


    "All this is salt? Cool!" And, like any other six year old, she promptly sank to her knees and picked up a mound. Without a care in the world, she stuck her hand in her mouth, and promptly spat it out with a look of disgust. "Blegh. Yup. That''s salt."


    I chuckled at her self-inflicted misfortune. Riley was adorable. She had a way of washing away any annoyance at her intrusion in my life. "That it is, Riley."


    "What were you doing?"


    "Martial arts practice."


    "Ooh, so you can beat up all the bad guys?"


    "No, so I don''t get beat up by all the bad guys," I said, completely honestly.


    "Huh? But I saw videos of you beating up Stage Crew. And you won all your spars against the Wards," she said, open confusion on her young face. She started doing her best impression of a kung fu movie. "You were like ''Haiyah!''"


    I groaned internally. Of course she saw that. "Say, Riley?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Why do you think I was asleep for so long?"


    "You did something that saved a lot of people. Mommy won''t let me see the video though," she pouted. It made sense. I wouldn''t want a six year old seeing recordings of endbringer battles either. It also explained how she had such a skewed view of me.


    "I don''t always win, Riley," I said gently. "I got hurt. I got hurt fighting a very strong lady."


    "R-Really?"


    "Yup. She was so strong that I wasn''t able to leave my bed for three years."


    "She''s scary¡­"


    "Very." On that, I could emphatically agree. Death Incarnate or not, World Rune or not, the Simurgh was fucking terrifying. I wasn''t sure how much was appropriate to say to a child, but I chose to lean towards honesty. I gently placed my hands on her shoulders. "That''s why I work very hard. Being a good tinker isn''t enough for me because one day, I''m going to face her again."


    "B-But what if you go to sleep for years again?" she asked, voice quivering with apprehension. I looked at her carefully. She had abandonment issues, because of course she did.


    "I won''t," I assured her even as I chastised myself for failing to account for the obvious. "I''m going to be even stronger next time."


    "Promise?"


    "Pinky promise."


    She gave me a resolute nod, as serious as a six year old could be, before we sealed the pact with a press of our thumbs. "You can''t leave."


    "Never. Now let''s go eat dinner, okay?"


    "Okay¡­ Andy?"


    "Yes, Riley?"


    "Can you teach me to do kung fu too?"


    I laughed. "It''s Shojin kenpo. And yes, Riley."


    Speaking of, seeing how mom had enough mana to use the rings, she didn''t need her share of the Biscuits of Everlasting Will anymore. Fortuna needed the Elixir of Sorcery to manipulate mana properly, but she was a grown woman.


    What would happen if I drip-fed a young girl with the power of a World Rune? Would she develop a sizable mana pool by the time she hit her teens? If I taught her the magic martial arts of Ionia, would she be able to control that pool?


    I was sure making Riley a magic biotinker would give more than one cape in the original timeline an aneurism, but it was worth considering, especially if I wanted to get into biotinkering with her.


    The chembarons of Zaun had much to offer, as did the Black Rose of Noxus. Any project that stemmed from those nutjobs wouldn''t be exactly PR-friendly, but Riley wasn''t an open cape. No one knew she triggered except Cauldron. And I had a lab on an entirely separate world for precisely this purpose.


    I''d have to build appropriate containment and sterilization measures. And all this would naturally come after I''d instilled in Riley a thorough respect for bioethics and life as a whole, but it was certainly a promising thought.


    Author''s Note


    Don''t you just hate waking up one morning to find you''re in the plot of Road to El Dorado?


    For real though, the Kindred are fascinating. Different cultures prefer one face of the Kindred over another. In Demacia, most think a swift death from the Lamb is better. In Bilgewater, the Lamb is seen as craven. Of course, the Kindred themselves don''t really give a damn, only that the individual does not cheat death.


    Magical Girl Riley is a go! To be honest, I already had her cape name picked out: Nightingale, after the Angel of the Battlefield. It''s just a coincidence that it''s also a very magical girl-y name.


    Animal fact: A songbird''s skeleton is lighter than its feathers. Yeah, most people know bird bones are hollow, but this threw me off too.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.4 Respite

    Respite 8.4


    2005, July 8: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    "Morning, mom," I mumbled as I came down for breakfast. It was amazing how seamlessly I reintegrated my old routine into the family. New house, new sister, but the same old schedule of waking up to practice martial arts with the dawn.


    "Good morning, son. How was practice?" she asked as she gave me a hug. She''d been much more physically affectionate since I woke up, though I supposed I couldn''t blame her.


    "Good. I''m really getting used to this body."


    "Do you mind waking Riley while I set the table?"


    I nodded and turned to head back upstairs. That was something else she''d been doing, trying to get me to interact with Riley as much as possible. Things were still a tad awkward, but I couldn''t deny that a large part of that came from my end.


    Riley was in her room, nestled into a bed that looked too big for her tiny frame. Mom gave her the smallest bedroom. It had been decorated with lots of pastel blues and pinks. One wall had been converted into a painted mural that depicted all sorts of bugs and flowers, each labeled with their vernacular and scientific names, ideal habitat, and a short blurb about their life cycle.


    A shelf next to her desk was dedicated to all sorts of terrariums and potted plants, from orchids to cacti to bonsai trees. Each plant had a brass name card that listed information about it as if it was an exhibit in a botanical garden. Her room looked like it belonged in the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, not the bedroom of a six year old girl.


    Fortuna''s work no doubt. The room struck a wonderful balance between childish and educational. If a stranger entered by accident, such as one of mom''s music students, they would see the bedroom of a young girl who was passionately in love with biology, not the den of one of the most capable biotinkers alive.


    I walked over and gently shook her awake. Riley liked to build a cocoon around herself while clutching an overstuffed pillow of an alligator snapping turtle. She called it Gamera apparently, a gift from Yasmine that probably came with some sort of pun about my personal emblem. It was disgustingly cute.


    "Riley, time to wake up, squirt," I said gently.


    "Mnnn¡­" She twisted into her cocoon.


    "Up. Mom''s getting breakfast ready."


    "Mnnyaa¡­ Dunwanna¡­"


    "Get up anyway."


    "Nuu¡­"


    I sighed. I didn''t have the patience for this. I picked up the Riley-flavored burrito and slung her over my shoulder in a fireman''s carry. "Fine, stay in your blankets. You still need to eat breakfast."


    "Mmkay¡­" she mumbled, going right back to sleep.


    Mom looked at me with an arched brow as I came down the stairs. "I said wake her, not bring her here like a sack of rice, Yusung."


    I shrugged helplessly. "She didn''t want to. Besides, I''m sure the smell of food will do the trick."


    And it did. Though Riley preferred sweet breakfast foods like pancakes, she developed a taste for the savory breakfasts that were more typical of Korean households. She still hated kimchi however.


    "What are you doing today?" mom asked me.


    "I think I''m going to use up some of the petricite reserves. People have been harvesting them from Babylon but I haven''t been around to make them into anything. When the world finds out I''m back, lots of people are going to want their cities to be part of the Worldstone network," I explained. It was inevitable, and likely the most urgent demand from the populace. "Best I get ahead of that while I can."


    "Ooh, can I watch, Andy?" Riley asked through a mouthful of rice and eggs.


    Mom gently plucked a grain from her cheek. "Don''t talk with your mouth full, Riley."


    "Yes, mommy."


    I considered the question. "Don''t you have homeschool?"


    "But that''s boring~"


    "So is making Worldstones. It''s just me carving runes, nothing really scientific."


    "Poop."


    "Tell you what, Riley. If you promise you''ll pay attention in class, I''ll give you a magic cookie."


    "Cookie? Really?" She studied me with narrowed eyes. "You don''t have a cookie."


    I chuckled. How could I ignore a setup like that? I held out my hand and gave it a flourishing wave. "Oh, but I do, little sister. Now, pay attention, okay?"


    "Magic trick?"


    "Magic, without the tricks," I corrected. Then, wisps of mana coalesced from my hand, becoming the ideal cookie as Riley, in this moment, envisioned it. Chocolate chip, of course, with just a hint of char to give it that perfectly homemade mouthfeel. "Ta-dah!"


    "You can make cookies?" Riley exclaimed. I knew. In that moment, I was the single greatest person in the world in her eyes. Not because I was a hero, or because mom talked me up, but because I conjured a cookie. It was a weirdly satisfying feeling. "Mom! Andy can make cookies!"


    "I can," I said with a laugh, "but only three magic cookies per day."


    "Gimmie!"


    "Ah, nope. You gotta promise, Riley."


    "I''ll pay attention in class."


    "Good. Now, the magic word."


    "Please?"


    I handed it over with a smile. "Good girl."


    "Andy has cookie-powers. It''s not fair," she said through a mouthful of crumbs.


    "I don''t. I have magic cookie-powers," I replied with a smile. "If you keep eating them, you''ll be able to use magic too one day."


    "R-Really?"


    "Yup. Fortuna can, but only a little. Do you want to learn?"


    "Uh-huh." Her head nodded so fast I almost feared it''d pop right off.


    "Well, you''re going to need to pick up Shojin kenpo."


    "That kung fu stuff you do in the salty place?"


    "Yeah. And that means waking up early with me. Think you''re up for it?"


    "Hmm¡­ Okay¡­"


    So agreed, I placed one on the kitchen table for Fortuna. Hers was a gnarly purple color, speckled with seeds. To the best of my knowledge, it was a type of yam that didn''t grow on Earth-Bet; it had slowly evolved into something else through the cultivation methods of humanity. It didn''t objectively taste better than modern sweet potatoes or anything, but it held a unique place in her heart as one of the few things that could instill in her a sense of nostalgia.


    Sure enough, Fortuna stepped through a Door not ten seconds later. She grabbed the cookie and took a nibble, letting out an appreciative hum. She twisted as she sat on the couch, dispersing the force of Riley''s sudden tackle-hug.


    "Aunty Fortuna! Hi!"


    "Hello, Riley, Sujeong, Yusung," she greeted.


    I nodded her way and conjured a third cookie. I handed it over to mom. It wasn''t as though I needed the mana anyway.


    She shook her head and pushed it back to me. "You can make three, right? Have one yourself."


    "Ooh, can I?" Riley asked, releasing Fortuna in favor of reaching for the cookie.


    "No. We share in this house, Riley. You''ve already had yours."


    "Aww¡­ Okay."


    I shrugged. "Thanks, mom."


    I took a nibble and was reminded why Biscuit Delivery was one of my favorite runes. It was one of the branches of Inspiration I''d sorely neglected. After all, food was ubiquitous. These biscuits weren''t the only magical forms of sustenance available on Runeterra.


    Sadly, I would likely continue to neglect this branch of human innovation, aside from baking treats for my family and friends, because it just didn''t provide the overwhelming power and utility I required.


    Fortuna stuck around and chatted with us for precisely fifteen minutes. She''d taken to sharing a cup of coffee with mom apparently and, even if I knew it was at least partially for this specific purpose, I felt grateful nonetheless.


    As I was headed out to Babylon, mom called, "Yusung, remember that you''re meeting your friends tonight."


    "Yeah, I know. Have a good day, mom."


    "Love you, son."


    X


    Having done it once, making the Worldstones was damn near intuitive now. I borrowed a laser cutter from Hero and started to make topographic maps onto enormous slabs of relic stone, the same, pale substance that made up all Sentinel runes had to be engraved and empowered by my hand, but the boring work of making a miniaturized relief of the word could be hastened along.


    The goal was to make a network that spanned the entire globe much as I''d done for the United States. Canada, being the home of the Guild and the second country to adopt the PRT model, was naturally first on that list. Engraving all day, I added Calgary, Edmonton, and Winnipeg to the network. Hopefully, that''d keep Eugene and Richter happy.


    I did get home a bit earlier than I would have liked. Today was the day I promised I"d meet my old friends and I had no idea how that''d go. Still, now was as good a time as any.


    Friday night was movie night. It was a tradition started when I headed to DC so I could keep in touch with my friends. I''d been surprised and touched to hear that mom kept this tradition going, even getting permission from Fortuna to allow Doorways so the former Phoenix Wards could meet in person. It didn''t happen every week anymore now that everyone was grown up and had their own lives to live, but they did make a point of catching up in person at least once a month.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Oh, I wasn''t naive. Fortuna probably determined that it was an easy concession to make to keep my mother happy. She probably even calculated the influence having strong female role models like Raquel, Yasmine, and Penelope would have on Riley''s development and decided to give her some of the social interaction the young biotinker so desperately lacked as a homeschooled child.


    I finished stuffing the last cannoli with homemade cream just as a Door opened into the living room. Two figures came through, a blonde woman with an athletic build marred by her obvious pregnancy and a man with sandy-brown hair and half an ear.


    "Hey, Mrs. Kim, we brought popcorn," came Penelope''s voice. She wasn''t angled to see me, but I could see straight through her. I wondered if she knew she''d be having a son.


    Mom ushered Penelope to sit down. My old Wards leader grumbled that she wasn''t made of glass but allowed herself to be bullied into a chair anyway. Before they could begin to catch up, the Door opened again, this time spitting out Yasmine.


    "Yo, Mrs. K, how''re things?"she asked as she sauntered in. Yasmine had changed a fair bit. As Hat Trick, she was widely considered the most versatile member of the San Francisco Protectorate. She kept the right side of her hair shaved short and the rest of her bangs dyed in purples and greens. "And how''s the little midget?"


    "I''m not a midget!" came Riley''s protests as she stomped downstairs. "Mom! Jazz is bullying me!"


    "Oh, that''s cheap."


    "Yeah? Well blegh!"


    "Riley, no, bad," mom chided. "You too, Yasmine. How are you as bad as a six year old?"


    "Ehehe, sorry, Mrs. K."


    The door, our front door, opened to let in Raquel. I smiled at seeing her. She of all my friends had changed the least. She was still that short Latina, lithe and scrawny at first sight but densely muscled from over a decade of dedicated gymnastics. She wore a t-shirt and shorts with a pair of flip-flops to deal with the Phoenix heat.


    "Hey, guys, I brought drinks," she called with a cheery grin. "You won''t believe what happened."


    "Hey, chica, heard you were inducting the newest Ward, right?"


    "Yeah, he''s a huge pain in the a-booty," she said, moderating her language at the last second with a glance towards Riley. Mom nodded with an approving smile.


    "What happened? He ask you out?"


    David began flipping through DVDs. "I bet he mistook her for another Ward."


    "He didn''t!" Raquel yelped with a pout. "And that only happened once! He''s just super entitled and thinks he shouldn''t have to do any of the basic training and certifications just because his dad''s on the city council or something."


    "Really? Because it''s not that much."


    "I know, right? Basic first-aid training, how to interact with police, and some general SOPs aren''t that hard to learn. But he just wants to punch villains in the face because he has a brute power," she huffed.


    David shrugged. "Maybe you should spar with him a bit, deflate the ego a bit."


    "Yeah, kick his butt," Jazz added. "Beat him black and blue."


    "That''s not what I said."


    "It''s what you meant."


    "It''s not, Jazz. Stop trying to make Raq be a bad example."


    "Yeah, you can''t just punch your problems," Penny said, backing up her husband. No one pointed out the obvious hypocrisy there. Ever the big sister, Penny smiled sympathetically and patted the seat on the couch next to her. "Come on, Raq, relax. Sit with me."


    "Yeah, sorry for venting," Raquel said, practically melting into the cushion. One of the pillows vanished, to be replaced by Riley. My little sister squawked in surprise before she was enveloped in a cuddle pile.


    "Eh, it''s cool. That''s half the reason we have these nights anyway."


    "Yeah, I needed this. Food, friends, movie, and Riley."


    "Hey," Riley protested weakly.


    "Shush, you. Enjoy the cuddles."


    "Your power is unfair."


    "All the better to hug you with, Riley."


    "Yeah, speaking of Riley, can I bring Josie next time?" David asked. "This kinda began as cape-talk, but we don''t really do that so much anymore."


    I took that as my cue to walk out of the kitchen, a plate of freshly stuffed cannoli in hand. "Sure, why not. Actually, I don''t think I''ve met her. How''s she doing anyway?"


    "Not bad, she''s eleven now. It''s kind of a pain having to find babysitters for her who won''t ask questions about where I''ve gone," David said, not looking up from the back of a DVD case.


    "Andy!" the girls shouted. I barely had time to put down the plate of pastries before I''d traded places with another pillow.


    "When did you wake up?" my former leader asked with a watery smile as she gave me a hug. She used her second trigger to pick me up from a distance like a doll.


    "A few days ago," I told them as I ruffled Riley''s hair. "I had to get a few things situated. Catch up on everything that happened, meet my new kid sister¡­"


    "You''ve been busy."


    "Guess I have."


    "Andy, I''m¡­ I''m sorry," she began. "I''ve always wanted to tell you¡­ If I wasn''t there, then you would have-"


    I looked at her. She looked so damn guilty like this, like my three year coma was her fault somehow. I hated this. She was Stingray. Confident, strong, everyone''s big sister. Not¡­ Not this teary, guilt-ridden mess.


    "It''s not your fault," I tried.


    "It is! You told me not to volunteer! Then I had to play the big damn hero. I-I heard it was DC and¡­"


    "And you wanted to check on me," I said softly. I understood, because I would have done the same. For as briefly as I''d known them, these four had well and truly become like family to me. They''d taken in the little blind boy, and I''d gotten David''s dad killed. There was a big part of me that still didn''t forgive myself. Penny, she was going through much the same. "You did nothing wrong."


    "You got hurt because of me."


    "I didn''t. I got hurt because I fought the Simurgh with powers I wasn''t ready to handle," I said, pulling the taller girl into a hug. "And I''m better now. See?"


    "You lost three years of your life¡­"


    "And I''m back. No harm done."


    "I-"


    "No, Penny. No beating yourself up over what happened. That''s what the Simurgh does. She arranges little events like dominoes. She used Warptek''s bomb to make her escape."


    "You shouldn''t have had to choose."


    "But I''ll make that choice every time," I assured her. "You''re worth it. All of you."


    Then I couldn''t move because I had the world''s biggest trash panda buried in my chest. She said something but it was muffled. "We thought you''d never wake up¡­"


    "Well I''m back, Raq."


    "You missed so much¡­"


    "I know," I said, rubbing her back in soothing circles. I felt my shirt dampen with tears. "I''m sorry."


    "Wow, I definitely didn''t expect this today," Jazz quipped. She''d never been great with emotions, a bit like me actually, so her go-to response was to try to lighten the mood. She leaned forward and snagged a cannoli. "Mmm! Yep, this is Andy for sure. He''s taller, but he still bakes."


    "I''m glad I passed your master-stranger test."


    "Yup. It''s a very rigorous test. What kind of random imposter would know how to bake cannolis?"


    "But what if they were poisoned?"


    "You shut your mouth with your logic."


    That pulled a quiet chuckle from us. I gently pulled Raquel from my chest and nestled between her and Riley. "You know, you haven''t changed at all. I mean, new hair, new city, but still the same Jazz."


    "Yeah? How ''bout you? You''re taller than Raquel now!" she said with a laugh.


    And suddenly, Raquel''s flip-flip was in her hand, sailing towards Yasmine''s face. "You shut up!"


    I laughed and pulled my favorite trash panda into a one-armed hug. "She''s right, you know. Penny''s clearly expecting, David''s got a scruffy beard now, and Jazz'' hair looks like a leprechaun barfed on it, but you? You''re a consistent midge-Ow! Why your slipper?"


    "Shut up, you jerk! Do you know how many short jokes I put up with every day?"


    I couldn''t help it. Feeding this little fire was second nature to me by now. "So one might say it''s left you with a short temper?"


    Raquel''s eyebrow twitched in a distinctly unhealthy way. Riley, probably smarter than me, ran out of the splash zone and hid behind mom. The flip-flop hurled towards me. I would have caught it, but it was only a distraction. It vanished and reappeared in Raquel''s hand as she lunged towards me. "Fear the chancla!"


    "Ow! Ow! Damn it, trash panda! Oh, I heard you named your PHO account aft-OW! That one actually hurt!"


    "?Callate, estupido!" she yelled, before descending into a rambling mix of Spanish and English.


    All the while, her favored weapon of judgment descended and I laughed like a maniac. Mom, David, and Penelope looked on with exasperated smiles as Yasmine cheered Raquel on. Riley looked between me and Raquel with a conflicted expression; I was probably causing irreparable damage to the heroic image she had of me, but that was a good thing in my book. Hero worship was nice, but not from family.


    X


    2005, July 9: Babylon, Ukraine


    I reflected on my newfound status as a "god" all week. This would be my first time in Babylon, the town and enchanted forest, not my lab that overlooked them both. Fortuna was, of course, correct: What these people thought of me was irrelevant.


    On the other hand, what Farya and Wolyo said also had merit: I too was part of the Kindred now, one of them. There would come a time when I could no longer call myself human; perhaps that time had already come. The spirit gods of Runeterra were influenced by the faith they inspired, so it wasn''t a far stretch to think I too would be vulnerable to the same one day.


    More than anything, I was morbidly curious. What exactly did a "faith in the Kindred" mean in this context? The Lamb and the Wolf were worshiped throughout all of Valoran, but each culture did so in different ways.


    In Bilgewater, they respected those who fought the Wolf to the bitter end. There was a festival called the Kindred''s Eve, during which time a known coward, a designated "Lambfool," would be forced to face a respected warrior to the death. Should the Lambfool emerge victorious against all odds, every knave, liar, murderer, and pirate in Bilgewater would be obligated to walk the path of peace for a full year. Hence why they always chose a known coward.


    ''An idiotic practice,'' Farya sniffed. ''To accept the inevitable is not cowardice.''


    ''Maybe, but many humans consider death the final enemy,'' I pointed out. ''In that framework, to accept death is to be a coward, for it is to accept your enemy.''


    ''Ridiculous. All things end. Neither I nor dear Wolf judge the morals of man.''


    ''So I take it you''re not a fan of that particular tradition?''


    ''Nor I,'' Wolyo said, somewhat to my surprise. ''The prey that struggles is good, but I do not care for the conduct of the living.''


    ''Ah, so they''re putting words in your mouth by mandating the pirates behave themselves for the year. Interesting take.''


    ''They leave me with less prey when they live justly,'' Wolyo grumbled.


    That made me laugh. Was that it? Wolyo felt cheated out of his prey in Bilgewater whenever the Lambfool won? It made sense, if in a twisted way. Neither halves of the Kindred gave a damn about the way humans comported themselves while they were alive. All souls were theirs to reap after all, and, contrary to human misconceptions, the two were one and the same. It mattered not to them, whether it was the fangs of the Wolf or the arrows of the Lamb that found a man in the end, only that the man was found and the hunt concluded.


    ''Okay, so what about the tally-men of Noxus? They don''t favor a specific half of the Kindred, do they? I think they mostly dig graves and collect corpses.''


    ''They do not favor either side,'' Farya agreed, ''but we did not ask them to keep an account of funeral rites.''


    ''None of it matters.''


    ''None of it matters.''


    ''But maybe it matters to the people left behind,'' I thought quietly as I walked towards the town. ''I don''t think it''s wrong to offer people closure. Death might be inevitable, but it is only right to soothe the pain.''


    The town was¡­ idyllic. It was a primarily brick and mortar sort of place, the kind of beautiful, sanitized place that might show up in a renaissance faire or the set of a medieval fantasy movie. It reminded me of the Shire from Lord of the Rings, even if the architecture looked nothing alike. No sign of industrialization, but that left a sort of humble, Amish feel to things.


    I was dressed for the part, a thick, woolen cloak with a hood drawn up over my face, casting it in shadow. I''d picked it up from a renaissance faire store out in Maryland. The Door was wonderfully convenient like that.


    ''It is not unlike a village in Demacia,'' Farya quipped.


    ''Really? This place?''


    ''The petricite trees, the fields of golden wheat, and the shape of the buildings remind me of the place. They favor dignity in their passing.''


    ''Which means they favor those who meet you over Wolyo.''


    ''A boring lot with a boring hunt,'' Wolyo grumbled.


    "Who goes there?" I was brought out of my musings by the call of the guard. He was a farm boy, maybe a year or two older than me, dressed in thick fleece.


    The town didn''t have a stone wall, but there was a watchtower and a set of thick, wooden stakes posted around the perimeter to deter wild animals. Considering that they, the Case-53s in Neverland, and Cauldron staff were literally all there was of humanity in this world, they didn''t need anything more sophisticated than this.


    Honestly, I was more impressed by the man''s grasp of English. Or had the Slug''s memory manipulation been a requirement for their migration here?


    "Ahoy!" I called. I immediately wanted to slap myself. Ahoy? What the hell? How did quasi-medieval farmers in sorta-but-not-really fantasy earths converse anyway? Should I have gone with "Tally ho?" Or "Howdy, chap?"


    "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.


    "Ah¡­" I panicked. I didn''t actually have a backstory planned out. "I come from¡­ far away¡­"


    "A traveler? We''ve never had one before."


    "Well, first time for everything, eh?"


    "You sound too young to be wandering the world. Short too. Take off the hood." I sighed but acquiesced. "You¡­ Your eyes. They''re-"


    "Very blue, yes. Crystal, you might say."


    "You''re from the castle, aren''t you?"


    I paused at that. "What castle?"


    "Babylon!" he exclaimed. "The castle of the witch-lords! You must be! You have eyes like sapphires! Are you their messenger?"


    That was¡­ one way to describe my eyes¡­ I would have preferred the effusive praise come from a pretty woman, but he wasn''t wrong. More importantly, he gave me the perfect excuse to be here.


    "Yes, that''s right. I''m a messenger of the witch-lords," I said, a little awkwardly. "Take me to the village chief, if you don''t mind. We''ve decided that after five years, we would like to learn more about this village."


    "R-Right away!"


    Author''s Note


    I have plans for Babylon. Using it to integrate a bit more of Runeterra was always the plan, as seen with the Anivia/Winter''s Approach thing. I don''t know if it''ll mesh well, but I think this story''s been one big experiment for me anyway, kind of like how the firstborn child is always the experimental kid.


    Animal fact? Sure. Sorta. This year is the year of the dragon, which is the fifth in the zodiac order.


    Why fifth? Well, the Jade Emperor hosted a race to determine the order and the dragon fell behind the rat, ox, tiger, and hare even though it could fly. There are several versions of why this is the case, but the story goes that the dragon stopped by to give some peasants rain. And when the rain threatened to flood the river and drown someone, he created a gust of air to push him to shore.


    Basically, the dragon is a swell guy.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.5 Respite

    Respite 8.5


    2005, July 9: Nameless Village, Babylon


    The farm boy was named Joseph. He liked hunting with his da'' and wished there wasn''t so much to harvest so he''d have more time to play with his brothers. He also asked a lot of questions.


    "What are the witch-lords like? What do they do with all the stone-wood they make us harvest? How many are there? Do you know any magic? Can you show me?" he babbled on.


    I hadn''t expected this. Weren''t medieval societies supposed to be afraid of magic? Or had the Slug wiped that paranoia out of them? I''d expected a hefty dose of awe and fear, not this kind of childish curiosity.


    "Slow down, Joseph," I said. "The witch-lords are creators. They make things, like my eyes. When I lost my eyes, one of them crafted these for me."


    "Oh! You must have met the Great Turtle!"


    "The¡­ Great¡­ Turtle¡­?"


    "Yes! The leader of the witch-lords who live there is the avatar of the god of creation. The elder says so. The Great Turtle is the earth. We live on his giant shell and it''s through his benevolence that we have such bountiful harvests."


    I had no idea what to say to that. Fortuna said she had no direct hand in their budding worship, but I wondered if that was true. It sounded like they''d somehow blended up World Turtle myths, common in Hindu, Chinese, and even Native American cultures, with the domains that I was purportedly responsible for.


    Joseph held out a turtle shell talisman made of wood and looked at it with wondrous awe. It was so sincere, so earnest, that I felt awkward just walking next to the kid.


    "Right¡­ We call him Hyunmu," I said weakly.


    "Lord Hyunmu¡­ Wow¡­"


    We eventually arrived at the biggest building in the village. It was three stories tall, with the first floor being a big meeting hall meant for town halls. According to Joseph, the village elder lived upstairs.


    I hoped the elder would be a bit less¡­ worshipful¡­ of my alter ego, but considering the rubbish the town had filled this poor boy''s head with, I wasn''t optimistic.


    X


    The village "elder," Conrad apparently, was a man I''d consider to be middle-aged. He was about as generic a "medieval peasant" as I could think of, as rude as that might be to say. He had brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles that made him look like he could pass for Amy''s uncle. He was also in his late twenties, maybe early thirties.


    That threw me for a loop. An elder should be old and gray, right?


    And then I remembered: This was an artificial village, founded by Cauldron for the purpose of cheap, efficient human labor, not a settlement that grew organically. The whole village was five years old and it wasn''t like Fortuna and Eva picked up the old or infirm to offer new lives to. There were some children and teens, but the vast majority were young adults in the prime of their lives.


    When Conrad learned that I was the "messenger of the witch-lords," he quickly dismissed Joseph and ushered me inside. He took me past the meeting hall and into his living quarters, where he lived with his wife and children.


    "Thank you for your hospitality, elder," I said as I took a seat across from him. He placed a wooden mug filled with barley tea in front of me.


    "We should be the one telling you that, lad," Conrad said. "The witch-lords have been good to us. They gave us a home when we had none and provided us with a life we could have never dreamed of."


    I was skeptical. From his perspective, I was effectively the boss'' secretary, come down for a "surprise inspection." Of course he''d sing my praises. And if he found out I was one of those "witch-lords" in question?


    No, I clearly had to get him talking more, maybe even get a proper tour of the town.


    "They''re good people," I said softly. "Tell me, elder, does this village have a name? We''ve been calling it ''Babylon,'' but it strikes me that we should ask you residents what you call this place."


    "This village? Ah, we''ve been calling it Lordsmith, after the Great Turtle. I pray he would not mind, but it felt appropriate."


    "I''m sure he would allow it. Hyunmu, that is his name, is not easily offended."


    "Have you met him before? The Great Turtle? Lord Hyunmu?" he asked, eyes sparkling just as Joseph''s had.


    I leaned back a bit to put some distance between me and my¡­ adoring fan¡­ "I have. I suppose you could say I''m an apprentice of sorts. Please, call me Andy. I was sent to take stock of this village."


    "I see. How can I assist you?"


    "To start, how many live here?"


    "About a thousand, perhaps a hundred more."


    "And of these, how many are able-bodied and productive?"


    "Near all of us, lad. As you can see, I''m the elder, and I''m not a graybeard yet."


    I nodded and continued to ask my questions. Though it was a village established for my sake, interacting with Joseph and Conrad drove home just how little I knew about this place. Sure, I received the occasional status update, but it didn''t exactly cover much beyond "The petricite quota was met." I wanted to know more about how these people lived, not whether they were paying their taxes on time.


    As we talked, he told me a little more about the lifestyle that most villagers led. They were, as expected, lumberjacks and farmers. They cut down petricite trees using "enchanted tools" provided by Cauldron (mostly stuff from Home Depot) and dropped off the wood at predesignated locations. There, "enchanted golems" (i.e. my Wrenchbots) took over, weighing the wood against the monthly quota before carting it to the lab.


    "The quota isn''t too much, is it?" I asked, gesturing outside to the fields. "You seem to be farming alright."


    "Oh, no, the taxes are fine. Downright lenient compared to the lord I served before. Our lords are generous with us," Conrad said. "The witch-lords aren''t taking our harvest at all, not one stalk of wheat or bushel of apples, and we know there aren''t any other villages. The Great Turtle probably provides for them as he does for this village."


    "I see¡­ And what about the forest at large? I''m aware that there are several magical plants within the Garden of Babylon. Some of them are dangerous to humans."


    "Aye, they are. Jim''s horse ate one of them puffcaps and nearly choked to death. Then one of the forest wardens gave it some kind of medicine that fixed it right up. We get asked to harvest them in small amounts, but the witch-lords gave us enchanted clothing to protect us so it''s no trouble." He got up and dug around in his closet for a moment before coming away with the "enchanted clothing." I coughed loudly, trying to clear the tea that went down the wrong pipe. "Is something wrong, lad?"


    "N-No, sorry, Elder Conrad," I said, choking. That was better than busting out in laughter though, which was what I probably would have done had I not been hacking up my lungs. I hadn''t noticed it was there at all. Conrad had pulled out a beekeeper''s uniform, giant not-astronaut helmet and all.


    Fortuna had to be fucking with me. This couldn''t possibly be the most efficient solution to harvesting dangerous plants.


    Or maybe it was. The more I thought about it, so long as the tough, exterior fabric was treated with a spray-on plastic polymer to close air gaps, it was probably quite effective actually, especially if paired with a painter''s gas mask I could see in the corner of his closet. Perhaps I should be glad that someone thought to provide protective wear for them, because it had definitely slipped my mind.


    After all, the Garden of Babylon, named for the Hanging Gardens, had been seeded with more than just petricite trees and Freljordian wheat. There were also Veraza azaleas, puffcap mushrooms, dream blossoms, and more. Some were largely harmless, merely time consuming to harvest, like the azaleas, while others, like the puffcaps, could potentially be fatal. Dream blossoms wouldn''t kill a man, but losing the day to sleep, getting permanently lost in the fog, or even waking up without all your memories were distinct possibilities.


    The Garden was really shaping up to be an enchanted forest, and given I planned to teach Riley some of the horticulture methods favored in Zaun, I had a feeling it''d only get more dangerous.


    "Are you happy?" I asked finally. I wasn''t really a city planner or administrator, those were concerns better left to the Number Man. But at the end of the day, this was what all other questions boiled down to, right? These three words?


    Were they happy? Could they see themselves living fulfilling lives with what they''d been given? And if not, how could I provide for them more efficiently?


    Perhaps some of my sincerity carried through my expression because Conrad took a while to answer. He brought his mug of barley tea to his lips as he considered what he should say.


    "We are, lad. We have good food to eat, are protected from the forest by the Forest Guardian, and we have friendly relations with the fae folk."


    "Fae folk?"


    "Their lord, Peter Pan, sends an envoy to trade with us. Our grain for some of their fruits and masterwork tools. I''d never seen workmanship like these in my life, lad, not one that wasn''t made by divine hands anyway," he gushed, pulling out a switchblade. It was pretty normal, a thick, sturdy hunting knife that would suit any woodsman. The handle of the blade was adorned with a hydro-printed pattern depicting a wolf howling at the moon. "The steel is perfect but the design is truly incredible."


    "Ah, I see. We call that place Neverland. I plan to visit it after taking a tour of Lordsmith," I told him.


    "Truly? So the witch-lords are overlords of the fae as well¡­"


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "Umm¡­ You could say that¡­" I had nothing to do with Rinke, but surely if anyone deserved to be called a witch, it was Fortuna, right? RIght. She had him by the balls anyway. "Say, do you mind if I took a look around the village?"


    "N-No, of course not, Andy. Come on, I''ll show you around."


    He got up and led me back downstairs, to the village proper. With a population size slightly north of a thousand people, there wasn''t a whole lot to see. I did however notice that there were many amenities here that would be otherwise unavailable in a normal medieval hamlet, chief among them a rudimentary school.


    The cause was apparently the Freljordian grain and other cash crops Fortuna had introduced. Medieval grain crops were not genetically engineered and selectively bred for production and hardiness. They required more work and outputted less grain per acreage.


    Compared to that, magic wheat bred to survive Freljord''s harsh weather and other crops from the modern world must have seemed like divine providence to these people. They had more time for leisure, less taxes, and worshiped a "god" whose domain included smithing, the arts, and other aspects of human progress. Education was a natural investment in that sense.


    I wasn''t exactly thrilled about turtle shell ornaments hanging from doors, especially over the smithies, bakeries, and what looked like an apothecary, but left them to it. They''d apparently taken my maker''s mark from the Wrenchbots and Forest Guardian and adopted it to be the Great Turtle''s divine symbol, a sign of good fortune.


    There was one curiosity that I couldn''t readily explain however.


    "What are those?" I asked Conrad, pointing up at the chimneys. The chimneys themselves were normal enough, usually made of brick and mortar, but many of them boasted little bowls filled with food. Some were even decorated to resemble bird nests.


    "You have a good eye, Andy. They''re, ah, how do I say¡­ jokes?" he asked himself with a sheepish smile. "No, that''s not right. They''re sincere, just¡­ Well, it started out as a tribute to the Winter Eagle."


    "Anivia?" I frowned. That explained why some looked like bird nests at least. "She''s¡­ unavailable. I won''t say I know her well, but I don''t think she''d care one way or the other."


    "Is that her name? She is the goddess of the snow and it was thought that by giving a portion of our harvest, we could appease her. Then perhaps the winter months would be warmer and shorter."


    "I see. You don''t have to give up a part of your harvest, you know."


    "Yes, we received word from Babylon. But then, when we began to trade with the fae, all sorts of rumors began to arise. Some claimed that we could make peace offerings to the fae by allowing the smoke to waft the aroma of food."


    "They''re not monsters that will carry off your children if that''s what you''re afraid of."


    "Hah, we know. It was the children who started doing it, more as a joke than anything. Then when some of the fae flew up to grab the food, well¡­"


    "Now it''s a tradition?"


    "Right. They sometimes come to visit at night, seemingly at random, and leave little toys for children. It''s become a game between them to see whether the kids can spot the fae before they leave."


    "I see," I said. That made some sense. There had to be at least one Case-53 that could fly. It honestly made me feel relieved, to know that these people were getting along with Peter Pan''s group and developing their own culture besides. "I''m sure Hyunmu will be delighted to hear it. So long as you''re happy with what you''re doing, I don''t think he''ll see a reason to intervene."


    "Only¡­"


    "Yes?"


    "Have you seen the fae, lad?"


    "I have," I nodded. I''d seen plenty of Case-53s. "I know some of them are intimidating, but they have orders not to harm the villagers."


    "No, no, that''s not it. We were wary at first, but the one called Peter Pan was friendly enough. Looked like a normal man, that one."


    "Then what is it?"


    "It''s hard to imagine that they are all one people. They look so different from one another. The children look similar enough¡­"


    That brought me up short. "Children? You''ve seen fae children?"


    "Aye, they''re real little, about as high as my waist. They''ve got big, fuzzy ears and dress funny. Have you not seen them before?"


    "N-No, I''ve been on a different project in Hyunmu''s lab. I haven''t been out in a while."


    This definitely required further investigation. Cauldron didn''t experiment on children. Ever. It was one of my hard rules. Even in the original timeline, Cauldron''s modus operandi was to give the sick and dying vials, not children. Doctor Mother and Contessa saw little utility in experimenting on children. If nothing else, children who became capes weren''t easy to control or coerce with contracts and favors.


    Which meant either there was a third party involved, impossible considering Babylon''s location, a lot of Case-53s asked Rinke to turn them into little elf children for some reason, or Rinke was making goblins.


    Clearly, he had yet to hurt anyone, but this was serious business. Could it be that when he manipulated the bodies of Case-53, he rendered them childlike to better fit in with his paternal image of himself? That didn''t seem like the kind of thing someone who was mentally sound would do.


    "Well this is it," Conrad said as he led me back to the center of the village. "The village is small, but we''re happy here. And we know who to thank. Please send our lord our regards."


    "I will. Thank you for your time, elder."


    I turned to leave. I still wasn''t sure how to feel about this village, but seeing them lead more or less content lives put me at ease. As I was passing beneath the wooden watchtower again, Joseph ran up to me.


    "Hey, messenger!" he called. At his side were several children, younger than me but by no more than a year or so.


    "It''s just Andy. Joseph, right? How can I help you?"


    "Well, seeing how you finished your business with the village elder, can you tell us what the witch-lords are like? You said you''ve met Lord Hyunmu. What kind of man is he?"


    "He''s probably like Martin the Smith. I bet he''s huge with big, broad shoulders from pounding the forge all day," another boy chimed in.


    "No way, I bet he''s like Sarah, she''s the village healer," another, a girl with freckles and a dimpled smile, informed me. "The Great Turtle''s also the lord of medicines, remember?"


    The children began to bicker about what I was like¡­ while I was standing right here¡­ It was the awkward cherry to cap the awkward sundae that was today. A part of me wanted to leave; there wasn''t any need to engage them.


    ''You cannot run forever,'' Wolyo growled in my mind. I could almost imagine his phantasmal fangs nipping at my heels, urging me forward.


    ''You wished to turn their worship to something productive,'' Farya added.


    ''Yeah, but¡­ It feels so weird talking about myself. I''m not some grandiose figure out of a storybook.''


    ''Then don''t.''


    It took a moment for me to understand what she meant. Then I held out a hand to silence the children. "Alright, you want a story? Then fine, here''s a story about Hyunmu and how he came about his companions."


    "He has companions?" the second boy asked. "Are those the other witch-lords?"


    "Kind of. No, I''m talking about the Wolf and the Lamb. Now, pay attention: Once, long ago, when the world was young and gods walked among men-"


    "-But they do that already. Aren''t the witch-lords gods?"


    "Shut up, Carl."


    "Make me, Rachel."


    "They''re avatars," I said quickly, forestalling the argument. It was true, in a manner of speaking. Shards may as well be gods to these people, and parahumans were indeed avatars of their Shards. "They''re given powers by a greater existence."


    "Woah¡­"


    "Yes, now where was I¡­ Right. When the world was young, gods walked among men. All of existence followed the cycle of life and death, all save one. For you see, there was a man, a man whose job it was to greet everyone when their time had come. He was the guide who would take them across the River of Souls and to the Spirit Realm, so that they might begin the cycle anew. This man, Death, was the loneliest of all. He would greet everyone. Good men, bad men, young men, old men, all would come to him in time."


    "So why was he lonely?" Joseph questioned.


    "Because he had to bid farewell to them all," I told him. As I spoke, I could feel a small flicker of the Kindred''s power well up from within. It left my voice with the slightest of cadences, a haunting echo that captivated them and rooted them by their feet. Their very souls resonated with my words, for Death spoke through me. "None could stay, for all souls must continue the cycle. All things must come to an end, and it was this man''s duty to see that course through."


    "That''s sad," Rachel said. "I don''t like sad stories."


    I smiled. The Lamb and the Wolf spoke within me, putting words to their legend. It was a story I''d read many times before, but all the more impactful now that they were the ones whispering the words.


    "It''s not so bad. The man was lonely and he could never have a friend. So, he decided to make one for himself. He took his ax, and split himself in two." That drew an audible gasp from them. "Yes, if he must be alone, then perhaps he could be two, and he would not be alone anymore."


    "But wouldn''t he die?"


    "He''s Death. He cannot die. And so that is how the Kindred came to be. They are called the Lamb and the Wolf, the Eternal Hunters who will one day guide all souls to the next life. The Wolf, with his fangs, seeks out all who flee from death, all who fear the inevitable. He tears them limb from limb, until they have no choice but to confront the end.


    "And the Lamb? She is the gentler of the two. With soundless steps and her bow in hand, she grants a swift end to all who face their demise with acceptance. She shows that though death is certainly scary, it is also a rest from toil and a relief from pain."


    Joseph nodded. "Ma said that too. When West, my dog, died, she said that everything dies so there''s no use stressing about it. West isn''t suffering no more."


    "That''s right. Everything will end one day. The Kindred don''t make judgments about the way you''ve lived, but they do demand that all meet their end in one way or another."


    "So how did they meet the Great Turtle?"


    I paused. That certainly wasn''t part of the Kindred''s lore. "Well, they were wanderers for many millennia."


    "What''s a millennia?"


    "Many thousands of years," I corrected myself. They were still children, small words. "They sought all whose time had come. But even though they had one another and were no longer lonely, they were faced with a new problem: They were curious. For you see, humans change over time. Traditions change slightly each generation. Brilliant men create new inventions, new ways of doing things that are easier and more convenient. Death may be unchanging, but life? Life is a thing that is ever in motion.


    "So, one day, the Lamb and the Wolf saw the Turtle. He was but a boy then, young even by the standards of men. But he was filled with the desire to make things. There was a great, winged creature called the Simurgh that attacked his home."


    "Not the Winter Eagle?"


    "No, not her. Her name is Anivia and she is someone different, a friend. Anyway, Hyunmu made something that could bridge the gap between life and death. He simply called it the Mask, an invitation to the Kindred. ''Come fight with me,'' he said. ''Help me chase the Simurgh away. Death is mighty. None can escape the Kindred for long.''


    "So, the Kindred, curious at the workmanship of this child, agreed. They offered him their power and drove her away. But Hyunmu was injured. Life and death mixed like oil and water and he was unable to house the Kindred. So, he fell into a deep slumber."


    "And then what happened?"


    "What do you mean what happened?" I asked with faux cluelessness. "He woke up. I hear he''s got a bone to pick with the Simurgh now."


    "The Simurgh isn''t dead?"


    "No, no she is not. But that''s okay. No one can run from the Kindred forever. She''s Marked now. And one day, the Eternal Hunters will claim her also."


    "Woah¡­"


    One of the boys looked at me with a troubled expression. "So what''s the point? Doesn''t that mean there isn''t any point to living because the Kindred will find us anyway?"


    "No, why would you think that?" I asked. I realized then that I was woefully unprepared for this. How does one explain the meaning of life to children? Or death? I took a deep breath and decided to be as honest as I could. "Look, some will say that because the Kindred will find you no matter what, you should live good lives so that you can give a good accounting of your deeds."


    "Yeah?"


    "Yup. And others will say that because we don''t have forever, the time we have left is all the more precious. Like¡­ Like if you had a hundred pieces of candy, you wouldn''t mind giving one away, but if you only had one piece of candy, you wouldn''t want to give it away anymore, right? Because you only have one and so it''s precious."


    "Uhuh¡­ Time is like candy. If it''s gone, you can''t get it back."


    "Right. Personally? I think that you should find something you''re passionate about, something you love. Then, make it your dream. Work at it and master it, be happy in the things you create. I won''t tell you that life has some greater meaning, I''m not sure myself, but I think that not knowing is okay. Sometimes, finding little pleasures in our daily lives can be meaning enough. Does that make sense?"


    "Umm¡­ I think so¡­"


    "Good, because I''m really not the philosophical sort," I said.


    "What''s that mean?"


    "It means¡­" I trailed off. Isolde was in my hand. I spun it on my finger. With each revolution, Isolde grew bigger and bigger. Until finally, I plunged the now greatsword-sized pair of scissors into the ground. A tower of mist burst upwards, shrouding me from view. By the time the Hallowed Mist cleared, I was long gone, nothing but my voice left on the wind. "... that I''m really not good at teaching children."


    Author''s Note


    This section may or may not be interesting. Still, I had a lot of fun introducing a developing culture and it felt a long time coming. Andy had other things to do, and still does, but I wanted to open up Babylon and seed a few plot hooks here, especially now that Riley''s on the crew.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.6 Respite

    Respite 8.6


    2005, July 9: Nameless Village, Babylon


    "Are you sure?" I asked Fortuna.


    "For the fourth time, Andy, yes. I am positive we have never experimented on children. The absolute eldest we''ve ever offered vials to would be considered adults according to their respective cultures."


    "You know how little that means, right?"


    "But that''s the answer I have for you. The youngest on record I believe was sixteen years old."


    "Then what are the villagers at Lordsmith talking about?"


    "I don''t know. I haven''t lied to you; I truly haven''t had much to do with the town. Nor will I dedicate a Path to finding out. I do have more pressing concerns," she said with a tinge of exasperation.


    "Yeah, you''re right. Thanks, Fortuna," I conceded. We spoke a bit more about current events before hanging up.


    I supposed it was possible for Rinke to have snuck in some experimentation without anyone noticing. That was the trouble with social manipulation after all: There was always the chance that Rinke would get ideas, especially if he''d managed to convince himself that those ideas would please Fortuna.


    Still, this was Fortuna. She ensured Rinke''s loyalty and she didn''t make mistakes, not like this. Which meant that if those "fae children" were his doing, they were harmless to both Cauldron and Lorsmith. Which explained her blase attitude somewhat.


    The answer was simple: I would need to visit Rinke and look into the matter personally. Either he was turning Case-53s into children, in which case I''d need to ensure they were happy with their forms, or he was turning the local fauna into goblins, in which case I''d have to ask him to stop.


    And if this had nothing to do with Rinke at all?


    Well, that could be a cause for worry¡­


    X


    2005, July 9: Neverland, Babylon


    I walked through the forest under the evening light. I''d returned to the lab briefly to grab my armor, figuring that it would be better to appear as Hyunmu and not Andy. I didn''t think I''d be deified for it at any rate.


    We had a lot more information about Neverland than we did Lordsmith because unlike Conrad, Rinke was an active member of Cauldron. They''d claimed a section of land deep within the forest, unimaginatively named the Deepwood, to establish their settlement. It was largely isolated from the villagers, so much so that no normal human could hope to make the trip within a week.


    The further into the woods I walked, the more the scenery changed from a normal, Eastern European forest to something straight out of fantasy.


    The shadows grew long as the sun began to set, but grooves within the trees came alight with multicolored butterflies with luminescent wings that only began to glow in the dim light. Beneath my feet, delicate, jellyfish-like mushrooms glowed with a cool, blue light, lending the whole forest a haunting beauty.


    Out at the fringe of my vision, I saw many creatures that had no business existing. Some looked like bigger versions of normal animals, like a squirrel the size of a sheepdog, while others were mutated monstrosities straight out of myth. I saw four-armed bears, elk with colorful horns straight out of Princess Momonoke, and even a gryphon that spied on me from atop the stone-like treetops.


    Clearly, Rinke had been busy. Then again, no one had told him he couldn''t, only that he was not to harm the village.


    "You know I can see you, right?" I called to the figure behind me and atop the branches. He''d been following me for the past twenty minutes, swinging from the sturdy, stone-like branches like a spider monkey, or some kind of ninja.


    It was almost cute, the way he froze in alarm. A hand went to an ornate crossbow at his hip, no doubt something Rinke insisted on over conventional firearms. He took shallow breaths and melded into the tree, lying himself flat against the trunk.


    He had long limbs, not enough to be grotesque, but enough that I noticed. Seeing him now, his fingers had barbed pads for grip, a little like sandpaper or shark skin. He also had a faint, reddish tint to his skin and pointed years, the latter which may or may not have been Rinke''s aesthetic taste shining through. Beyond these features however, he looked almost unremarkably human.


    "Put the bow away and come down. Do you have orders to keep the villagers away from the Deepwood?"


    His hand flew away from the crossbow as if it was on fire. Then, shooting me wary glances, he hopped down from the tree and landed a fair distance away, far enough that he thought he could run. "I do, who are you?"


    "I''m Hyunmu. Or Andy if you prefer. Have you never heard of me?"


    "''I''ve seen the pictures. Hyunmu is a lot shorter."


    "I was ten. I''m thirteen now, had a bit of a growth spurt."


    "I don''t believe you. Hyunmu has the Door. He wouldn''t need to come through the Deepwood like this."


    I chuckled. He reminded me of Joseph, and of Riley now that I thought about it. I suspected I''d be going through this song and dance again in the future.


    Pulling Isolde from my hip, I extended the blade until it was long enough to clip the canopy. Then, with a swift flourish, a plume of mist and ice fluttered around me as I sheathed my primary weapon again.


    "I am Hyunmu. I figured that I haven''t actually seen much of this forest even though I was the one who started planting it. I know this is the sanctuary for you lot so I hope I''m not intruding too much. What''s your name?"


    His eyes widened with surprise and lingered where I''d stowed Isolde. "M-Marik. Are you looking for Peter Pan?"


    "I am, though it''s not immediately urgent. If it was, like you said, I would have called via the Door. I''m just content to walk around for now."


    "I-I see¡­"


    "Well, now that you''re sure I''m Andy, do you want to walk with me? Tell me about this place. I know I wasn''t the one who made all these interesting plants and animals," I said with a friendly smile.


    Marik, one of the more human-looking Case-53s, turned out to be the one most commonly sent to Lordsmith so as to not alarm the villagers too much. He also acted as something of a forest ranger, though his primary role was shooing people away from the Deepwood so that they didn''t accidentally fall prey to the dangerous fauna and flora. Most things here were under the control of Peter Pan, but they were doing their best to avoid accidents nonetheless.


    As we walked, he pointed out several creatures Rinke made, such as the griffins, that further helped secure the perimeter. Seeing all his creations, it highlighted just how little the PRT could have done in the old timeline had Nilbog wanted out of the Elisburg Containment Zone. They didn''t keep him in; he kept himself amused.


    The closer we got to Neverland, the more of the Lost I saw. They lived in treehouses, literal houses carved directly into the petricite. And, to Rinke''s credit, not one of them had the kind of grotesque, monstrous appearance characterized by Sveta in canon. Every last one was humanoid, at least in a general, "upright with four limbs" sense. Many had scales, fur, or outgrowths like rock or bark, but some of the mildest cases could pass as simple cosplay.


    Compared to them, Jamie Rinke, Peter Pan, was a thoroughly unremarkable man. In fairness, he was remarkable here purely because he was so unassuming, like the only man at a Halloween party who had not thought to bring a costume. He stood at the base of the largest tree hollow and wore emerald-green robes embroidered with blue and gold at the edges, a man completely in-character as the leader of a forest commune.


    "Hyunmu! Be welcome," he said with a wide grin. "You know, this is the very first time you''ve been here. Why is that?"


    "Apologies, Peter," I said, opting to address him by his cape name. Everything about him suggested he''d prefer it to being plain ol'' Jamie. "I''ve had a rather long nap."


    "So you have. And before that, I assume you were busy preparing."


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "It wasn''t enough. I lost."


    "I think you''re the only one who thinks that. You sent an endbringer running. Very few can claim the same, hero or villain. You''re a true hero, not like the Pretender."


    It took me a second to remember: He meant Scion. Fortuna had told him that he was Cauldron''s final enemy, the one who''d distributed powers to the world and started this sick Cycle. The Great Enemy. "Be that as it may, I have a long way to go before I fully master my powers."


    "Don''t we all. Come, come, let me show you inside. The Garden of Babylon may be your brainchild, but there is so much that has changed since your slumber."


    We stepped inside the giant tree hollow. Inside, I found that it was entirely hollow all the way through. The ceiling was so far up that I could not see it from the ground floor. A spiraling staircase ran up the wall, leading to rooms of various stripes.


    Funnily enough, I saw as many modern amenities as any five-star hotel. Bathrooms with functioning toilets, kitchens with gas stoves and fridges, and more were just beyond a few corridors. They''d been reskinned to incorporate a fae-like aesthetic but were present nonetheless. Clearly, Jamie didn''t want to go without the comforts of modern society.


    Down below, I saw a basement corridor that shimmered and led directly to an eggshell-white hallway, one I''d walked several times before and knew connected to Babylon''s lab. Doormaker and Clairvoyant were truly indispensable.


    The tree hollow was a pale-white, not unlike fine marble. It was the natural color of petricite wood, and with the light of glowing butterflies and fungi, it left me feeling as though I''d stepped into some kind of fantasy cathedral or temple.


    "How did you build all this?" I asked, not bothering to mask the hint of awe in my voice. It really was impressive.


    Rinke grinned wide with childlike pride, eager to talk about what was obviously his treasured sanctum. "Acid, of course. Or, well, an enzyme that behaves like acid. Petricite is wonderful stuff, Hyunmu, stops my power cold from working it directly, and it''s harder than any other wood I know of, but it''s still wood. I picked up some ants and modified their biology a bit. They have their venom sacs near their mandibles and secrete an enzyme that rapidly breaks down cellulose."


    "You¡­ And where are they now?"


    "In stasis, of course. I know better than to let them breed without oversight. I made them bigger, reduced their numbers, made it so they derive nutrition from plant fiber, and then implanted several failsafes. Fortuna was insistent about that."


    "Wow, that''s impressive. It sounds like you really put some thought into them," I said honestly. I waved a hand at the scenery. "And it''s clearly paid off. Really, well done. I didn''t think anyone would figure out a way to work with petricite so efficiently."


    "Thank you. Of course, all my creatures have similar constraints. Not the Lost, but the animals."


    "Excellent. I''m glad you''ve been settling in well."


    Rinke led me to a giant flower with flattened, crimson petals. It looked like it could be a pokemon, a vileplume or something. He stepped onto a petal and tapped one of the stamen, causing it to rise into the air.


    He''d made an elevator. Out of flowers.


    He looked at my gaping face and laughed. "I did a lot of studying. Biology of all sorts, but botany especially. I had to if I wanted to do this place justice. It took some work, and the simplified notes from a plant tinker Fortuna found in Sri Lanka somewhere, but I figured out how to make a corrugated type of cellulose that fills and expands with water like a spring. Slowly, of course. The stamen control the water flow into the plant, letting me adjust the height."


    "This can''t go all the way up, can it?" I asked, genuinely impressed. Clearly, the Garden of Babylon might have been my brainchild, but Neverland was Rinke''s magnum opus.


    "No, no, even my power can''t do that. There are several of these plants every few floors."


    "How do you call the flower up to you if you''re on a middle floor then?"


    "Oh, that''s easy-" he started.


    He explained how he''d had his ants dig grooves throughout the walls, creating a network of what he called "signal branches" that poked out of the walls like elevator buttons.


    There was more. As we made for his office, he gave me a rundown of all the different amenities he''d added to Neverland. Some were modern technology installed with Hero''s help, but there were just as many things he''d innovated on his own using plants. A few Case-53s had powers that could contribute to construction or produced materials that were versatile enough to be applicable elsewhere. Together, they''d truly created a society in the time I''d been asleep.


    His office was aesthetically in line with the rest of the tree hollow. There was a small coffee table, a section of flattened petricite log, and couches that looked remarkably soft and plush lined with a type of lichen I didn''t recognize. A chandelier of glowing mushrooms lit the room with a cheery light.


    I took a seat and broached the real question: "How about the Lost? I suppose they''re not really Case-53s until they decide to emigrate to Earth-Bet and get registered under the PRT."


    "Precisely. A few different names were thrown about but well, this is Neverland. There are a few who are considering venturing outside. I am working to ensure that they are prepared in every way I can. Don''t you worry, they''ll be ready to face the Great Enemy when the day comes."


    He sounded so proud of that. I remembered why they were here at all, the reason I couldn''t get Fortuna to stop making them in the first place: Scion, for whatever reason, loathed looking at Case-53s. He actively averted his attention from concentrations of vial capes, so much so that their mere presence gave Cauldron''s HQ some measure of privacy.


    But fighting? Against Scion?


    I almost barked a laugh of disbelief. No, they wouldn''t be much use on that front. They were, at best, distractions. They would die in droves, every last one who volunteered to engage Scion, all to buy us a measly second.


    I knew that. Fortuna knew that. All of Cauldron knew.


    And yet, we were raising this army of dead men anyway, because Scion was just that dangerous. We would sacrifice thousands to save billions; that was Cauldron''s remit.


    I schooled my features and forced myself to smile and nod. "Don''t worry about Scion. Simply train hard, learn to work together, and, if they choose to leave Neverland, ensure they are the best heroes they can be. That''s all I can ask."


    "Of course. There is a school here, you know, special classes for those who wish to leave that are designed to better integrate them into the hero culture of Earth-Bet."


    "That''s excellent. I''m glad you''re preparing them as best you can. If you need anything from me, let me know, Peter."


    "Nothing at the moment. I just wanted to share some of my work with you. This forest has truly come alive this past year and I thought you should see it."


    "Yeah, it''s beautiful. I have to ask though, how is it working with them? Are their bodies hard to adjust? Easy? Is there anything I can provide to ease the process?"


    "It''s not easy," he said with a frown. "Those poor things. When they arrive here, they remember nothing. It is a noble thing that Fortuna is doing, giving them a home here. Their Shards seem to reject external influence, as if they''ve decided that their hosts'' new forms are ''right.'' It takes a lot of coaxing, minor changes over the course of weeks."


    "How minor? Can you walk me through that process? Call it professional curiosity."


    "I like to start with dead cells. Hair, nails, and outer layers of skin and the like. I typically just change the color to be more human-like or adjust the shapes as best I can. Even if the Shard rejects the changes, that rejection isn''t going to hurt the host."


    "Does that happen often? Shards are finicky at the best of times and Eden''s Shards aren''t part of the network anymore. They tend to work off faulty information regarding humans or simply lack the same controls found in natural parahumans."


    "I''m aware, but no. Usually, simple cosmetic changes take without issues. You know how my power operates, yes?"


    I nodded, a tad grossed out. "You create a placenta-like sac that envelops the target and turns them into organic slurry before reforming them."


    "I do," he said. He lifted his hand to show me a groove along his palm. It peeled apart a bit, revealing a red, fleshy sac. "As far as the Doctor can tell, I secrete an enzyme that breaks down organic matter. It took some practice, but I learned to selectively envelop different sections of a body and lower the enzyme concentration. It''s still imprecise, but¡­"


    "But it''s what we''ve got," I finished for him. "You''re doing these people a huge favor."


    "I know," he sighed. "I wish I could do more for them. I start with incremental changes and move up from there, but when I get too deep, their Shard reasserts itself. It also keeps my power from fully integrating into their bodies."


    "So you don''t know where all of the Lost are at any given time?"


    "No, not truly. The animals and plants I''ve made, yes, but not the Lost. I would have to dissolve their brains and¡­ I don''t want people who are forced to be my loyal minions," he said softly. "It might be better for our mission, but it would be no better than killing them."


    I could see Fortuna''s hand on this. This Jamie Rinke wasn''t Nilbog. Nilbog had eagerly turned an entire town of three thousand into his yes-men and forged a kingdom for himself out of his own delusions. The Jamie Rinke who sat before me was in some ways the same, yet oh so different.


    He saw the Lost as his children, students to be mentored. He cherished them, just as Nilbog cherished his goblins. And yet, he also saw them as distinct people and respected their individual identities.


    Perhaps it was hypocritical of me to be relieved at this. The irony was that neither I nor Fortuna had much respect for Rinke after he triggered. She''d launched a social manipulation campaign so effective that he was functionally a very different man. This was without question the better outcome, but one built on deception and manipulation.


    "We do what we can with what we have," I said solemnly. That was practically Cauldron''s motto, to pick the least shitty option in a host of shitty options.


    As we talked, I came to the hypothesis that Rinke''s Shard was working with the dead Shards somehow. It seemed that by making gradual changes, he could work up to optimize the physical deformities present, even if he could never eliminate them. It was as if his Shard was providing some of the controls that the dead Shards lacked.


    I walked away that night with a better understanding of Neverland, the Case-53s, and Rinke himself. The visit was a long time coming, and well worth the effort, but I was no closer to discovering the truth behind the "fae children" that some in Lordsmith had seen. Clearly, this wasn''t Rinke''s doing. The more I thought about it, the more sure I was of my suspicion.


    It was time to examine Lordsmith more closely.


    Author''s Note


    I''m having a ton of fun worldbuilding Babylon. I''ve decided to write at least one chapter of LT per month no matter what. It''s a very imperfect story, but it''s my first baby, damnit.


    As always, my science doesn''t need to make sense, merely be vaguely plausible to someone with a middle school education.


    If any of you will recall, way back when, Fortuna decided that Jamie was to be told only part of the story. As far as he knows, the "Great Enemy" distributes Shards. Some of those Shards malfunction, forming Case-53s, resulting in their flawed memories. Calling them the "Lost" makes sense from his perspective; he''s not just keeping up the Peter Pan references.


    Can Nilbog affect C-53s? Honestly? We don''t know. I''m inclined to say yes, but in a limited fashion in the same way Amy couldn''t fully heal C-53s either.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.7 Respite

    Respite 8.7


    2005, July 10: Lordsmith, Babylon


    I spent Sunday with Riley. I woke her up at the crack of dawn so we could begin stretching before guiding her through some of the basic forms of Shojin kenpo.


    According to the Shojin monastic tradition, it was customary for initiates to climb the mountain and dedicate themselves in full, giving up all earthly attachments. Barring a few exceptions, they weren¡¯t likely to descend the mountain for years, until they proved themselves well-versed in the philosophical teachings of the temple and were trusted to conduct themselves wisely.


    As such, there had never been an acolyte as young as Riley. Joining the temple was a choice, one that was not made lightly nor in haste. The Eye was young, but even she wasn¡¯t six.


    Thankfully, I had no intention of following everything in Shojin tradition. My own martial art was a cobbled-together mess of Shojin and Wuju anyway. However, that did leave me with a bit of a conundrum: I was unsure just how far I could go with her so I did my best to be gentle, incorporating little games like Simon Says into our training. My morning workout was no longer a workout for me, but seeing Riley tired but happy made it worthwhile.


    Perhaps I¡¯d copy a shonen trope and make myself some weights to train with. That way, I could drag myself down to her level and we¡¯d both have our training.


    I then led her through Lordsmith and Neverland as I¡¯d promised, introducing her to some of the biotinkered and magical plants and animals there. Each time, I drew on the course on ethics Eugene forced me to take in DC, reinforcing the way each creature fit into the local ecosystem and why they were made.


    The truth was, Riley would never have a normal understanding of bioethics. The ¡°sanctity of life¡± was well and good, but Riley was someone who¡¯d violate said sanctity no matter what she did. So, with her power in mind, I decided to focus her education on ¡°usefulness¡± and ¡°belonging.¡±


    The goal wasn¡¯t to curb her tinkering, not really. That was an exercise doomed to failure. If anything, she¡¯d likely come to resent me and sneak some projects on the side should I restrict her too much.


    No, the goal was to teach her prudence. By showing her how the broader ecosystem worked, how each creature was useful for humans, and how the humans of Lordsmith cultivated the world around them, I hoped to instill in her a sense that living things required a purpose, a function that allowed them to fit with one another like puzzle pieces. I wanted to shift her perspective from the individual to the broader ecology and the wholeness it represented.


    It wasn¡¯t perfect. Life wasn¡¯t perfect. But it was a start.


    I then left her to her own devices before going off to make more Worldstones and Wayfinders. By evening, I¡¯d finished inscribing the runes on the model of Quebec City, which meant the seven biggest population centers in Canada would be added to the network.


    It was time to expand, maybe set something up in Western Europe for better collaboration between the Meisters, Kingsmen, and other heroic groups there.


    Come evening, I set up several of my dragonfly drones around Lordsmith before setting out different dishes atop the chimneys. The ¡°fae¡± didn¡¯t visit every night, but it would be good to keep watch.


    X


    2005, July 11: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    ¡°No,¡± I said, putting my foot down. ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    Glenn Chambers, because the last PR director got sacked during my nap, looked back at me in confusion. He blinked owlishly, trying to register that, yes, a thirteen year old just told him no and he¡¯d just have to live with it.


    ¡°But why not?¡± he asked, almost but not quite a whine. ¡°The premier of Last Christmas is exactly the kind of thing you should show up for! No one but a handful of the organizers will know. You¡¯ll be a surprise guest. They¡¯ll probably expect some rich fat cat or an A-list actress and then, BAM! Hyunmu! Back from the dead! It¡¯ll be perfect! You can show up in a cloud of mist, do some tricks for the crowd a bit-¡±


    I cut him off with a flex of my mana. True Ice warped the air around us, drawing clouds of mist from his breath even in the toasty Phoenix summer. ¡°No. I can¡¯t do anything about it existing, but I refuse to condone something that romanticizes an endbringer attack.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what it¡¯s doing-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what it¡¯s doing, Glenn. I lost friends there. I refuse to condone some bullshit docu-drama glorifying the way my friends died.¡±


    ¡®We could convince him,¡¯ Wolyo growled in my mind.


    ¡®Perhaps witnessing his own end will make him appreciative of those who have gone before,¡¯ Farya mused.


    They didn¡¯t care. Not really. The Kindred cared not for the morality of man. The end was the end, simple as. I knew this.


    And yet, they were responding. I was as much part of them as they were of me. For a few minutes above the skies of DC, I became death. And now, my own humanity was bleeding through to them, however slightly. It was sweet in a way, but the last thing I needed was to have to explain to Rebecca why the Wolf ate her PR director.


    He must have seen the dangerous look in my eyes, or perhaps the touch of the Kindred was more tangible with my irritability, because he backtracked quickly. ¡°Fine, fine, no movie premier. But maybe we can have you visit the Wards in different cities? You being back is a huge deal, Hyunmu. Wards membership shot up because people admire you, especially the younger kids.¡±


    ¡°So what? What do you want me to do with them? I have no experience in leadership and me just showing up and telling them what to do would just undermine the local leadership.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, but your presence would raise morale in itself. Go on a patrol or two. Be seen around town. Take down a few of the local bigshots. That¡¯ll keep most villains¡¯ heads down, the smart ones at any rate. And if the Wards have a tinker in the city, maybe mentor them a bit?¡±


    I thought about it. Patrols weren¡¯t long, not when I could move at silly speeds. I¡¯d rather not play hopscotch through the country however. ¡°I¡¯m open to the idea, but I refuse to visit every city. Let¡¯s prune the list to the ones that have one of my former teammates: Phoenix, San Francisco, Albuquerque, Brockton Bay, and Jacksonville sounds fine.¡±


    ¡°How about Seattle? Wonderla-¡±


    ¡°Wonderland can go die in a fire. Bitch abandoned civilians and ran through the Wayfinder before closing the gate after her.¡±


    ¡°S-She did?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I was there,¡± I said with a glower. Inside my soul, the Wolf growled a warning. I made a note of it. He chased those who ¡°fled from death¡± and I could feel his influence on me begin to stir. ¡°I understand her fear, but that doesn¡¯t mean I respect her. If she didn¡¯t want to help, she should¡¯ve at least turned the Wayfinder over to someone who would have stayed to keep the gate open.¡±


    ¡°Okay¡­ Not Seattle then¡­ But those five cities are a little¡­ small? How about the cities of the Triumvirate on top of that?¡±


    ¡°Pass. They don¡¯t need my help.¡±


    Glenn looked like he wanted to argue but let out a defeated sigh. ¡°Fine, as you wish. I still think you¡¯re not using your image to its fullest potential.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s fine. I have more pressing tasks in mind.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Adding to the Worldstone Network for one,¡± I said dryly. ¡°Feel free to hype that up as much as you please, without requiring my presence for ribbon cutting ceremonies or whatever.¡±


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t say you¡¯re not busy at least.¡±


    ¡°Quite. Good day, Glenn.¡±


    ¡°Wait, will you at least consider a PHO AMA?¡±


    ¡°An Ask Me Anything thread? Sure. Actually, I do need to formally introduce Riley to the world, don¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°You do. Your mother is a very public figure. Her adopting the last Slaughterhouse survivor raised some eyebrows, though Director Lyons has kept the paparazzi away for the most part.¡±


    ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll host that at some point.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take too long. Meanwhile, I¡¯m going to start hinting at your return. You¡¯d be surprised at what a few words in the right circles can do.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t care so long as I don¡¯t have to be involved. Until next time, Glenn.¡±


    X


    2005, July 11: Hyunmu¡¯s Lab, Babylon


    I looked over the hextech capacitors I¡¯d made before the coma. Next to it was a coolant I¡¯d derived from True Ice, along with plates of a petricite alloy that was many times more durable than conventional metal and virtually immune to most expressions of powers. All of it, it was supposed to be part of the Galio unit, a hextech titan that towered over Behemoth.


    There was a time when I thought that the best way to counter the endbringers would be to have a drawn out slugfest with a mecha of my own. That was how all the protagonists did it, right? Gundam? Guren Lagan? Pacific Rim?


    Should all else fail, the original plan was to have my Galio unit grab and hold Behemoth while Hero used Stilling to destabilize the core. With enough shield emitters crammed into the mech, it should be possible to neutralize Behemoth¡¯s final explosion for whenever he converted his own core into a nuke. Or, at least, we ought to be able to minimize the blast so as to not lose an entire subcontinent to the fallout.


    But then came the Mask. It was my focus, proof that I was a card-carrying member of the Kindred. It was also the single greatest offensive ability I had. Barring the personal weapons of the Aspects, or perhaps some of the other spirit gods, I couldn¡¯t think of a single thing from Runeterra that could claim to be its better.


    ¡®We are greater,¡¯ Farya muttered, her usual melodious voice almost petulant.


    ¡®I think you¡¯re a tad biased,¡¯ I told her.


    But whether the Kindred were superior to the Aspects or not, the point was moot: I already had my silver bullet, the thing that could kill an endbringer. Building anything else for purely offensive reasons was a waste of time; I didn¡¯t need more killing potential.


    After all, what could stop Death?


    Which was why I was in my lab now, rethinking Project: Galio. A mech didn¡¯t need to be a source of firepower. It could also be an invaluable support unit. As mighty as the Kindred were, they couldn¡¯t do lots of things. They couldn¡¯t heal, protect, scan for threats, coordinate allies, nor evacuate civilians.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    With Dragon online already, I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about coordination or reconnaissance. Which meant I should make a mecha that could help protect, heal, and evacuate civilians, a sort of all-purpose tool that was useful both in and out of endbringer battles.


    ¡®In that case, does it even need to look like a human?¡¯ I mused to myself. I took out a notepad and began to sketch idly.


    ¡®Why protect them? They will all meet their end in time,¡¯ Wolyo growled.


    ¡®Because their end doesn¡¯t have to be at an endbringer battle. Or any other tragedy. Humans should be free to seek their own happiness.¡¯


    ¡®So long as you do not postpone their passing indefinitely.¡¯


    ¡®Never,¡¯ I said, and meant it. Introducing immortality, even if I could, sounded like a truly horrible idea. Modern society wasn¡¯t quite ready for that kind of fantasy bullshit. ¡®Any ideas on the design? Maybe I should make a giant sheep?¡¯


    ¡®Your mockery is noted and unappreciated,¡¯ Farya said.


    ¡®I mean, a wolf would clash with its protective purpose. Wolves are predators after all. But a sheep? Hmm¡­¡¯ I briefly shared my mental image with them, a towering, mechanical lamb that stood head and shoulders above some indeterminate city skyline. On its back were cannons that lobbed bundles of poro-shaped wool through the air. Where each landed, the woolen balls formed protective spheres around the people.


    ¡®Hehehe,¡¯ Wolyo laughed, a rumbling, scratching sound.


    ¡®If you wish for symbolism in your creations¡¯ aesthetics, use your own sigil, you foolish human,¡¯ Farya huffed. I could feel her flustered indignation through our bond and I sipped at it like fine wine. Who knew? Farya was weak to mockery.


    Then again, I doubted anyone else had the sheer nerve to poke fun at her before. Or if they did, they probably didn¡¯t get to savor the achievement.


    ¡®Alright, fine, fine, sorry. I¡¯ll stop. You¡¯ve got a point anyway; a turtle would be thematically appropriate.¡¯


    ¡®I do not tell you to create in the likeness of a turtle for simple amusement. You are Kindred. Let your name resound.¡¯


    ¡®Figures. The stronger my legend, the stronger you are, right?¡¯


    ¡®It is so. Those who pass on will know your name. Every soul we guide will empower us. Should you become more like us, our presence in the mortal plane will tax you less.¡¯


    ¡®Fine, but where do they all go?¡¯ I asked curiously. I¡¯d told Joseph and the children at Lordsmith that there was a River of Souls, but I didn¡¯t actually know myself. Then, with more worry, ¡®Please, please don¡¯t tell me I¡¯ve been sending people to the Runeterran death realms. Oh, god, I haven¡¯t been sending them to Mitna Rachnun, have I?¡¯


    ¡®Of course not,¡¯ she sniffed.


    ¡®Oh, good, because that¡¯d be all kinds of fucked up¡­¡¯


    ¡®Indeed. Ochnun drives lesser souls mad.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s not what happened to Mordekaiser. He remained and took the place over, didn¡¯t he?¡¯


    ¡®And who said he is not mad?¡¯ she whispered. ¡®He believed souls will fade and deluded himself into lingering in a realm that is intended for transience. He is mistaken. They merely pass on.¡¯


    ¡®Well, that¡¯s¡­ good to know¡­? So, turtle?¡¯


    ¡®Turtle. A legend is easiest to manifest when there is a symbol to rally around.¡¯


    ¡®Alright, but I¡¯m calling this Project: Gamera.¡¯


    ¡®We care not what silly name you give your toys, only that they advance your legend.¡¯


    And that was how I ended up designing a giant turtle-mecha. Truth be told, I had a lot of fun with it.


    To start, I decided that Gamera would fly, its four legs flattening out into paddles when not on the ground. This wasn¡¯t just a stylistic choice: If my mecha could fly, its size wouldn¡¯t be constrained by the width of whichever city¡¯s streets happened to be the theater of operations.


    Lifting such a large construct into the air would be a challenge, but I¡¯d already made White Walkers, my boots, that generated clouds beneath my feet. Making four, giant versions shaped like clawed, webbed feet wouldn¡¯t be out of the question.


    Second, the overall form would be that of Hyunmu, the Black Turtle of the North. Its tail would be serpentine, both to better reinforce my legend and so I had a place to house a literal army of drones.


    The idea was to build oblong, diamond-shaped drones that could overlap along the length of a central ¡°spine¡± to form the scales of the serpent. Each scale would be inscribed with runes from the Unsealed Spellbook Keystone, probably with Barrier, Heal, and Teleport. The swarm of drones would fan out across the city and evacuate civilians before returning to the serpent body.


    The spine would act as a charging station while the serpent¡¯s head would be able to send out orders to the collective. It would be a secondary control station that could operate independently from the main body. I¡¯d need help with creating a virtual intelligence program tailored for the task, but hey, that was what Richter was for.


    The main body, a thirteen-section turtle shell, would boast eleven layers of shielding, with the two shoulder plates being omitted to house scaled up variants of Jhin¡¯s Curtain Call. I¡¯d already made one such variant, designed to work with the relic pistol. The eleven shields would layer over one another, sacrificing the mobility of the drones in exchange for far greater durability.


    Weapons made from relic stone worked by siphoning magic directly from the Spirit Realm, or in my case, the Rune of Inspiration. It was why on Runeterra, they were found exclusively on Helia. To fuel such a monstrous number of shields and two, giant relic cannons, I¡¯d need a truly absurd amount of magic. I could only accommodate this by forging another Nexus, one that would act as Gamera¡¯s beating heart.


    After hours of coming up with schematics, I leaned back to admire my work. It was glorious, almost fifty feet tall at the shoulder and three times as long without counting the tail. It was also completely beyond my manufacturing capability at the moment.


    ¡°I need to industrialize,¡± I muttered. I¡¯d always planned to expand my lab¡¯s manufacturing section, but I¡¯d never gotten around to it before the Simurgh showed up to rip me a new asshole.


    Naturally, I had no intention of doing it all on my lonesome. I dialed Hero; he did say he¡¯d been working with the other tinkers on Cauldron¡¯s payroll.


    ¡°Hello? Andy?¡± I heard his voice come through. There was the sound of clanking metal on the other line.


    ¡°Hey, Eugene. Are you busy with something? I can call back.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean, yes, I am, but it¡¯s good to hear from you. You called at a good time actually.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Hold on, let me put you on speaker.¡±


    There was a spark of static before a second, feminine voice came through. ¡°Hello? Hyunmu? I am Dragon. It¡¯s a pleasure to speak with you for the first time.¡±


    I paused at that; I hadn¡¯t expected to meet her quite yet. ¡°Hello, Theresa. Just call me Andy please. Were you and Eugene working on Guild projects?¡±


    ¡°Ehh, kinda,¡± Eugene said. ¡°I¡¯ve been running some tests to figure out the limits of my specialization. She and Andrew are here to give me an update because they¡¯ve taken over much of the general background work.¡±


    ¡°Ah, hello,¡± came a third voice, male this time. I took this to be Andrew Richter himself.


    ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s good that you called because I wanted us to touch base with each other. We ought to also talk about what exactly we should start Riley on.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll start then. Alongside adding to the Worldstone Network, I¡¯ve been thinking about a mecha primarily designed for endbringer battles but deployable in other scenarios.¡±


    ¡°Do you of all people really need another superweapon?¡±


    ¡°No, which is why it¡¯s going to be predominantly defensive in nature. You know those rings that I gave mom? The ones that shield, heal, and teleport her away in an emergency? I¡¯m going to scale them up and put them on a bunch of drones.¡±


    ¡°Good idea. You¡¯re going to need to upscale your production a great deal though, which I¡¯m guessing is why you called.¡±


    ¡°Yup. I could also use some help designing an AI to coordinate the drone swarm. I was hoping Andrew could help me out. Or if it turns out that our tech isn¡¯t really compatible, at least a more user-friendly interface to make it all more intuitive for the secondary pilot.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fair. We can talk about that. Maybe we can help each other. As for me, like I said, I¡¯ve been experimenting with the Stilling but it¡¯s slow going. I¡¯ve been going out on missions to clear my head when I need to.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let the criminals hear you say that. They¡¯ll riot when they find out you only show up when you need stress relief,¡± I joked.


    Andrew spoke next. ¡°As for me, I¡¯ve taken over the production of general hardware used by Guild operatives. Or rather, my AIs have. I mostly just manage the scripts and forward relevant information to different people.¡±


    ¡°What does that look like anyway? It¡¯s not like we can give every Guild member their own tinkertech armor, right? Most of them aren¡¯t even combatants.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right; the majority of the things I oversee aren¡¯t tinkertech, stuff like portable water filters, efficient solar batteries, body armor, more robust communicators and the like. They¡¯re tinkertech-adjacent, but they don¡¯t require nearly as much maintenance. It¡¯s all thanks to Theresa. She was able to disassemble tinkertech we had lying around. Though she couldn¡¯t fully replicate them, she was able to reverse engineer some of the technology to advance our mundane technology by leaps and bounds,¡± he rambled, exactly like a proud father.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t much,¡± said AI demurred. If I didn¡¯t know she was incapable of blushing, I would have thought she sounded flustered. ¡°I am uniquely suited to analyze large data packets.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s still impressive,¡± I told her sincerely. And it was.


    Dragon triggered post-Newfoundland, following her father¡¯s death, the realization that she would never be free of her restraints, and that Saint would never leave her alone. Clearly, my peers had decided that Dragon didn¡¯t need to trigger if we had the original AI tinker alive and on retainer.


    That she was able to glean anything at all from tinkertech, however minor, even without a trigger event of her own, was a genuine cause for celebration.


    ¡°Thank you, Andy. It means a lot coming from you. On my end, I am predominantly responsible for overseeing father¡¯s other AIs. None are fully sapient, but we are considering adding a sibling to our unorthodox family,¡± she said with a happy trill. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what she¡¯d be like if, or more likely when, she became a big sister.


    As they talked, I became increasingly impressed with the scale of their operations. Though Andrew monitored the gear produced for the Guild, and Dragon herself, Dragon was notably busier.


    She liked to disassemble confiscated tinkertech in her spare time and oversaw several subroutines and non-sapient AIs that monitored PHO and the global banking system at large to crack down on financial crimes. The latter, of course, with approval from the Number Man.


    Of the products themselves, of particular interest to me was a form of hydrogel, a hollow, plastic, bead-like substance filled with fluid. Rather than build tinkertech products as the final output, they¡¯d instead built tinkertech machinery that could produce materials that were both mundane yet many decades more advanced than the limits of current technology. In this case, by manipulating the water concentration and the polymers that form the outer shell, they could adjust its physical properties.


    These could then be mass produced to construct ablative plates for body armor. The finished product was both lighter and much more durable in the short term than anything on the market, especially useful for medics, international aid workers, and the like who were not expected to engage in prolonged combat yet might encounter fighting in the course of their duties.


    The father-daughter duo asked for my assistance with two more ongoing projects regarding hydrogel: First, they¡¯d managed to create a semi-permeable membrane that would dissolve harmlessly in the body. The idea was to fill each gel with a dose of potion, or perhaps a variant of the Elixir of Iron, to grant Guild operatives a measure of healing and durability. I was required to adjust dosages for time-released modules.


    Secondly, they¡¯d found my notes on pyrogel. Or rather, Ziggs¡¯ notes on pyrogel. I¡¯d made the stuff alongside Graggy Ice, a project mom still teased me over.


    Fortuna had then taken several, unreasonably large packets of pyrogel to blow off the side of Mt. Merapi, creating a secondary vent for lava to flow and diverting the majority of an eruption that some stupid shaker caused because he thought he was paying tribute to Behemoth¡­ who he worshiped as the avatar of Batara Kala, the Balinese god of the underworld.


    Andrew and Theresa thought that a special, biplastic casing would keep the explosive gel stable. If it could, the material could be readily shaped into whatever charge was needed, and replace many other blasting agents used in construction. Whether it was building bridges or digging canals, industrialized pyrogel could solve a lot of problems for the civilian sector.


    In exchange for my expertise, they agreed to upgrade and expand my lab. I could do it myself, but between the Worldstones, Wayfinders, Project: Gamera, teaching Riley, and learning more about Lordsmith¡¯s mysterious visitor, I could stand to have less on my plate.


    Author¡¯s Note


    If you think about it, Andy treats the Mask like Armsmaster treated his nanothorns in canon, like a superweapon that could slay an endbringer. He¡¯s not wrong. In the end, the Mask is an extremely powerful weapon, but it is horribly lacking in the utility department. And not everything can be solved by throwing literal Death at it.


    The Runeterran afterlife is one founded on reincarnation. We know this for a fact because Illaoi is capable of ripping your soul straight out of its body, no matter how many lives you¡¯ve lived. Lives. Plural.


    That said, the Death Realm is a nebulous place much like the Glade or Bandle City. It¡¯s part of the Spirit Realm; we know this because of the Ionian Spirit Blossom Festival. This means that the Death Realm is a place that is fundamentally shaped by the beliefs of the various cultures on Runeterra. All the afterlives are real. Freljordians believe that when the Wolf takes you, you go to the Beyond and join the Great Pack. Ionians go on a spirit journey led by a kitsune guide.


    Just about the only constant in the death realms is Ochnun, the language of the dead. Knowing it allows the user to manipulate souls, even compressing souls into constructs (that¡¯s Morde¡¯s armor by the way). It is a language that Andy speaks fluently as a consequence of his soul being bound to the Kindred, though he probably doesn¡¯t even know he has that perk lol. Again, consequences. More on that later.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.7.5 Parahumans Online

    Interlude 8.7.5: Parahumans Online


    Welcome to the Parahumans Online message boards.You are currently logged in, Hyunmu


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    ? Topic: [PRT] Hyunmu AMA. Yes, I''m back.In: Boards ? United States ? Southwest ? Arizona ? Phoenix ? GeneralHyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Posted On Jul 16th 2005:


    Good morning, everyone. I had a wonderful nap. The new PR guy says I need to do the bare minimum to "connect with the community" or somesuch nonsense so here it is.


    Ask me anything.


    Edit: By Ornn''s shaggy asscrack, you lot can''t trust anything, can you? [I am Hyunmu]. There. Video of me freezing [Magic Trash Panda''s] shoes to the floor. Now excuse me while I run for my life.


    (Showing page 1 of 4)


    ?Mezcal Mike (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Is this for real?


    ?Haha Bro #2 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    No way, dude. It''s probably a joke.


    ?Haha Bro #3 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yeah, but he''s got the Verified Cape tag. He might be a new Ward.


    ?BadSamuraiReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Are you a new cape [Hyunmu]? Because if this is a publicity stunt to announce a new Ward, it''s in really poor taste. It feels pretty disrespectful to take on Hyunmu''s name.


    ?Minuteman Sam (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Washington, DC)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Shit''s not cool, [Hyunmu]. I know you probably think you''re going to live up to the name, but I was in DC during Last Christmas. Go back to whichever chucklefuck in PR gave you that name and tell them to stuff it.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    For fuck''s sake. You guys really can''t trust anything, huh? It''s me and here''s [video proof]. Edited the OP and tagged [Magic Trash Panda] so she can come yell at me.


    ?Magic Trash Panda (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yeah, that''s Andy. Ask your questions while you can because when I catch him, he''ll wish he was back in bed.


    ?Minuteman Sam (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Washington, DC)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Holy shit! Welcome back!


    ?Haha Bro #3 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Welcome back.


    ?Haha Bro #1 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Welcome back.


    ?WhedonRipperFanReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Actual question: Are you part of the Phoenix Wards?


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    When did you wake up?


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I was contacted by the PRT. I will be monitoring this thread carefully. While I''m here, I may as well participate.


    [Hyunmu], what''s the biggest change since 2002 that you''ve noticed, both personally and professionally?


    ?EmpressCygnus (Cape Groupie)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Wow, welcome back! Does this mean you''ll be prioritizing the Worldstone Network again? That thing saved a ton of lives and your friendly neighbors up north could use some love.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    [WheldonRipperFan]: Kinda? I''m in a bit of a political limbo at the moment. The short answer is yes, but I''ll be working on my own projects independently. Because I''m now an edgy teenager and too cool to hang with them.


    Nah, it''s because there are too many things that I can do that go beyond the scope of a single city, such as the Worldstone Network as mentioned. Not to mention, I need to develop new potions and manage the other things in my pipeline. I''ll stick around Phoenix (I like the city), but it was agreed that my work shouldn''t be limited to any one city.


    [BringingDaHeat]: I woke up this month. I suppose I could have done this AMA sooner, but I wanted to spend some time with my family and friends.


    [Tin_Mother]: The biggest personal change is definitely Riley, even more than waking up in an older body. She''s adorable and I love her already. I was super excited to hear that mom adopted a little sister for me to spoil rotten.


    Professionally? Not nearly as positive, I''m afraid. I miss the Madhouse. It was years ago for you, but to me, that was just two weeks ago.


    [EmpressCygnus]: You''re Canadian, then? And yes, I''ve already begun adding cities to the network. I have a lot of things to juggle, but work will continue until I have every metro area in the US and Canada included. After that, well, the name speaks for itself.


    ?Mezcal Mike (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Alright, I know this needs to be said. How pissed are you at [Metalmaru] for outing you?


    ?Haha Bro #1 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lolol You really went there.


    ?LoyalReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Man''s retired. Let it go, dude.


    ?Haha Bro #3 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Tbf, he did out a Ward. Post-endbringer battle, too.


    ?Metalmaru (Verified Cape) (Retired)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Why was I-Holy shit. Welcome back, little dude!


    And wow... I''m really sorry about that. I should have checked with other people first.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Ehh, it''s cool. I don''t really mind being an outed cape. Things were really chaotic and you legitimately thought I was dead so the mask didn''t matter anymore.


    I heard you have a kid now too. I¡¯ll visit sometime soon, maybe bring over a cake or something.


    The paparazzi that stalked my mom should watch his fucking back though.


    *The user has received an infraction. Please don''t threaten people. You''re still a hero.


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Please don''t threaten people.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Threats? Me? Never. It''s a suggestion. See the "should?" He''s free to do as he pleases. Run. Accept your fate. It matters not, for the Kindred welcomes all in due time.


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lolol Can you imagine some poor boy trying to ask out Riley ten years from now and getting the shovel talk from Hyunmu?


    Imagine some kid knocking on his door to ask his sister to a school dance and there¡¯s suddenly a giant shadow-wolf-thing drooling down his neck.


    I already feel bad.


    End of Page.   1, 2, 3, 4


    (Showing page 2 of 4)


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I wouldn''t do that. She''ll have enough weapons to geld someone without my assistance.


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    BACK TO THE AMA.


    Do you go to school? What do you do during your spare time?


    ?Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol He graduated high school a long time ago. Rubbed it in Bandit''s face for the longest time during our movie nights. It was hilarious.


    Also, the little guy likes to bake when he has spare time. And he''s scarily good at it.


    ?Haha Bro #2 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Wait, Hyunmu... bakes...?


    ?Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yup. Ask [Magic Trash Panda] if you don''t believe me.


    ?Magic Trash Panda (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    When did I become the Hyunmu expert? Not that I¡¯m complaining.


    Can confirm, he''s great. And I don''t mean "brownie mix and chocolate chip cookies" great. I mean "3-layer black forest cake with homemade dark chocolate ganache and hazelnut crisps" great. I didn''t even know what a black forest cake was until he gave me some.


    Actually, wasn¡¯t there a bake sale he participated in for a PR thing years back with the Arlington Wards?


    ?Haha Bro #2 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Huh¡­


    Looked it up in the PRT MySpace archives. [Yeah], there was. I don¡¯t think anyone thought he was the one who baked those cookies though.


    ?Haha Bro #1 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yeah, that''s unexpected. I mean, cool, but weird. I expected his hobby to be like... shooting practice or building race cars from scratch or something. Baking feels¡­


    ?Mezcal Mike (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Mundane? I feel you. It''s surprisingly normal for a tinker who can go toe-to-toe with an endbringer.


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Eh, everyone needs something to get their mind off work, I guess. I really want a slice of that black forest now.


    ?Mezcal Mike (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yeah, not knocking it, just unexpected.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    [I made a cake this morning]. It¡¯s white chocolate and matcha with almond shavings. Both mom and I really like matcha and we¡¯re slowly enlightening Riley to the proper way of things.


    And yes, I bake regularly. It''s a great hobby to have because I can share it with Riley. [Here''s] a picture of my sister with chocolate on her face from last week. I think the disconnect is because you guys put me on a pedestal as some kind of super-tinker. I have normal hobbies like everyone else.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    If it makes you feel better though, I do practice martial arts using Isolde (my scissors). And, because mom''s a classically trained musician, I practice music, mostly sax and piano (I like jazz).


    ?SenorEelReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Damn, how do you find time in your day for all that?


    More importantly, why scissors? Like, we all saw it, but you could have chosen any other weapon shape and you went with scissors. That can''t be the most practical weapon you could have come up with.


    ?Good Ship MorpheusReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    How many other people can say they stabbed the Simurgh with a pair of scissors though?


    ?Mezcal Mike (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yeah, we''ve all seen the memes, but I doubt that was the reason he chose scissors as his primary weapon.


    While we''re on the topic of crazy tinkertech, what''s [this]? [Stingray] said it was just called the Mask and the Lamb and Wolf were projections but what''s with them?


    ?TheGnatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Actually, can we just get a description of all the tinkertech in your suit?


    ?Good Ship MorpheusReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Probably a good idea. Seconded.


    ?SenorEelReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Thirded. Also, what else (besides the Worldstones) is in your pipeline? Any Gundams? Please build a Gundam.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Alright, fine... Here''s a quick description of all my tech.


    Isolde: A pair of scissors favored by Gwen, who herself is a living puppet created by a seamstress-turned-queen of an ancient, magical kingdom. The queen''s name was Isolde.


    Relic Pistol: One half of the twin guns of Lucian, a Sentinel of Light. He was a great warrior sworn to defend the world of men from the Black Mist, basically a zombie apocalypse. He¡¯s not a fan of lanterns and loves his wife very much.


    Curtain Call: The shoulder-mounted augment to my relic pistol. It is named after Jhin, a homicidal maniac who fancied himself a virtuoso of the arts and considered each murder a masterpiece to be painted in exacting detail. He favored a four-shot hand cannon that functions like a magical coilgun.


    Ymelo: Named for the original craftsman who made Ahri''s sunstone talismans. Yes, those anti-master talismans I gave to some members of the Protectorate. It''s a very pretty ball. Don''t mind it. It''s not stealing your soul or anything.


    White Walkers: Named for George''s greatest mistake. They were designed to replicate the shoes worn by Sun Wukong, disciple of Yi. They let me walk on air and stuffs. Remember, ¡°A true master is an eternal student.¡±


    Dragonfly Familiars: They''re little drones shaped like dragonflies that extend my visual range. Nothing special about them.


    Anivia''s Grace: My armor. The greatest frozen turkey in the world gave me a boop and now I too can make frozen turkey whenever I want. Also, rest in pieces, Lily #1-192.


    The Mask: Death magic incarnate. It''s tied to my soul and makes me one with the Kindred, specifically the Lamb and Wolf. They are spirit gods of death. Lamb grants peaceful rest to all who embrace the end as their time comes. Wolf hunts those who try to cheat death relentlessly. They''re actually very nice, all things considered. I think they''re lonely.


    I think that''s everything I used in the endbringer battle.


    [SenorEel]: I had plans for a Gundam. Or a Galio, really, but I scrapped it. It''s not as helpful as Gamera.


    ?Haha Bro #1 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I''m worried. Am I the only one who''s worried?


    ?Haha Bro #2 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol No. You said a whole lot of worrying things right there, [Hyunmu].


    And what¡¯s a Gamera? Like from [Godzilla]? I mean¡­ Damn¡­


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I guess we now know Hyunmu is also into high fantasy. I mean, to be fair, what kind of tinker gives away all his tricks anyway?


    Also, LotR, Narnia, or Maggie Holt?


    ?Haha Bro #2 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yeah, guess we shouldn''t have expected a straight answer there.


    Actually, something I''ve been curious about: How do you see anything anyway? Those blue crystals you stuffed into your eye sockets don''t even have pupils.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Tolkien > Lewis >>>> McCrae. Don''t even joke about that. The Maggie Holt series definitely isn''t one of the greats. Though to be fair, I don''t usually like darker tones anyway. If I want gloomy and depressing, I''ll just watch [Ranchero] try to plan a date for [Stingray].


    [Haha Bro #1]: I see through walls and can selectively focus on anything I want in a spherical range around me. The dragonfly-shaped familiars I used expand my range and lets me aim Curtain Call far past where things would normally start going black for me.


    As for Project: Gamera, it¡¯s called that because I¡¯m a huge nerd and turtles are kinda my theme. I could have called it Project: Blastoise just as easily.


    ?Haha Bro #2 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol Ouch. Also, wrong Haha Bro.


    End of Page.   1, 2, 3, 4


    (Showing page 3 of 4)


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Oops, sorry.


    ?Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Oi!


    ?Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Hey now, he''s not that bad. I mean, he once set my car on fire, but that was past the planning phase.


    ?Ranchero (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Albuquerque)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Off topic [Tin_Mother]!


    ?BadSamuraiReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol He''s running away. Also, [Hyunmu], does that mean you can see people naked?


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Don''t answer that.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    [BadSamurai]: Yes, and to preempt this nonsense: It''s actually really boring. Sure, I can see your penis. I can also see your kidney stone about to make you piss blood.


    Yes, I know what color your nipples are. I also know the exact poundage of shit that''s accumulated in your rectum. Hell, I can track it in real time.


    Really, you''re not as pretty as you think you are. I''m actually a little afraid my power''s made me asexual, or one of those otaku neets who are only into 2D women. When I say I can see anything in my sphere of vision, I do mean anything. The human body is more gross and/or scientifically fascinating than it is sexy.


    [Tin_Mother]: What? Did you think I was going to solicit nudes or something?


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I can never be too sure with you. There was some talk about someone trying to sell Hero''s bathwater? I admit it was before my time but I''m told the internet is a crazy place.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    That was [He Who Inspires]. Oh, wow, he can still be tagged? Hahahaha, that''s great. I''m not him though. That would be crazy. Why would a Ward have access to Hero''s bathwater?


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Why indeed¡­


    ?SilentSongstressReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I have no idea what any of that''s about. [Hyunmu], are any of your potions good for diets? Like, are they all allergy-free and stuff? What about gluten? If I''m on a keto diet or a juice cleanse, do your potions qualify?


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Wow, I... I don''t recommend you take prescription medication as a regular part of your diet, you know, unless you have a doctor''s prescription.


    My potions are great, but they''re not food. Your diet shouldn''t factor in at all unless you have very specific nutritional requirements that are medically vital to your health. Long story short: Ask a doctor. They have all the information they need to help you. Seeing how I do not have access to your medical records, I can''t help you.


    To be clear: No, that is not an invitation to send me your medical records.


    ?Zero2Hero (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Yay, you''re awake!


    Are you working with Hero again? Also, what''s he like in-person? Does he have a girlfriend? I heard rumors about him and Alexandria. Do you?


    ?Minuteman Sam (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Washington, DC)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol I remember that bathwater thing. I think someone got into the Madhouse comms or something? I don''t know; it was a few years back.


    And [Zero2Hero], aren''t you too old to ask a 13 year old boy about his relationship status?


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    As mildly creepy as that is, I did say AMA, so...


    Hero''s great. He''s actually a huge dork. That''s where you fangirls are all wrong. He doesn''t want naked pictures of you. Or your underwear. He wants the latest LEGO box set of the Death Star or the Enterprise.


    And why would I know anything about Hero''s relationship status? I was asleep for three years. What I will say though is: It¡¯s really hard to date when you¡¯re hiding a huge portion of your life from your significant other. Even when they know, they don¡¯t get it without personal experience. That narrows down the options quite a bit.


    As for me? I think I''ll wait to date until I''m... twenty? Look, if you don''t know what the difference between a traditional and a Roth IRA is, you''re too young for me.


    ?Metalmaru ((Verified Cape)) (Retired)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    See, [Hyunmu]? This is why people say you''re an old man in a child''s body. Do you know how old I was when I knew what those were? It sure as hell wasn¡¯t twenty.


    For that matter, why do you know what an IRA is?


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol I''m in college and I''m too young for Hyunmu because I had to look up what that meant.


    ?Haha Bro #3 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Hyunmu likes older women, confirmed.


    ?MiraclemicReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Why is everything about sex with you people?


    Oh, here''s a question: Will Riley go to public school or will she be homeschooled?


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I don''t think that''s any of our business. This is a Hyunmu AMA. Let¡¯s not dig into details about his family¡¯s personal lives.


    ?MiraclemicReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Fair enough. In that case, how do you feel about the merchandise that the PRT''s made in the past few years with your logo on it?


    ?Haha Bro #3 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lolol [Miraclemic]. I doubt he''s even seen them all. I saw [these] Hyunmu brand scissors floating around. They''re kinda lame honestly. I mean, the plastic kinda looks like Isolde, but they¡¯re obviously just regular school supplies.


    ?SilentSongstressReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Wait, didn''t they get discontinued because kids stabbed each other with them?


    ?Haha Bro #3 (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I don''t know. If so, I''m not surprised. I mean, come on, the biggest badass their age stabbed an endbringer with a pair of scissors. What else were kids going to do with them?


    ?SilentSongstressReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Point. I guess it''s still better than the [Hyunmu brand athletic cups]. "Shell-tar" lol


    End of Page.   1, 2, 3


    (Showing page 4 of 4)


    ?Mezcal Mike (Veteran Member)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Wow, putting the PR in PRT. Guess they''re the real villains.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    What the fuck.. No, I didn''t know that. Please excuse me while I go murder Glen Chambers.


    *The user has received an infraction. You''re a hero. Please don''t threaten to commit a felony.


    ?Tin_Mother (Moderator)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I regret this job¡­


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    Fine, so I won''t stab him. I''ll... I don''t know but I''m sure I''ll figure something out.


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    lol Let''s distract Hyunmu, guys. [Hyunmu], where is your lab? You''re in Phoenix but I don''t think anyone''s seen you around?


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    It sits atop a hill overlooking an enchanted forest in a whole separate world. There, towering trees made entirely of petricite stand taller than skyscrapers and gryphons rule the skies.


    ?BringingDaHeatReplied On Jul 16th 2005:


    You could just say it''s a secret, you know.


    ?Hyunmu (Original Poster) (Verified Cape) (Wards Phoenix)


    Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    I mean, it''s not a secret. I told you where it is. You¡¯re free to visit, though you might have to find the Aspect of Twilight and bribe her to help you.


    Actually, don¡¯t do that. She¡¯s sweet, but she doesn¡¯t know how to play nice with mortals. You¡¯ll die¡­ or wish you died. You know what? Let¡¯s forget I said anything about Zoe, okay? Don¡¯t worry, she¡¯s not going to blow up the sun or anything¡­ probably¡­


    ?Stingray (Verified Cape) (Protectorate Phoenix)Replied On Jul 16th 2005:


    You really worry me sometimes¡­


    End of Page.   1, 2, 3, 4


    Author¡¯s Note


    Hyunmu is an entirely honest person. He¡¯s also a shameless troll. Both things can be true at once.


    Animal fact? Sure, why not. Pigeons played a surprisingly large role in the World Wars. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard about some that received military medals of honor, but did you know that Americans once considered making pigeon-guided bombs?


    Project Pigeon was B. F. Skinner¡¯s attempt to contribute to the project. Yes, that Skinner. Basically, the missile was a small glider with a guidance area in the nose. In it were placed one to three pigeons that pecked at the image of the target. The pigeons would only peck at the image when it deviated from the center of the screen (when the glider went off course) and would be rewarded via operant conditioning methods.


    Skinner received $25,000 for his project but the military ultimately canceled it because they felt it was impractical and would take resources from other, more immediately applicable, projects. Skinner himself would complain that no one took them seriously.


    Funnily enough, Project Pigeon would be briefly revived by the US Navy in 1948 as Project Orcon, only to be canceled five years later when electronic guidance systems were validated.


    So there you know, pigeon-guided missiles was almost a thing in history.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.8 Respite

    Respite 8.8


    2005, July 18: Phoenix, AZ, USA


    After almost two weeks of monitoring the town, I had a few more concrete ideas about who the "fae" could be. They didn''t visit every night, or even every other night, but I had a few shadowy pictures of the culprit. Conrad was right: They were short, had a humanoid shape, and wore some kind of robe with pointy ears and either a big hat or horns.


    A yordle. It had to be; there was no way it was anything else. Despite what Conrad said, there was only a single yordle of indeterminate gender.


    One picture showed them making off with a bag of cookies slung over their shoulder like a reverse Santa Claus. Another had them posing right in front of a drone like a runway model. Yet, every single picture I''d acquired over the past few days were blurred by someone or something, as if the pictures were charcoal drawings and had been smudged back and forth with a colorful sponge that left glittery residue all over the paper.


    That alone was a big clue: My cameras had excellent resolution. Day or night, the dragonfly drones I''d set up to patrol the village were highly accurate, which meant they were fooling my drones via magical means. Yordle glamor was good, but I didn''t think many had glamor that good.


    It had been a niggling hypothesis of mine, but one I''d dismissed early on as the least likely. But then again, when all other possibilities have been eliminated, whatever left, however improbable, must be the truth.


    That was the rub: It was improbable, ridiculously so, but not impossible. Now that I was forced to truly entertain the possibility, facts and theories began to slot into a greater whole.


    The Nexus was more than a giant mana crystal that stored energy for my projects. It was a bridge between my soul and the external world, a conduit that functioned without my direct input. In other words, it was the connecting point between a World Rune and the mana-starved world that was Babylon.


    Mana was like water in some ways. It tended to flow from areas of higher concentration and pressure to areas of lower concentration and pressure. That rule wasn''t absolute, but it did represent a general tendency. And I''d been encouraging this flow, actively spilling my mana into my surroundings. I''d cultivated a magical forest. I''d created a potions lab. Fortuna used one of my capacitors to power all of Cauldron.


    All of the above had been going on for years, even before my coma. The forest of Babylon, perhaps the entirety of what would be Ukraine as a whole, boasted an exceedingly high concentration of ambient mana relative to the mana desert that was the rest of the local dimensional cluster. Perhaps, in my own way, I''d been "flavoring" the world around me with the World Rune, altering its reality.


    After all, the World Rune was a fundamental aspect of creation given metaphysical form. It was a piece of the "programming language of existence." Perhaps, with Runeterra being another byproduct of said runes, this newly enchanted forest called to its sibling.


    If I was right, and the world was turning into some kind of off-brand Runeterra, then a yordle being the first to discover this place made sense. They probably arrived via the Low Roads, a set of pathways that linked different locations on Runeterra to Bandle City in the Spirit Realm. It seemed that somehow, my Nexus had altered the land enough for a gateway to manifest somewhere in the forest.


    That was a relief. Yordles were naturally benevolent. Many were pranksters, but they meant well and delighted in making others laugh. If I was truly fortunate, I might get an inquisitive yordle as brilliant as Professor Cecil B. Heimerdinger. Even if that wasn''t the case, I could do a lot worse than a yordle.


    "That''s a lot of pastries, bro. Are you trying to make a whole bake sale?" Riley said as she trudged into the kitchen. She did her best to look nonchalant but couldn''t quite get her hand into a bowl of cookie dough before I slapped it away. "Meanie. You have like ten pounds."


    "You can have some when they''re done baking, Riley," I chided. I dipped a finger into a bowl of sugar before giving my baby sister a boop on the nose. "If mom asks, you tinkered up some snow."


    She was right. I had four different cookies, from shortbread to strawberry cream. I also had a set of blueberry muffins that I''d been experimenting with recently. Whatever a yordle, or a sugar-addled child, could possibly want, I had it.


    Riley went cross-eyed trying to lick the bit of sugar on the tip of her nose. "Cookie dough is delicious though."


    "Raw flour isn''t good for you."


    "Not even a little bit?"


    "No."


    "Jerk. Why are you making so many?"


    "I need to take them to Babylon. Don''t worry, I''ll save you some."


    "You better," she huffed.


    X


    2005, July 20: Lordsmith, Babylon


    I jolted to attention, shutting off the alarm in my lab. It had taken a few days and more baking than I would have preferred, but the yordle had taken the bait. Now, all that was left was to confront the "fae child."


    I bolted out of the lab, my white overcoat billowing behind me. A platform of clouds formed beneath my feet as I dashed down the hill towards Lordsmith. I was equipped for a fight but wasn''t expecting one. Yordles were strong, they had some of the most potent and unpredictable magics of any race in Runeterra, but they were peaceful creatures. Truthfully, the opportunity to meet one was more enticing than intimidating.


    As I got closer, I figured out why the cameras couldn''t seem to get a good picture. A purple pixie was floating around, shedding his dust everywhere with each wingbeat. The dust seemed to have a strange effect on his surroundings, making them more somehow. The best way I could describe it was that he was filling the air around him with possibility, and the world around him wasn''t quite sure how to settle on reality. He was also currently burying his face inside a blueberry muffin as big as his torso.


    Next to him was a yordle I''d recognize anywhere. She was dressed in lots of reds and purples, something that resembled a witch''s robes. On her head was a big, pointy hat that tapered off into a prehensile tip akin to a tail. Wavy, purple hair cascaded down her back and caught the moonlight. Two, large ears poked out of holes made in her oversized hat.


    She had a strawberry cookie in each hand and looked to be having the time of her life. Even in the dark of night, I could see the cream and crumbs littering her big, delighted grin. A gnarled staff that was taller than she was laid temporarily forgotten on the ground.


    I paused. This was Lulu, the Fae Sorceress, in all her three feet of adorable, purple glory. No one else wore such a distinctive hat, or had a fae companion. That realization sent a shiver up my spine, of dread and delight in equal measure.


    On the plus side, Lulu possessed many of the qualities I admired in yordles. She was genuinely kind and loved to make others laugh. She was also immensely powerful, a mistress of wild magics that few could match.


    On the down side, Lulu was abnormal, even for yordles. She was a bit of an outcast in Bandle City because her perspective was so different. Though kind, she didn''t tend to think her solutions through and often went overboard with her magic, prioritizing having fun in the moment over any long-term plans. In short, she usually acted like a child, one whose sense of reality had been addled by her exposure to fae magics and her time in the Glade.


    I felt somewhat apprehensive but shoved my emotions into the Ymelo. I stepped down from the sky at a steady gait so as to not alarm her. Once, she''d turned a Noxian soldier into a purple squirrel, only to gigantify said squirrel and buff it up until it looked like a bodybuilder. The Kindred felt reasonably sure they could overpower Lulu''s enchantments, but startling the sorceress still seemed unwise.


    "Hello there, enjoying my gift?" I asked with a cheery wave.


    "Ah! Hi! Did you make this?" she squeaked, crumbs falling from her lips. Her cheeks were stuffed full like a chipmunk''s.


    "Yes, I did. Which is your favorite?"


    "Ooh, the ones that are shaped like cupcakes! I love strawberries!"


    I took a seat next to her. "So you''re the one who''s been taking all these offerings."


    "Offerings? To who?" she asked. She peered up at me with vibrant, lime-green eyes full of curiosity. She was actually half a foot shorter than Riley. It was hard to remember that this was a grown yordle. Or rather, there was no such thing as a "child" yordle because they were more akin to personified ideas than organic beings.


    "Technically, to the gods. This started as a tradition to offer food to Anivia, the Cryophoenix. Practically? To me, I suppose. Or maybe to the ''fae'' in Neverland. It depends on who you ask. I don''t think all the townsfolk are clear on why they''re doing it either to tell you the truth."


    "Fae? They''re here? Pix! There are fae here!" she cheered. It was so tooth-achingly adorable that I didn''t want to burst her bubble. Alas, the truth must intrude sometime.


    "No, no, sorry. They''re not real fae. That''s just what the townsfolk call the people in Neverland."


    "Aww," she sighed in disappointment. If I remembered right, Lulu wanted to find the Glade again, the home of the fae and one of the oldest locations formed in the Spirit Realm. Then, her eyes narrowed as she eyed me with suspicion. "Wait a minute¡­ You said you made these. Are you a narcissist?"


    "I''m not!"


    "You made yourself offerings!"


    "Yeah, but that was because someone kept eating these. I decided to investigate and then realized it was a yordle. What''s your name?"


    "I''m Lulu. And you''re still suspicious."


    "I''m Andy. Now you know my name so I can''t be suspicious, right?"


    "Hmm¡­ I''m watching you¡­ How do you feel about the color purple?"


    "Not my favorite flavor personally. I like matcha, maybe Korean pears if I want something a bit more floral."


    Her eyes sparkled with delight. She raised her hands in the air as if in prayer. "You understand! Purple is too a flavor!"


    "You''re adorable, Lulu. Say, did you come through a gateway? Across the Low Roads?"


    "Gasp! You know about the Low Roads?"


    "Yup. They have weird requirements to open them, right?" I asked.


    I remembered reading that one only opened under the right star. Another was in a tidal cave and would only open during low tide, when water would recede and fill only certain inscriptions carved into the ground. Still others required unique hand motions or songs. Most required the language of yordles, making the inaccessible to the vast majority of people.


    That was something to note for the future. I held a World Rune. What was a rune if not a language? Wasn''t the language of creation thus the origin of all language?


    Food for thought¡­


    Lulu nodded guilelessly. "Yup. Pix and I were looking for the Glade. There was this weird branch in the Low Roads that wasn''t there before. We followed it and, poof, here we are."


    "So my hypothesis was right¡­ It seems the Nexus bled enough mana into the forest that the ambient mana forged a connection to the Low Roads, not unlike how the Bandle Tree sprouted from the Glade, through Bandle City, and out into Runeterra proper back when the world was really young."


    "You sound like Heimerdinger. You''re not going to lecture me, are you?"


    "No, of course not, though I feel very proud that you think I sound like the Revered Inventor himself. You look like a free-spirited, fun-loving kinda gal."


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Exactly! Do you know where the Glade is? You sound really smart, Andy."


    I shrugged helplessly. "I''m sorry, Lulu. Even I don''t know where that is. In fact, I think the only one who might is Pix over there."


    "He doesn''t remember either," Lulu pouted.


    "I wish I could help you."


    "It''s okay¡­ But¡­ I know what might make me feel better."


    "Is it more cookies?"


    Lulu pretended to ponder that for a moment. Then, she hopped to her feet in a shower of violet and pink sparks. Her gnarled staff, inert until now, shot up between her legs as she mounted it like a broomstick. It hovered in the air, carrying her until her eyes met mine.


    She reached out and tapped my nose before shooting off in a shower of sparks. "Tag! You''re it!"


    I watched her fly away, vanishing like a comet into the forest. I had two options here.


    One, I could go home. I didn''t need to play tag with her; my curiosity had been satisfied. The intruder was Lulu, a yordle sorceress of not inconsiderable skill and immaturity. And, for all her childishness, she was not malicious, quite the opposite. I could go back to my lab and nothing of consequence would happen to the village unless they antagonized her. Given their tendency to associate the supernatural with me and their reverence for me, I doubted that would happen.


    That was the ideal scenario.


    Unfortunately, another general truism about yordles was that nothing happened quite as one might expect when they were involved and this was doubly true with Lulu.


    She stayed in the Glade for uncountable centuries, never realizing that so much time had passed until she rejoined Bandle City. Suffice to say, her grasp of time, or even reality in general, was a little skewed.


    There was once a time when Lulu played hide and seek with a village''s children. Technically speaking, no one was harmed, Lulu would never, but she did turn them into toadstools.


    For a month.


    "Nothing of consequence" really depended on the perspective in this case. What Lulu would think of as a funny, lighthearted prank could be the equivalent of psychological torture for mortals.


    At this point, I doubted I could truly lose her interest. I''d showed up, she''d invited me to play, and I thus had her attention. I wasn''t sure I wanted to know what she would do when she decided her new friend was ignoring her.


    Which left the second option. It was time to make a new friend.


    I molded the Hallowed Mist and kicked off, launching myself from the rooftop after the glittering comet tail.


    Chasing after Lulu was an experience. She was fast, faster than me when I was relying only on mana to augment my speed. It was all I could do to keep her shimmering trail in sight.


    She was an agile flyer. Her staff ferried her beneath the canopy and through the narrow gaps between branches. She wove a path so circuitous that up became down and west became east. It was like the very concept of direction lost its meaning.


    Her glitter, an unending shower of purple and pink possibilities, illuminated the forest all the while. The darkness of night would retreat at her passing, revealing the crimson leaves of the petricite trees that made up the backbone of the Garden of Babylon.


    And still she kept ahead of me, just out of my reach no matter how many twists and spirals she performed that brought her near. Once, I thought I could grasp the tip of her staff, only for her to twist out of reach.


    No, that wasn''t quite what happened. It wasn''t mere acrobatics and aerial dexterity that kept her ahead in our little game. I was hardly lacking in those.


    Something tugged at the edge of my senses, mana that was as foreign to me as Lulu was to this world. It lacked the concrete concept of an encoded spell. There was no defined purpose, nor an allotment of resources. Yet it was there, an ever-present current that ferried and caressed the little yordle like a cherished daughter.


    ''Wild magic,'' I realized. It was what she was best known for, though I''d thought she needed to at least pretend to pay lip service to the act of casting. As silly as "hugify" or "cuteify" sounded, they were indeed spellwords.


    ''Yordles do not obey the laws of man,'' Farya informed, her voice a melodious balm over my soul. ''They seldom comply with the laws of magic either. You would do well to abandon all expectations where one is concerned.''


    ''Or you can let me out to play,'' Wolyo growled.


    I could. I''d likely gain a measure of resistance to her nonsense then, probably enough conceptual mojo of my own to catch the little chaos gremlin. But¡­ But I was having fun. Besides, ''Aren''t they immortal? They''re not really escaping death, right? So why would you chase them?''


    ''It would be an entertaining chase.''


    ''I''m trying to be her friend, not gnaw on her.''


    Wolyo grumbled and withdrew as I tried to remember what I could about wild magic. It¡­ wasn''t much.


    Wild magic was inherently something that defied easy description. From what I could recall, Lulu''s magic was heavily influenced by her emotions and inner desires. This meant that she sometimes wasn''t in control of her magic and she often subconsciously altered the world around her in subtle ways. It made her a nightmare to predict, contain, or fight against.


    Containing a yordle wasn''t impossible, even Malcolm Graves managed it for a time. He did it with something called runic iron, a material that dispersed magic, not unlike petricite. However, as his partner, Twisted Fate, pointed out, things just had a habit of going a yordle''s way. It was like they were favored by the world, maybe even magic itself. Accidents, little slips and coincidences would happen that inevitably led to said yordle walking free.


    In short, she was a limited reality warper whose power depended on her emotions and subconscious desires. So long as Lulu was having fun, normal means of catching her were unlikely to work.


    The forest was filled with the sounds of her gleeful cackling. I wouldn''t be surprised if new tales of a "forest witch" began to circle the village after this.


    The chase went on until I stopped holding back. The World Rune roared to life, ignited by my competitive spirit. The runic tattoos engraved on the back of my right hand shone a brilliant azure as Hextech Flashtraption took hold.


    "Woah, hey!" Lulu yelped as I materialized a foot away from her.


    With one final lunge, I snagged her hat and put it on my own head. Laughing, I leaned against a nearby tree and shot her a smug grin. "I think this means you''re ''it,'' Lulu."


    "Hey, that''s my hat!"


    "And what a lovely hat it is. I think I look good with it, don''t you?" I teased, dipping down into a flourishing bow.


    "Grr, fine, be that way." Lulu and Pix acted as one. Each thrust a hand into the air as mana coalesced around them to form a violet corona. "Zippy!"


    Raw, unfiltered possibility settled around her like a shroud, taking on a more concrete principle. Now that she was drawing on her magic more deeply, I could recognize the nature of the spell. Her magic had a familiar tinge to it, one I experienced whenever I imbued any potion touched by Time Warp Tonic.


    It was time, harnessed directly without any other medium. The Unsealed Spellbook gave me a general understanding of magic, enough to appreciate the difficulty of the spell Lulu was using so casually.


    It was the Glade''s influence on her. Lulu didn''t typically acknowledge the passing of time because the Glade didn''t acknowledge the passing of time. The fae didn''t care and Lulu had the mentality of a fae.


    In light of her newly revealed conceptual bullshit, it was all I could do to call upon the Hallowed Mist. I drew Isolde from its sheath and slammed it point-first into the ground even as it enlarged to the size of a greatsword. A plume of mist erupted to conceal my location, allowing me to dodge out of the way of the yordle-shaped missile.


    We played this game for what felt like hours. She tricked me, using Pix''s fairy dust to create an illusion of herself. It wasn''t enough to fool my enchanted eyes for long, but that moment of confusion was enough for her to snatch her hat back.


    Then our game began in earnest. We largely stopped holding back. I broke out the Unsealed Spellbook, another rune within Inspiration. Ghost. Flash. Exhaust. Just about the only thing I didn''t use was Teleport, and that because we had an unspoken rule to not leave the forest''s boundaries.


    Lulu took it all in stride. She giggled like a schoolgirl and cackled like a witch, using her smaller size to great effect. Each time I managed to tag her, she did something else that fooled me for a moment, giving her just the right edge to let her take the lead once more.


    A shrub became a cloud of butterflies to distract me. A boulder reared up into a stallion, only to fold on itself like pudding, the sheer bizarreness of that making me pause. An owl became a dragon, a griffon, a grand fluffle of bunnies. Reality itself became her plaything as she shot rays of transmutation magic like a flower girl tossing rose petals at a wedding.


    Until finally, she was "it" again. I ran through the treetops like a man on a mission. There was a man-sized gap between the boughs. I tucked in my knees and flipped like a gymnast, form textbook-perfect.


    I''d almost cleared it when I heard Lulu shout behind me. "Hugify!"


    Her magic washed over me like a wave. Before I knew it, I was stuck, caught between two petricite branches over sixty feet off the ground. I coughed lightly as the wind was driven from my lungs.


    "Really, Lulu?" I grumbled. I wasn''t truly upset, but this was admittedly rather embarrassing. "Now I''m stuck."


    She hopped across the branches and twirled with her staff before booping my nose. Again. "You''re it."


    "So I am. I''m tired though."


    "Aww, already?"


    "Can you turn me small again?"


    "Small, hmm¡­?"


    "Normal-sized," I hastily corrected myself. She was probably joking, but one could never be sure with her.


    "Okie dokie."


    I shrank back down to a more manageable size. With some of her energy expended, Lulu seemed to be in a better mood for conversation.


    We hopped down from the sky and found ourselves in a moonlit glade surrounded by dozens of pale mushrooms. There were also much larger toadstools, ones big enough for grown men to sit on comfortably. They were unexpectedly comfy, springy yet firm like the best of sofas. Lulu and I sat down next to each other.


    "Say, Lulu?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Where is the gateway? It''s somewhere here in this forest, right?"


    Lulu stared at me like I was an idiot. She waved around her at the ring of mushrooms that surrounded the glade. "Right here, silly. You stand in the center of the mushrooms, sing a song, and then poof!"


    "Really? It''s that easy to get to Bandle City?"


    "Just the Low Roads. It only works on the full moon, and only if you speak Bandle," she explained. "Why? Do you want to come to Bandle City with me?"


    "No, I have a lot of work I need to do."


    "Aww, but then we can play all the time."


    "We can play together here, Lulu. And if I left, lots of people would get hurt."


    "Why?"


    "There''s a big, dumb man who gave everyone superpowers. Like magic, but much more limited," I explained, simplifying things immensely. I knew intellectually that she wasn''t a child. Hell, she was probably older than human civilization. That said, her childlike demeanor had me speaking as if to Riley without even noticing. "He''s going to destroy the world and everyone on it. A bunch of worlds, actually. My friends and I are trying to stop him."


    "Really? Should I turn him into a squirrel?" she asked, completely innocent yet all the more terrifying because of it.


    As far as she could tell, if this guy became a squirrel, he couldn''t destroy the world. Which meant her new friend could play with her more often. Her thought process really was that simplistic.


    Lulu wasn''t stupid, she''d probably forgotten more about magic and the secrets of the fae than most mages on Runeterra ever learned, but she had a childish set of priorities that she didn''t often deviate from. It was what made her both so endearing yet so unpredictable.


    "No, I don''t think that will work. He''s not really here," I said. "He''s¡­ The body he''s using is like a puppet, see? So unless we get to the real body, that won''t work, and we can''t get to the real body yet."


    "He sounds like a big meanie."


    "That he is," I chuckled. "Besides, his real body is as big as the planet."


    "No way."


    "Yes way. Can you transform the entire planet into a big squirrel?" That would solve a great many of our problems. Rebecca would worship the ground Lulu walked on if she could do that.


    She scrunched her nose in concentration. "No, I don''t think so. I''m sorry¡­"


    I reached out and tousled her hair. "Don''t worry about it. My friends and I are working on it. Say, did any other yordle ever come here?"


    "Not this time? There was that one time when I brought Vex. She''s a grump, but she''s nice. She''s weird. Oh, and Teemo also knows about this new branch in the Low Roads. I mean, he''s the Swift Scout after all."


    "That''s true. How about Yumi and the Book? Or maybe Norra? I would have thought either of them might have been the first to explore this place."


    "Nah, I don''t know where Norra is, but Yumi went off to the Kumungu Jungle to look for her."


    "If you say so. Say, do you even have a place to sleep?"


    "Duh." She tapped the toadstool we were sitting on. With a flex of her magic, the toadstool''s stalk became girthier and taller until it transformed into a small cottage. Its chimney barely touched my chest, but the height was perfect for a yordle. "Right here, silly."


    "Huh. That''s a neat trick. Was it hidden under an illusion or did you transform all that with just a tap?"


    "Neither! Toadstools are great because they''re so springy. They can be transformed and fold into other shapes."


    "Like one of those space-saving furniture?"


    "Like what now?"


    "Never mind. I think I get the idea."


    "Hey, Andy?"


    "Yes?"


    She peered up at me with delicate, vulnerable eyes. "Can we play again tomorrow?"


    "We''ll see. I''m very busy making things," I said. The look of dejection on her face reminded me of a kicked puppy. For all her power, she was, in the end, quite a lonely girl. I pulled her into a hug. "Maybe not tomorrow, but soon, okay?"


    "Really?"


    "Yup. And, I''ll have more snacks."


    "Ooh, can you make those strawberry cookies?"


    "The ones shaped like cupcakes?"


    "Yeah!"


    "Of course. But you need to make me a promise."


    She looked at me guardedly. "I-I can''t go outside the forest?"


    "No, that''s not it." I''d considered it, but that sounded like a recipe for disaster. Trying to keep her fenced in would only make her resent me, and probably wouldn''t work anyway. Yordles weren''t known for their patience. "I want you to be very gentle with the people here, okay?"


    "Gentle?"


    "Right. And careful. They don''t have magic, even if some of them look strange. If I really tried, I could probably force enough mana to break one of your enchantments, but the people here can''t do that."


    "They can''t? Why not?"


    "No, they can''t. What''s fun for you might not be fun for them. In fact, it could be very scary, being something you''re not."


    "But it can be so cool! Like, have you ever been a bunny for a day? Or a bluejay?"


    "I haven''t, but I wouldn''t want to be one unless I already agreed to it and knew it was coming. Promise you won''t turn people into other things without their permission?"


    She nodded resolutely. "I can do that."


    I held out my pinkie. "That''s not a promise, Lulu. You said you can do that, not that you promised."


    "I''m not Pix, you know," she huffed, cheeks puffing out in a cute pout.


    "I know, but I have to make sure."


    "Okay, fine. I promise not to transmodify people without their permission."


    "And, when you do, you won''t weave any enchantments that last longer than until sundown or sunrise, whichever is nearest."


    "Fine, but I want a cake. A big one!"


    "As big as your face?"


    "Bigger!"


    "Hmm, how about a cake big enough for us to share? And strawberry cupcake cookies too."


    She hopped onto her toadstool cottage and held out a hand. "You have a deal, Andy."


    I''d been the one to dictate terms. I was only losing some baked goods, goods I was happy to make anyway. And yet, looking into her big, emerald eyes with that delighted grin, I couldn''t help but feel as if I''d been duped.


    It was probably nothing.


    Author''s Note


    Finally introduced Lulu. It''s my headcanon that Lulu uses a limited form of time magic alongside nature magic. It''d make sense, what with her getting Rip Van Winkled.


    She''s a chaos gremlin and a ton of fun to write. I hope I did her justice here. Yes, she''s got a lot of abilities that are only hinted at in the gameplay.


    Mushroom Fact: Fairy rings are called that because old folk tales claim they are formed when fairies dance in circles in the moonlight. They are actually a single fungi organism. Their mycelium grow in a circle and sprout mushrooms that form the rings.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.</a>

 8.9 Respite

    Respite 8.9


    2005, July 21: Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia


    It wasn¡¯t uncommon for me to find myself in the salt flats of Bolivia. I¡¯d tried training in other locations. The Sahara made me itchy, the Himalayas was too rocky, and the view from Mount Kilauea got stale remarkably quickly, prime vacation destination or no. There was something about the salt flats, the illusion of an infinite, boundless horizon, that kept me coming back.


    I¡¯d fully recovered by now. I¡¯d retrained my flexibility until I could put gymnasts to shame. I¡¯d drilled the Wuju and Shojin forms into my body until I could react without a second thought. All that was left was the Mask.


    ¡®You are afraid, Yusung,¡¯ Farya said. Her voice was like a soothing song, enchanting and haunting at the same time. Her words were harsh, yet there was no condemnation in them, simply an observation.


    ¡®It is good for a mortal to fear the end,¡¯ Wolyo growled out. His voice was the direct contrast to Farya¡¯s, grating and deep.


    ¡®Can you blame me?¡¯ I asked with a hollow laugh. The thought of going to sleep again, of leaving mom alone, of not seeing Riley grow up, that genuinely terrified me. Newly minted immortal or not, those were moments I hoped to cherish for eons to come. ¡®The last time I put on the Mask, I knocked myself out for two and a half years. How long might I lose this time? One year? Five? I can¡¯t afford that kind of delay again.¡¯


    ¡®Then do not sleep. Endure.¡¯


    ¡®So long as you do not tax your body beyond its limit, you will not enter the dreamless sleep.¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, I know.¡¯ I took a deep breath.


    Theoretically, I knew I¡¯d be fine. Things were different from that day in Washington. The Kindred were directly present in my soul now. They were part of me, as surely as I myself was a part of the Kindred. Lamb. Wolf. Turtle. She who granted rest. He who gave chase. And the Turtle who¡­ I wasn¡¯t sure what I would be in this new trinity quite yet. All I knew was that such an intimate union with the Eternal Hunters had consequences for me.


    Ever since I received the Rune of Inspiration, I¡¯d stopped being truly mortal. I¡¯d slowly come to grips with the fact that I would one day outlive everyone I loved. Each discussion with various Aspects of Death helped with that. And yet, being united with the Kindred changed me further still.


    There were several flavors of immortality to be found in Runeterra, all available even to those who¡¯d started life as plain ol¡¯ humans. Ryze, aptly called the Rune Mage, had been the best analog to myself in this regard, an immortal who achieved this state via sorcery.


    Other types included Mordekaiser, who achieved a sort of undeath by mastering Ochnun; the Aspects, who became earthly avatars of celestials; Vladimir and his blood magic; anything to do Viego and the Ruination; Elise and her oath to Vilemaw; Lissandra and her deal with the Watchers; and whatever the fuck LeBlanc kept doing to keep herself young and beautiful. Upon reflection, immortality really was rather common on Runeterra, wasn¡¯t it?


    In contrast, the Kindred were, technically speaking, spirit gods. They were counted alongside Ornn and the Freljordian Firstborn, the wind goddess Janna, and Nagakabouros, the Bearded Lady of the Serpent Isles. They were unique in that their power waxed and waned with, if not worship, then fame. Or perhaps cultural relevance would be a better phrase.


    In a word, they were malleable. The Kindred did not appear to every mortal in quite the same way. During the Spirit Blossom Festival in Ionia, Lamb even took on a human form, the facade of a young woman with vibrant blue hair clad in a pink, furred kimono.


    And by taking the Kindred into my soul, I too adopted some of that malleability. As the people of Lordsmith began to worship me, I too took on aspects of the Great Turtle, the one who walked with death. It was their faith in me that truly turned the legend of the Lamb and the Wolf into a trinity.


    I knew this, and still I was hesitant.


    The Mask appeared in my hand with a familiar pulse of magic. Complicated etchings along its face gave the illusion of a gnarled tree, but once I looked closer, I could see individual carvings of foxes, spiders, vultures, and more.


    Slowly, I brought the Mask to my face. Farya and Wolyo were right. Not only was the Mask my most powerful weapon, it was also a part of me. ¡°Well, here goes.¡±


    The world expanded as the Mask settled over me. Normally, I had a perfectly spherical range of vision. Within this field, I could see through walls, armor, even directly into people¡¯s organs. I called it ¡°sight¡± because that was the nearest human analog, but it wasn¡¯t, not really. However, I simply could not see beyond a certain point unless I utilized dragonfly drones, each with nodes that expanded my range.


    Taking on the mantle of Death, that field of vision effectively ceased to exist. Instead, it was replaced by another sense, not for the living or any sort of physical stimuli, but for the very act of dying.


    Now that I wasn¡¯t fighting for my life against the Simurgh, my nature as a paradox made itself fully known to me. I was human, yet a nascent spirit god. I was alive. Technically, I was Death. I was Inspiration, a spark of creation that formed all of Runeterra. I was destruction, the end of all living things. I was here, in the Salar de Uyuni. I was also there off the coast of Chile, watching a seagull devour a crab, and in the jungles of Brazil, watching a pack of otters chasing down a juvenile caiman.


    My awareness spread across the world, all the way to Lordsmith and beyond. From the lowliest of insects and microbes to the mightiest of trees, I saw them all. They were like little candles, a sea of lights spread throughout the entirety of the biosphere. Put on a macro scale like this, with no world-ending calamity to guard against, it was self-evident that life and death were truly two halves of the same whole.


    Dimly, I felt my ass hit the salty ground. The sheer vastness of the biosphere overwhelmed me. Without the urgency of the Simurgh to rally my focus around, simply trying to process it all felt like an insurmountable task.


    ¡®Retain yourself, Yusung,¡¯ Farya coaxed. ¡®We are closer, and so you feel the scope of our domain more closely in turn.¡¯


    I couldn¡¯t respond. There was so much going on. My attention was being pulled in too many directions. As beautiful as the eternal dance of life and death was, it was also so much bigger than myself.


    I had to let go. I stopped trying to see everything, stopped trying to understand. Whatever the state of my soul might be, Yusung the human was still not ready for that kind of omniscience.


    I pulled back and retreated into myself. The Ymelo pulsed at my feet, reminding me of all that I was, all that I¡¯d gone through and overcome. It pushed back against all the Death in the world until my identity and my future struck an uneasy balance.


    Finally, I opened my eyes.


    ¡®This is nothing like fighting with you,¡¯ I complained.


    ¡®You are us.¡¯


    ¡®We are you.¡¯


    ¡®We are closer now.¡¯


    ¡®We are more together.¡¯


    ¡®How am I supposed to learn to fight with the Mask on if I can barely stay aware of my own surroundings?¡¯


    ¡®We can shield you from our domain should that be necessary again,¡¯ Farya said gently, ¡®but you must learn in time.¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, I understand. Baby steps. If I had to fight like this, how long would I have? Safely, I mean.¡¯


    ¡®Who can say? Learn swiftly, little turtle.¡¯


    ¡®Time just isn¡¯t on my side, is it?¡¯ With a rueful smile, I sank within myself.


    Figured, mastering Death wasn¡¯t about learning fancy kung fu moves or putting grumpy ghosts to rest. If anything, it had more to do with philosophical discourse and introspection. It was a little like forcing myself to stare into the sun, while at the same time trying to work out the natural laws that governed the universe.


    When I next roused myself, I could see a little further into the sea of candles without being overwhelmed and the finality of existence did not weigh as heavy on my shoulders. Heavy still, but not overpowering.


    As it turned out, ¡°mastering Death¡± was a bit of a misnomer. If anything, it was about mastering myself, coming to grips with my humanity, and looking beyond myself even as I searched inward. Through this introspection, I found studied the way the currents of magic flowed around the Kindred and integrated these currents for myself.


    It would not happen overnight, but someday, I would hunt alongside the Kindred without holding them back.


    X


    2005, July 23: Cauldron, Ivory Coast


    David stared at me like I¡¯d grown a second head. Around the table, the members of totally-not-the-Illuminati were likewise bewildered. Except Fortuna, she¡¯d long since been inoculated to my bullshit. ¡°Come again?¡±


    ¡°My town of fantasy medieval peasants is now haunted by a fluffy midget with reality bending powers and her pet pixie,¡± I replied with a completely straight face. Why wouldn¡¯t I be? This was a serious Cauldron briefing and I did not derive amusement from fucking with my peers; such claims were slanderous and uncalled for. ¡°Her name is Lulu. She can be bribed with pastries. She is kind, friendly, and filled with childish playfulness.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I thought that¡¯s what you said. What the hell, Andy?¡±


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°She is to be treated as a friend. It is in your best interest that she remains a friend. I highly advise that you do not poke the Lulu. Do not speak to the Lulu unless you have been spoken to. Do not make promises to the Lulu unless you can keep said promises in that very instant. Do not accept food from the Lulu, especially if it glitters or can be considered some shade of purple. Most of all, do not threaten the Lulu.¡±


    ¡°Andy, we¡¯re going to need more than that,¡± Keith tried. He was still in his blue and white spandex, something about a new Ward undergoing orientation in New York that he had to show up for. ¡°You¡¯re saying words but those words aren¡¯t making sense. Is Lulu one of Peter Pan¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Lulu is the Fae Sorceress, completely independent of Neverland. She hails from Bandle City, though I suppose she would more closely identify with the Glade if you asked her. Though she herself is not technically a fae, she has the mentality of one and so you should be mindful of your words when speaking to her.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize we had a new settlement. Where is Bandle City?¡±


    ¡°It is beyond the Void Between Worlds and can only be reached through the Low Roads. It exists as a part of the Spirit Realm, a tangential dimension attached to Runeterra Prime.¡±


    Eugene sighed and rolled his golden helmet around on the table in front of him. ¡°Is this for a video game? Are you getting into tabletop RPGs? Because a Cauldron meeting really isn¡¯t the place to bring up your worldbuilding.¡±


    ¡°What? No, this isn¡¯t a D&D campaign.¡±


    ¡°Fine, Andy, but please keep this brief. We all have things to do.¡±


    I cleared my throat. ¡°Sorry, let¡¯s try this from the beginning. The multiverse is vaster than you¡¯ll ever know. I¡¯m not a parahuman. Magic is real. My power comes from a place called Runeterra. It¡¯s fantasy-land with lots of different species and Lulu is a guest from Runeterra. Lulu is super strong and will turn you into a turnip if you piss her off. Was that brief enough?¡±


    ¡°Too brief!¡±


    Fortuna and I shared a quick laugh. She knew about magic of course; she¡¯d been consuming the Elixir of Sorcery for a while now and used my Dream Blossom Censer more often than I did. She¡¯d been briefed more extensively than the others.


    My peers typically shrugged off my talks of ¡°magic¡± as ¡°that mysterious force that kept anyone else from using Andy¡¯s gear,¡± but Fortuna was different. Given her exposure to me, the Path¡¯s diminishing usefulness when predicting my actions, and her childhood in a pre-industrial earth, she was far more receptive to the idea of magic than even Doctor Mother.


    ¡°I¡¯ve yet to lie to you all. It just so happens that whenever I talk about my tech being hextech, your eyes just glaze over. Well? Magic is real. There are worlds that sustain human life yet look nothing like any earth. If anything, Doormaker is capable of accessing one, small slice of the multiverse, a dimensional cluster, if you will.¡±


    ¡°And this¡­ Lulu¡­ is from another world? One with entirely different rules from ours?¡± Keith asked. ¡°I¡¯m not calling you a liar, but you understand how strange that sounds, right?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not,¡± Rebecca said. ¡°Andy¡¯s corona is inactive. It is a known anomaly we marked on his files but dismissed as an insignificant outlier. Considering his power, his corona and gemma should show far more activity than they do.¡±


    I blinked at that. ¡°Wait, I have a corona? One sec¡­ Oh, there it is¡­ I forgot I even had this thing¡­¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, I forget you can look inside your own skull,¡± Eugene said dryly. ¡°But yeah, your corona¡¯s not active. We always thought it was a little weird, and that maybe we didn¡¯t have the tech to examine your specific permutation of powers.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ I mean, I was born in this world so I guess that makes sense. A corona really just means that a Shard has taken an interest in a human as a potential trigger candidate.¡±


    ¡°Right. So you have one. And you have powers, even though it¡¯s not active. I guess this is the ¡®magic¡¯ you¡¯re talking about?¡±


    ¡°Sure. It¡¯s complicated and probably has to do with why I know so damn much. What really matters is Lulu. She¡¯s here.¡± I opened up a projector and showed them a picture of her, cheeks stuffed with cookies. She didn¡¯t usually like pictures, but I bribed her to go without her glamor for a bit. ¡°This would be the Lulu. She might not ever appear in this form to you, but if you do meet her, once again, do not poke the Lulu.¡±


    ¡°How intriguing,¡± Kurt said with a curious gleam. ¡°I do not recognize this one. I take it she is not a Case-53?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rebecca confirmed. Her memory wasn¡¯t in question; she knew every Case-53, whether they were in Neverland or released into Earth-Bet. ¡°Which lends Andy¡¯s claims some credence. If there is an entirely new world, perhaps we should tap it for resources as well.¡±


    ¡°Nope. Can¡¯t go there. Lulu¡¯s method is unique to her species, called yordles.¡±


    ¡°Yordles? Really?¡± David laughed. ¡°She looks adorable. Are you sure she¡¯s a threat?¡±


    ¡°You know what? Eugene mentioned D&D. Maybe that would be the best way to frame the discussion. Lulu is a creature from their equivalent of the Feywilds. She is, like most fae, immortal. Unlike my magic, which emphasizes Inspiration and has a set structure and process, Lulu¡¯s magic is instinctive.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a sorcerer? As in the class?¡± Eugene asked.


    ¡°Exactly! In fact, she¡¯s a wild magic sorcerer.¡±


    ¡°Ohh¡­ Oh, that¡¯s bad.¡±


    ¡°Lulu¡¯s chaotic-good. She¡¯s so chaotic-good that her magic automatically reacts to her wishes to ensure she has a fun time. She spends her days playing games and likes to behave childishly. Usually, this means casting Polymorph, pretty much at will. No reagents, no hand gestures, sometimes not even any spellwords. And unlike D&D, her transformations don¡¯t always have a time limit.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m starting to understand your worry. Are you saying there are no limits to her magic?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure there are,¡± I said, satisfied with the D&D comparison. Eugene at least seemed to have an easier time wrapping his mind around the idea now that it was presented in a format he could digest. ¡°She said she can¡¯t transfigure the entire planet so there might be a mass component to it. Then again, wild magic defies understanding by its very nature so who knows?¡±


    ¡°Huh¡­¡±


    ¡°I think we get the idea,¡± Doctor Mother said. ¡°Perhaps we should preemptively take care of the variable then.¡±


    I slammed my head into the table with a dull thunk. ¡°What part of ¡®She is immortal,¡¯ did you not hear? I can¡¯t kill her. You can¡¯t kill her. It¡¯s not a matter of beating her in a fight, which is debatable by the way. Things, destiny, just has a way of going her way.¡±


    ¡°I find it hard to imagine that anyone is truly unkillable, even a¡­ yordle.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know how. Take my word for it; trying to find out is really not worth the hassle. There''s a reason ¡®Don''t mess with yordles,¡¯ is a common saying on Runeterra.¡±


    ¡°Containment then,¡± Rebecca added. ¡°If she is such a chaotic variable, is there a way to hold her?¡±


    ¡°Nope. That¡¯s not worth it either. I wasn¡¯t lying about things going her way. Yordles are creatures from the Spirit Realm and they have an innate connection to the world on a metaphysical level that even I can¡¯t replicate. They might seem spontaneous, and they are, but that¡¯s because long-term planning isn¡¯t really necessary where they¡¯re concerned. Hell, given Lulu¡¯s wild magic, long-term planning might not even be possible.¡±


    ¡°Killing her is impossible. Containment is equally impossible. What is your plan then, Andy? You seldom come to us without a solution ready.¡±


    ¡°I told you my solution: Do not poke the Lulu. Do not threaten the Lulu. Do not make promises you cannot keep to the Lulu. I got her to make some promises of her own. If she polymorphs anyone, she¡¯ll make sure it won¡¯t last longer than the nearest sunup or sundown. That promise is entirely contingent on her goodwill though. So, once again, do not poke the Lulu.¡±


    ¡°I see. I take it we can leave her to you then?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s probably for the best. I needed to warn you so you¡¯re not surprised if you ever encounter her,¡± I told them. ¡°On the plus side, she isn''t likely to seek any of you out. You''re too boring.¡±


    ¡°I think ¡®boring¡¯ might be a good thing where the fae are concerned,¡± Eugene said dryly.


    ¡°Exactly. And you won''t find her unless she wants to be found. She, like all yordles, can wear a glamor to disguise herself, see? She usually looks like a normal human child.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess, only children are likely to see the real her?¡±


    ¡°Oh, like the Tooth Fairy?¡± Keith muttered. ¡°This world keeps getting weirder and weirder.¡±


    ¡°You have no idea, Keith,¡± I replied. I then pulled a box full of cookies and set them on the table. ¡°Just in case, I made emergency cookies. These are sugar cookies with candied yuzu peels baked inside. The pink frosting is homemade from strawberries. Keep a few on hand to¨C¡±


    ¡°Ooh, these are great,¡± David said. He¡¯d already put one in his mouth.


    ¡°To distract Lulu! David, those aren¡¯t for you!¡±


    ¡°There are more, right?¡±


    ¡°By Bel¡¯Veth¡¯s all-swallowing cunt, you¡¯re going to get yourself turned into a turnip and I¡¯m not going to help you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, relax. I think we¡¯re all capable of talking to a child. We just need to play with her and keep her happy right?¡±


    ¡°The problem is that she¡¯s not a child,¡± I grumbled. ¡°She¡¯s ancient, and by ancient I mean quite possibly older than Babylon, the original one! If she behaves like a child, that¡¯s a choice on her part.¡±


    ¡°You say that, but you¡¯re also handing out cookies we can bribe her with.¡±


    ¡°Just trust me on this. Lulu means well, but she can be immensely inconvenient. Your best bet really is to bribe her with these. They¡¯ve been enchanted to never spoil so keep a few in a ziplock baggie or something.¡±


    ¡°Fine, I get it,¡± he said, looking longingly at the cookies. ¡°We¡¯ll be careful with the midget. Was that all?¡±


    ¡°From me? Yes. Eugene, any idea when my lab will be renovated for large-scale construction?¡±


    He laughed at my interplay with David, the bastard. ¡°A few more days? A large hangar has been added according to your specifications and so have some of the tools you¡¯ve asked for, but a lot of work still needs to be done. You can build in parts and then assemble everything later, right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing. I¡¯ve been trying to fix a machine together that¡¯ll mass produce the drones for me.¡±


    ¡°Huh. Haven¡¯t you had trouble with mass production in the past? Besides your potions, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Kinda? The runes need to be enchanted by me. There isn¡¯t an easy way to make machines that do that part for me, but they can be carved by other people.¡±


    ¡°If you say so. Let me know if you need help.


    ¡°Will do.¡±


    ¡°Good, if that¡¯s settled, Glen would like me to tell you that you need to visit other cities,¡± Rebecca said. She was, technically speaking, my boss.


    ¡°Glen can suck my¨C¡±


    ¡°I happen to agree with him. The Worldstone Network is important, but that¡¯s not what you¡¯re doing all day.¡±


    ¡°I need to train.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what you¡¯re doing all day either. Like it or not, you are an icon, Andy, no different than us Founders. You need to be visible.¡±


    ¡°Fine, what do you suggest?¡±


    ¡°Whatever you want. All I ask is that you make yourself known to Earth-Bet, and not just from behind a computer screen. Whenever you have time, take a few hours to visit a cafe in Montreal. Drop in on a random bank robbery. Show the world you¡¯re alive and well.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll do that,¡± I promised.


    She wasn¡¯t wrong; I did say I¡¯d visit. I¡¯d done most of what I wanted to do while ¡°recovering¡± anyway.


    I¡¯d built up rapport with my new little sister. I¡¯d explored Lordsmith and Neverland, even meeting the ever-peppy Lulu. I¡¯d reconnected with my old Wards team, added to the Worldstone network, and started on the long road to accepting my place as part of the Kindred.


    ¡°Excellent. Now, let¡¯s talk about the next endbringer. It is estimated to arrive in the next two or three weeks.¡±


    Author¡¯s Note


    In a way, Andy¡¯s retreading old ground in that he¡¯s been the Kindred before. In another way, what he did against the Simurgh was incomplete, a bastardized mix of life and death that wasn¡¯t at all sustainable. The Mask represents a pair of very big shoes to fill, and Andy will have to grow into them.


    It¡¯s really hard to drive home how dangerous a yordle can be to someone who¡¯s not from Runeterra, and sometimes not even then. Andy is worried someone will inevitably try to mess with Lulu. He¡¯s pretty much resigned himself to the fact that at some point, he¡¯s going to have to bribe Lulu into un-squirrel-ifying one of his friends.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs</a>.

 9.1 Ascent

    Ascent 9.1


    2005, July 26: Hyunmu¡¯s Lab, Babylon


    My new hangar was ready, but I wouldn¡¯t have enough time to complete Project: Gamera. The next endbringer was in two or three weeks and though I had faith in my ability to build a mecha, I wasn¡¯t that fast. Even with all the resources of Cauldron, there were aspects of hextech that could not be foisted off onto others.


    That didn¡¯t mean Project: Gamera was worthless. The giant turtle chassis and oversized barriers would take too long and needed to be postponed, but the scales of the serpent? Those, I could do.


    Each scale was a drone meant to fly from the snake¡¯s spinal column. After locating an injured target, they would cast Barrier, Heal, then Teleport, evacuating people to a designated safepoint. If I could make a few dozen, they could easily keep casualties to a minimum even without the rest of the mech.


    My real concern was not my tech, but myself. The next endbringer was Leviathan. In a way, he was even more of a danger to me than the Simurgh. While I did not have a Shard in the traditional sense, I did have a trigger event, the moment when it all began.


    I ¡°arrived¡± on Earth-Bet in 1999, when Leviathan hit Kyushu and his tidal waves struck Busan. My memories before then were hazy, even with the Ymelo. Perhaps it was because the ¡°me¡± from before was not truly me. I did not identify with the young boy who drowned in Busan and so the Ymelo¡¯s spiritual magic failed to fully take hold in that regard.


    What that meant for me was that my earliest memories were of drowning to death, of salt water filling my lungs. I remembered being fished out by an aid worker and stuffed into the back of a van.


    I also remembered that power line toppling down and the electrified wire slashing across my eyes. I still felt it, that indescribable, searing agony, the darkness that only made the shouting ring so much louder in my ears¡­


    I could not forget the day that made me. Ahri¡¯s orb would not permit me to forget.


    Just the thought of it sent an uncontrollable shiver down my spine. Back in the Madhouse, I used to borrow their simulated training ground, forcibly drowning myself with the Ymelo to try and overcome my fear. Yet, I couldn¡¯t quite see that twisted form of exposure therapy through to the end, not before the Simurgh hit DC.


    I had a feeling that the fear of the sea was one I would wrestle with for the rest of my life.


    Still, I refused to be helpless. I threw myself into my work with abandon, adding to the Worldstone Network and enchanting as many drones as I could. The sea was my phobia, and Leviathan, its manifestation. I wasn¡¯t sure if I¡¯d freeze up then, but I refused to be passive or sit out the fight completely.


    Whenever I wasn¡¯t in my lab, I was in the salt flats of Bolivia, expanding my range and tolerance for the Mask.


    In that, I ran into a wall.


    ¡®Why do you fear the waves?¡¯ I heard Wolyo growl in my mind.


    ¡®Are we not greater than the sea? What is the sea before the End?¡¯ Farya questioned rhetorically.


    They were helping in their own way, but they did not understand. Never mind childhood trauma, the simple concept of fear was a foreign one to them because the Kindred did not, could not fear. They understood that fear was an emotion, and one typically felt by mortals when they encountered the Kindred, but there was a certain detached distance in that understanding.


    So, their means of helping was to remind me that I was so much greater than my fear. It was to remind me that I was powerful now, because that was the language they understood.


    ¡®I know that. A phobia is not a conscious decision,¡¯ I said tiredly. ¡®I know intellectually that this fear is nonsensical, but my body remembers nonetheless.¡¯


    ¡®Humans are emotional creatures. Is it the end you fear?¡¯


    ¡®We are. It gives us the motivation to strive for greater things, but also hinders us at times.¡¯


    ¡®You are more than human. The sea was not your end.¡¯


    I sighed as they withdrew from my mind. They were right, but I couldn¡¯t just ¡°get over it¡± any more than I could suddenly grow gills. It was an ugly thing, deep-rooted and primal. At this point, I felt like my own fear was as much an obstacle as my body¡¯s ability to withstand the Kindred¡¯s influence.


    ¡®What would happen if I wore the Mask for Leviathan?¡¯ I asked. I had to. I knew the answer, but knowing that I had an ace up my sleeve that I couldn¡¯t use rubbed me raw.


    ¡®You would lose yourself to us,¡¯ Farya warned. ¡®Before, we were not part of your soul. We are one now. You touch upon our domain all the more closely.¡¯


    ¡®Shouldn¡¯t that come with better resistance to death magic?¡¯


    ¡®Why should it? Humans are such fragile creatures. You are changing, but so long as you allow this fear to rule you, you will never wield our domain in truth.¡¯


    I sighed and stood, dismissing the Mask. I was just thinking in circles at this point.


    Ultimately, there was no easy way to get better. Crippling phobias weren¡¯t things patients could reason themselves out of. I could nearly drown myself in simulations, but the only way to fully overcome it was to face Leviathan. I¡¯d prepared, done what I could, but I wouldn¡¯t know until the trial by fire.


    X


    2005, July 28: Eagleton, TN, USA


    Rebecca finally nagged me away from my training.


    Miracle of miracles, she and the Kindred were of like mind. They were both insistent that I not use the Mask in combat.


    Granted, my soul-furries were worried I¡¯d go insane as I embraced conceptual Death and Rebecca was afraid I¡¯d take another multi-year nap, but they agreed. Worst of all, I had nothing to say to argue against them.


    Which was why I was out here in Eagleton, Tennessee. I¡¯d built a great deal of armaments and most of them weren¡¯t likely to drive me insane. There was no point in building a massive arsenal if I never mastered my own weapons, so that was what I was out here to demonstrate.


    I strolled out of the Doorway, clad in full regalia. My white cloak and armor reflected the Tennessee sun while the True Ice protrusions kept me pleasantly cool.


    Well, pleasantly cool for me. Everyone else felt the bitter chill of the Freljord, just slightly north of biting.


    With Isolde slung over my back and Curtain Call collapsed into its pauldron shape, there was no denying my identity.


    I approached the checkpoint and looked around. Eagleton was the site of one of the few S-class threats in North America that were still active. Namely, the Machine Army.


    Originally, the small town boasted approximately five thousand people. I wasn¡¯t sure on what exactly happened, it was before my time and I had bigger concerns than to access Cauldron¡¯s case files on it, but a tinker created a self-updating, self-enhancing AI hivemind. For unknown reasons, it was unconditionally hostile towards humans.


    The Machine Army operated by ¡°infecting¡± metal or ore, turning buildings, furniture, and appliances into murderous facsimiles of itself. It then waited until people interacted with it before killing the unfortunate bastard. Given enough time, entire buildings could be put on tracks, turning them into mobile siege weapons.


    By the time anyone knew what had happened in Eagleton, more than half its populace was dead. The rest were evacuated to other cities in the state. Since then, the town became known as Site Q3, the third such quarantine zone.


    Understandably, the quarantine zone was rather large. There was the town itself. Then came a no man¡¯s land of about two-thirds of a mile in width, all barren dirt and gravel where not even grass was permitted to grow. Surrounding that were barricades and elevated encampments of concrete. That way, the guards could see any machines making their way through.


    The PRT troopers here were unlike many other branches. They worked in conjunction with the National Guard and exclusively used lethal ordinance. They also constantly took a measure of the distance to the nearest building to ensure that the Machine Army wasn¡¯t creeping up on them during the night.


    The Protectorate members were likewise the sort that didn¡¯t know how to hold back. Given the lack of organic life in Eagleton, many of the ¡°problem children¡± across the country tended to get sent here, where their willingness to shoot first and ask questions never could be of some use while they learned to better control their powers.


    ¡°Hyunmu? Holy shit, it¡¯s Hyunmu,¡± someone shouted as I walked closer. The speaker was a young woman, probably in her early twenties, who wore a gray bodysuit speckled with red.


    ¡°Hiya, do you know where Colonel Sanders is?¡± I asked her with my best PR smile. I didn¡¯t recognize her on sight, but she was probably one of those ¡°problem children¡± sent here to learn to use her power in an environment where rampant destruction wasn¡¯t quite so costly.


    ¡°Cluck Bucket? Yeah, he¡¯s in his office. Fair warning, he¡¯s not happy,¡± she said with a cocksure swagger.


    ¡°Well if you keep making KFC jokes about him, no wonder.¡±


    ¡°Hey, he¡¯s never happy. He¡¯s one of those hardass military types. You know, the ones that sleep with a pistol under their pillow.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get it.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Cinereal, by the way. Come on, I¡¯ll take you to him,¡± she said. I recognized her, though only vaguely. She would eventually become the head of the Atlanta Protectorate in canon. ¡°Why are you out here anyway?¡±


    ¡°Honest answer? PR.¡±


    ¡°PR? Seriously? Shouldn¡¯t you be kissing babies and feeding the homeless or something?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°We have very different ideas about PR.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yup. All forms of PR are about sending a message. Doing charity work sends one type of message.¡±


    ¡°And this?¡±


    ¡°This sends another.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°If you say so¡­ I don¡¯t think Cluck Bucket will like being turned into a spectacle.¡±


    She led me inside and upstairs to a bare bones office. I noticed that most things in the building were not made of metal. Where possible, things like door handles and window frames were made of fiberglass and hard plastic, probably as insurance against a worst case scenario.


    Now that we were inside, her behavior changed completely. The cocky, almost arrogant attitude was replaced by a more stern facade as she knocked sharply.


    ¡°Colonel, Hyunmu to see you, sir.¡±


    ¡°Send him in, Cinereal,¡± I heard.


    I walked inside to find two men. One was an older gentleman, probably in his forties or fifties. He had broad shoulders that stooped slightly, the result of a spinal injury that he hadn¡¯t had fixed for some reason.


    The second man was younger, in his early thirties by my guess, and had a cautious, studying look. His nametag told me he was Assistant Director James Tagg. If I remembered right, he¡¯d been one of the responders to the Simurgh in canon. Without a Lausanne, he¡¯d been stationed where his more gung ho attitude would fit, namely as PRT liaison to the National Guard here.


    I saw no problem with it. Though his policies as Director of Brockton Bay were idiotic in the extreme, he wasn¡¯t that man yet. He hadn¡¯t had to monitor Simurgh bombs for years and his possible neuroses were a known quantity to Cauldron. So long as he was kept from the highest echelons of power, he was an effective enough leader in his own right.


    ¡°Colonel Sanders, I was told you would be briefed about my arrival,¡± I began. ¡°Has Chief Director Costa-Brown told you why I¡¯m here?¡±


    ¡°She has, son,¡± he said gruffly. He looked at me like I was some poor private thrown into ¡®nam. Then again, from his perspective, that was likely true. ¡°I don¡¯t know how she got cleared for this, but I don¡¯t like it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, sir. I¡¯m not exactly a normal person.¡±


    ¡°No, I guess you¡¯re not. You¡¯re the wunderkind who¡¯s supposed to be the next big thing. That doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m letting you go in there without some assurances.¡±


    I nodded. I¡¯d expected as much. It just showed that the good colonel was a responsible adult. ¡°What can I do to ease your mind, colonel? Like it or not, I do plan to go inside.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be taking a team of our finest.¡± He held out a finger, forestalling my objections. ¡°No. Take the team, or take my head before you go, son. The only way you¡¯re going inside without protection is over my dead body.¡±


    He wouldn¡¯t budge. It seemed that whenever I met a good, responsible adult who took his job seriously in Earth-Bet, it was to my immediate detriment. I considered just ignoring him. I could simply Door my way to the center of Eagleton.


    Then again, that sent the wrong message. While I could have Fortuna smooth things over for me, I didn¡¯t want to rely on her like that. The whole affair would just make me seem arrogant and uncooperative, the kind of person who couldn¡¯t be counted on when it mattered.


    In the end, I agreed to take a team with me, a team consisting of six of their strongest capes, Cinereal included. I could handle it. After all, if I couldn¡¯t, Lily #1-192 died for nothing.


    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll take your team. It is unnecessary, but I appreciate your protection nonetheless,¡± I said diplomatically.


    He barked out a rueful laugh at that. ¡°You think so? No plan survives contact with the enemy, son. Don¡¯t underestimate those metal freaks out there. And don¡¯t go inside the buildings, no matter what.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t plan on it, sir.¡±


    X


    Annabelle Troy


    I was practically vibrating with excitement. Somehow, Hyunmu was given the green light to go into Eagleton. I didn¡¯t know why and I didn¡¯t really care. I seldom got to cut loose, even out here, and I was thrilled to test myself. Maybe, if I did well, I could get reassigned back home.


    I wasn¡¯t the leader of Hyunmu¡¯s guard detail, that honor went to Stalwart. He was a big, beefy brute-changer who could morph his hands into whatever shape he wanted, including giant, shovel-like shields that could withstand tank rounds. He didn¡¯t look happy to be sent on what looked like a high-stakes babysitting mission.


    The seven of us were standing around next to the gate to the no man¡¯s land. Though I¡¯d been working with these people for almost a year now, I didn¡¯t know a lot about them. What I did know was that I was one of the most destructive members of the team, Hyunmu and his freaky ghost-furries excluded of course.


    The teen of the hour looked pretty nonchalant about all of this. Normally, thirteen year old kids didn¡¯t get sent into S-class quarantine zones. They sure as hell didn¡¯t look like this was a grocery run either. I wasn¡¯t sure if this was admirable or downright freaky.


    ¡°Why are we going into Eagleton exactly, kid?¡± Stalwart asked gruffly.


    ¡°He probably thinks a sample will help with his tinkering,¡± Mach-One said. He was a short, sandy-haired man with the laziest name I¡¯d ever heard.


    To be fair, he had jet wings coming out of his back. The wings were made of some kind of organic metal that the eggheads couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of.


    He probably had standing orders from the colonel to take Hyunmu and ditch us all if things went tits up. It was unfair, but that¡¯s just how things were sometimes. Everyone knew here Hyunmu mattered more than us. He could retire if he wanted and he¡¯d still matter more, just for his potions alone.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing like that,¡± Hyunmu said. ¡°I have no interest in the Machine Army for tinkering purposes.¡±


    ¡°Then what¡¯s the deal, kid?¡±


    ¡°What else? We¡¯re going to destroy Site Q3. Door, geographic center of Eagleton,¡± he said plainly, as if he was discussing the weather. As we watched, a portal opened up to an area we¡¯d all seen through satellite imagery, rendering Mach-One¡¯s involvement completely irrelevant. He walked through without a care in the world. ¡°Well? Are you coming?¡±


    The six of us hurried after him. I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d leave us behind, but no one wanted to take the chance.


    We quickly surrounded him, taking up a defensive stance. Already, the buildings around us were starting to move. The traffic stop had dismantled itself into whirling blades. Its red light was aimed our way, probably a laser.


    ¡°This is a horrible idea,¡± Stalwart said. ¡°We¡¯re fucking surrounded.¡±


    Hyunmu laughed. ¡°Good. I can¡¯t miss then.¡±


    ¡°Is this really the time for movie one-liners?¡± I barked.


    ¡°Of course. If you don¡¯t mind, please get ready to warm everyone. I think they¡¯ll appreciate it, Cinereal.¡±


    I was about to tell him off, but the temperature suddenly dropped a few dozen degrees. It went from ¡°humid Tennessee summer¡± to ¡°polar wasteland¡± in about four seconds. Our breaths came in ragged gasps as our bodies struggled to deal with the temperature drop.


    I looked back at him. What the fuck had he done? Since when did he have a freezing field? And why the hell would he deploy one now?


    ¡°My armor has it. I¡¯ve had it for years now. And I haven¡¯t even started yet,¡± he said. I hadn¡¯t realized I¡¯d spoken aloud. ¡°Now would be a good time to warm everyone, Cinereal. I¡¯m not very good at controlling this yet. Don¡¯t get me wrong, you won¡¯t die, but you¡¯re about to have a rather shit time of it.¡±


    ¡°What the hell are you¨C¡±


    He cupped his hands over the crystal on his chest. I¡¯d dismissed the gem as a bit of vanity, but apparently it was some kind of tinkertech.


    An orb of azure energy filled his hand and the temperature dropped another several notches. Then, when my teeth began to clatter, he tossed it into the air.


    ¡°Anivia¡¯s Grace.¡±


    I would never question Hyunmu again. If I could help it, I never wanted to be on a mission with him for the rest of my life. Let someone else deal with his bullshit. I wasn¡¯t even sure if the little fucker was human at all anymore.


    The orb in his hand morphed into a crystalline eagle, or maybe some kind of ice phoenix. It let out an ear-piercing screech as it rose into the air. Though it had been palm-sized at first, it rapidly grew until its wings seemed to cover the sky.


    It was impossible to describe. The eagle was just a projection, a stylistic choice made by Hyunmu that deviated from his turtle theme. And yet, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a certain regality about it, a sense that I was looking upon something more noble than anything else I would ever see in this life.


    Perhaps the choice wasn¡¯t up to Hyunmu at all. He hadn¡¯t made an ice phoenix because he wanted to try something new, but because whatever an ¡°Anivia¡± was, it was always a cryophoenix.


    Then, with a second shriek, it flapped its wings. Each flap brought forth a cyclone that threatened to drive us to our knees. I felt as though I was witnessing a miracle, something that couldn¡¯t be explained by technology alone, no matter how brilliant the tinker.


    Then came a cold I¡¯d never felt before, and hopefully never would again.


    The polar ice caps? The Antarctic Sea? Even the emptiness of space. I knew with absolute certainty that nothing in the natural world could compare with this. This was winter¡¯s bite made manifest, the idea of cold distilled into a glorious eagle. There was a bone-deep surety in my mind that this kind of chill wasn¡¯t survivable.


    All around me, the Machine Army that had begun to mobilize shattered. Concrete became brittle and wore away on the wind, as if time sped up and brought nothing but ruin. Steel itself distorted and froze before joining stone.


    The icy storm expanded, covering more and more ground. I saw the Machine Army try to return fire, but bullets shattered in the wind and lasers fizzled out, robbed of all heat and motion as though a god had decreed it.


    Until finally, the storm came to an end. The great eagle let out one last shriek of victory and vanished into the air, dispersed into newly fallen snow.


    The Machine Army was no more. Eagleton had an area of approximately three square miles. The containment zone added another mile and a half in diameter if we¡¯d truly arrived at the geographic center. And yet, I had no trouble seeing the concrete barricades from where we stood. Everything, from the buildings to the traffic lights, had been eroded away, frozen and shattered into so much dust until nothing but level ground remained.


    ¡°Well, that takes care of that,¡± Hyunmu said cheerfully. It was as if he hadn¡¯t just eliminated an S-class threat with two words. He then dug around in his pocket and handed us each a potion. ¡°Sorry about the cold. I know that wasn¡¯t pleasant. Fine control is still a work in progress, which is why I don¡¯t use this often.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ What the fuck?¡± Stalwart summed up our thoughts.


    ¡°Ehehe, I did say you guys wouldn¡¯t be necessary, right? I mean, I do appreciate your willingness to fight for me, but I meant every word I said. I came to eliminate Site Q3.¡±


    I¡¯d always thought of myself as strong. I was a breaker-shaker with incredible destructive power, regeneration, and area denial. Everyone said I had great potential, that I¡¯d likely end up leading a Protectorate branch one day so long as I kept my nose out of trouble and got a handle on my powers.


    I understood now. If I was ¡°strong,¡± what the fuck were the Founders? Or this absolute monster who stood completely unfazed in an S-class containment zone?


    The worst part of it all, the part that terrified and humbled me, was that Hyunmu said he did this for PR. He said all PR was about sending a message.


    Well, message received.


    Author¡¯s Note


    Hands up if you forgot Andy was afraid of the ocean. He did used to run simulations for himself in the Madhouse, using Fortuna¡¯s willingness to interrupt him to keep his own exposure therapy from going too far, but that was only six months or so before the Simurgh. Problems don¡¯t go away just because you nap for a few years.


    Cinereal is known for her no nonsense, tough on crime attitude. She also got into some trouble in her youth because she¡¯s not very good at holding back. It¡¯s my headcanon that she did a brief stint in Eagleton before resuming her role in the Atlanta Protectorate and eventually becoming its head.


    She isn¡¯t given a name in canon, but she¡¯s in Georgia so I gave her the most basic white name I could think of.


    I¡¯m not wanking Anivia. There are two instances in LoL lore in which Anivia creates a cold so powerful that it shatters steel. One is when she blessed an Avarosan warmother (Ulla ¡°Shatter-Spear¡±) to never fall in battle.


    The other is when an unnamed southern king led an invasion of the Freljord and disrespected her. She was so pissed off at the king that she made a winter storm that wiped him and his army out, literally shattering his army to pieces. Then, in maybe the most excessive act of overkill in LoL lore, she made that storm last for a full century.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs</a>.

 9.2 Ascent

    Ascent 9.2


    2005, August 1: Hyunmu¡¯s Lab, Babylon


    ¡°Andy, look, how¡¯s this?¡± Riley asked as she held out her newest creation for my inspection. She prodded at me insistently, her eyes shining with curiosity and need for validation.


    I''d sorely underestimated Riley''s compulsion to use her powers. At her age and emotional maturity, it wasn''t so much an urge she could resist as it was a need as vital as air or food.


    Originally, Fortuna curbed her biotinkering urges by teaching her conventional biological principles and allowing her to conduct genetic experiments on Freljordian wheat. The fantasy grain was harmless and anything she made could be used to augment Earth-Bet''s economy. However, that didn''t last.


    I didn''t know if it was due to my arrival, but Riley quickly got sick of food crops. Asking her to map the genetic sequence of some of Peter Pan''s creations could only occupy her for so long. Like any child her age, she wanted to be like her big brother. Seeing me working without restrictions, she wanted that as well. Or, at the minimum, to work with me.


    My solution was simple. Over the past few weeks, I assigned her the task of designing the ideal delivery medium for my potions. All of them.


    ¡°Let''s see,¡± I said with an indulgent smile. I palmed her head in one hand and tousled her hair. ¡°Tell me about it, Riley.¡±


    She scrunched her nose adorably and slapped at my hand ineffectually. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not a puppy.¡±


    ¡°Its because you''re so cute, Riley. Go on, tell me about all the cool things you made.¡±


    ¡°W-Well, it''s a syringe, see?¡± She began, haltingly.


    Indeed it was. It was a small, chrome cylinder that fit comfortably in Riley''s diminutive hand. One end had a pin-sized hole where the needle would emerge while the other acted as the liquid storage compartment and plunger.


    Peering inside, I saw that there were a great deal of components, far more than in a typical syringe. Not all of it was comprehensible by me, tinkertech was still tinkertech, but Zaunite biochemistry was similar enough to give me a fair idea of what I was looking at.


    ¡°Is that a chemical sensor? And trigger?¡± I asked, genuinely impressed.


    My kid sis puffed out her cheeks and kicked me in the shin. ¡°No fair! You peeked inside! I wanted to explain it!¡±


    I realized my mistake. Riley was six and I''d just stolen her big moment from her.


    I swept her up into a princess carry and placed her on my lap. ¡°Oh, I''m sorry, Riley. You can still tell me. There are loads I don''t understand about what you made.¡±


    ¡°Nu-uh, your eyes are cheating.¡±


    ¡°No, I promise. You''re so smart that I have trouble understanding even if I can see the components inside, promise.¡±


    ¡°Pinky promise?¡±


    ¡°Pinky promise.¡±


    ¡°Say you''re sorry for peeking.¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry for peeking.¡±


    ¡°And you''ll give me more cookies,¡± she said with a devious smile.


    I pretended to go along with it. ¡°I promise to get you mo--Hey, wait a minute.¡±


    ¡°Drat.¡±


    ¡°What a tricky little sister I have, as cute as she is cunning.¡±


    ¡°So cute that I deserve more cookies?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I''ll have to see what mom thinks.¡±


    ¡°Aww,¡± she deflated, already knowing mom''s answer. ¡°Poop.¡±


    ¡°Nice try, little sister. Now, tell me about your syringe.¡±


    ¡°Nope. Cookie.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, nah. Tell me, or else.¡±


    ¡°Or else what?¡± She pouted.


    I stretched out my arms and pulled her in close before wiggling my fingers menacingly. ¡°Or else I tickle you!¡±


    ¡°Aahhh! Noo! Andy, stop! Ahahahaha!!!¡±


    X


    I once again proved that my prowess in tickle-fu was superior to Riley¡¯s fabled stubbornness. It would be many years yet before my sister could challenge me. After asserting dominance in our sibling scuffles, I did eventually get the full explanation from her.


    The syringe was designed to be idiot-proof in the extreme. Inside was a volatile solution that would react with another, filling the chamber with high pressure gas and preventing the hand from depressing the plunger any further. When this reaction was triggered, it became impossible to sink the needle any deeper; the container would crack and break before the needle sank.


    This reaction was triggered by a chemical sensor that reacted to iron content and other catalysts in the blood. Meaning, once the needle entered a sufficiently large blood vessel, it would prevent the user from piercing though the other side.


    It was a relatively minor thing, but plenty of nurses failed to find the blood vessel, especially in high-stress situations. Now, paramedics could pull this out, stab someone almost at random, and the medicine inside would be delivered into the bloodstream, guaranteed.


    ¡°But why a syringe?¡± I asked her. ¡°Last I checked, you were thinking about a patch with microneedles you could slap onto any exposed skin. Wouldn¡¯t that be more convenient?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why this is brilliant,¡± she beamed up at me. ¡°This syringe isn¡¯t any harder to use. Even dummies know where the big blood vessels are generally. And, I could put in loads of cool features that I just can¡¯t fit onto my sticker-docs.¡±


    I smiled at that. Her ¡°sticker-doc¡± prototypes were adorable. They were pink and chicken-themed because I told her about how phoenixes had healing properties. She told me that ¡°Phoenixes aren¡¯t real so they may as well be chickens.¡±


    I pulled her into another hug. All the books said physical affection was the easiest and most consistently effective form of positive reinforcement for children.


    ¡°Oh? Do tell, dearest sister,¡± I said. I¡¯d long since put aside my own work to give her my full attention.


    ¡°It¡¯s got dosage control. See, the chemical sensors don¡¯t just keep dummies from poking through the blood vessel. It also detects health problems that might interfere with the medication inside and will restrict the dosage injected to safe levels.¡±


    ¡°Wait, really? I didn¡¯t know that. How? There¡¯s like two centimeters cubed worth of space in there for your sensor.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the best biotinker, silly brother,¡± she said with a delightfully smug grin. I had a feeling even she didn¡¯t truly know. Shard-based dimensional fuckery was probably involved.


    I held up my hands in surrender. She could have her title. Zaunite tech wasn¡¯t exactly a tree I had the bandwidth to explore at the moment. ¡°You are. You¡¯re splendid, Riley. I¡¯ve never denied it.¡±


    ¡°Ehehehe¡­¡±


    ¡°But, you know that my potions don¡¯t interact with any preexisting health conditions, right?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah, but you said I should make the ¡®perfect delivery device.¡¯ I figured I may as well make this for all other medicines too. Allergy medication, insulin, anesthetics, all of it. The sensor can be programmed through an app that Uncle Andrew helped me code.¡±


    ¡°He did, did he? Did he also tell you to call him that?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh. He says he and Theresa might be able to make more of this, but without the tinkertech.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± I had my doubts about that. Dragon had not triggered here. She had no ability to replicate tinkertech. That said, by integrating a mundane app into her super-syringe, there might be enough wiggle room for them to achieve something. I was certainly willing to be proven wrong here. ¡°It would have to be a lot bigger than that little thing though.¡±


    ¡°Clunky,¡± she said with disapproval. ¡°Mine looks so much cooler.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Riley. But sometimes, we need to dumb things down so normal people can make them too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess. What should I make now?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I don¡¯t know. Why don¡¯t you come up with five ideas you¡¯d like to work on? Then, we can talk about which would be the most helpful.¡±


    ¡°Really? I can choose?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll choose together,¡± I said. Riley finished her bioethics course in record time, but that didn¡¯t mean I was willing to fully let her off her leash. If nothing else, she needed a good example, and the occasional refresher. ¡°Go on. I need to make a few more of these drones.¡±


    ¡°How many are you going to make?¡±


    ¡°Well, given they¡¯re modular and can each act independently¡­ as many as I can until Leviathan.¡±


    She shuffled nervously at the mention of the endbringer. ¡°Do¡­ Do you have to go?¡±


    ¡°I do, Riley.¡± I didn¡¯t hide much from her. The world was dark. There were as many tragedies as reasons to celebrate. She wasn¡¯t keyed in on everything, but neither would she be ignorant to the truth. ¡°It¡¯s what heroes do. It can be scary, and dangerous, but we protect those who cannot protect themselves.¡±


    ¡°But you might get hurt¡­¡±


    ¡°I might, yes.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Will¡­ Will you go to sleep again?¡±


    I kissed her forehead. ¡°No, Riley. I won¡¯t. Not like last time.¡±


    ¡°Promise.¡±


    ¡°I promise.¡±


    X


    Riley Grace Davis


    2005, August 1: Lordsmith, Babylon


    It took a while but I finally convinced Andy to let me visit by myself. He insisted that I carry a full complement of elixirs and magic rings, just in case I got into trouble, as if the super tough jacket with a turtle on it wasn¡¯t reason enough for people to be nice to me.


    Lordsmith itself was¡­ okay. It was really pretty, but also kind of boring? There wasn¡¯t a whole lot to do out here because everyone was farming or baking bread or whatever they did during the day. Andy said it was good to see the effects my creations had but everyone looked so busy that I didn¡¯t want to approach any of the farmers to ask how they were doing.


    I sighed and sat by the well, kicking my feet aimlessly. I thought there would be more to do out here¡­


    ¡°Hey, will you play a game with me?¡± I heard behind me. I turned around and¡­ I wasn¡¯t sure what I was looking at.


    She was short, even shorter than me. She also had very weird skin, purple like grapes. I wondered what made it look like that. It was a strange pigmentation in humans that made me want to test it in a lab.


    She also had a big, pointy hat with a point that ended in a¡­ tail¡­? It waved at me. It was alive.


    ¡°I want it,¡± I said without thinking.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I want your hat.¡±


    ¡°No! My hat!¡±


    ¡°Come on, please? I promise I''ll give it back. I just want to see if I can clone it.¡±


    ¡°No, my hat''s one of a kind.¡±


    ¡°Aww¡­ Then can I cut you?¡±


    ¡°You¡­ You''re not very cute.¡±


    ¡°Lies. My big brother says I''m the cutest.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn''t cut people. If I''m not allowed to turn people into squirrels, you shouldn''t be allowed to cut people either.¡±


    ¡°It''s only a baby cut. I just want to see your skin under a microscope.¡±


    ¡°What''s a microscope? Wait¡­ You can see me?!?!¡±


    ¡°Duh. You''re not invisible, silly.¡±


    ¡°What color am I?¡±


    ¡°Purple.¡±


    The little(r) girl patted herself all over. She twirled around until she lost balance and her hat grabbed a nearby fence post to keep her steady. ¡°Yup, I still have my glamor¡­ Hmm¡­ You''re strange.¡±


    ¡°I''m strange? You''re the one with a silly hat.¡±


    She stuck out her tongue with a playful grin. ¡°You wish you had my hat.¡±


    I slumped. ¡°Yeah¡­ Can I please try on your hat?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ Fine, but only if you tell me how you can see through my glamor.¡±


    ¡°I don''t know what a glamor is. How am I supposed to know how I¡¯m seeing through it?¡±


    ¡°You¡­ Hold on,¡± she said. She poked me with her big staff. From it, a purple fairy fluttered out. ¡°Pix, is she magic? Wait, she is? So you can see through yordle glamor!¡±


    ¡°Yordles? Oh, is it because of my brother¡¯s cookies?¡±


    ¡°Brother¡¯s cookies? Are you Andy¡¯s sister?¡±


    I gasped in delight. ¡°You know Andy? I¡¯m Riley. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I do! We played tag! And I¡¯m Lulu! Do you want to play tag with me?¡± she said, jumping up and down. She hopped onto her staff and began to float.


    ¡°No fair, I can¡¯t fly. Andy won¡¯t let me turn my legs into jetpacks. And is that a fairy?¡±


    ¡°Yup! His name¡¯s Pix. Pix says hi.¡±


    ¡°Well, I still can¡¯t fly so a game of tag wouldn¡¯t be as fun.¡±


    ¡°Okay, how about hide and seek?¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you be able to see me from the air?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. There¡¯s gotta be something we can do. Hold on a second. Let me put on my thinking cap.¡± Lulu kicked her feet, dangling them like laundry in the air.


    The tail-point of her hat grabbed at the empty air and somehow acted as an anchor, as if someone nailed it into space itself. It then swung Lulu in a windmill.


    Ridiculous. Who even wanted a hat that spun her around?


    I wasn¡¯t jealous¡­


    ¡°Woah, woah, woah!¡± Lulu squealed as she came to a stop. ¡°I know! How about I take you flying?¡±


    ¡°R-Really?¡±


    ¡°Why not? It¡¯ll be fun! And, we can go pull the gryphons¡¯ whiskers.¡±


    ¡°Do they even have whiskers?¡±


    Lulu giggled happily. Her hat¡¯s tail-point stretched down towards me like a hand. ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡±


    I grinned. This was fine. A day with one of Andy¡¯s friends sounded like just the thing to pass the time. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s.¡±


    X


    I giggled uncontrollably as I collapsed next to Lulu onto a field of flowers. ¡°That was so much fun!¡±


    ¡°Right? And we even have our own clubhouse now!¡± my new best friend cheered.


    Lulu was a little weird, but she had tons of cool powers. She was great, even if she wouldn''t let me cut her.


    Our clubhouse was a huge, purple eggplant, as tall as my house. Its big, green stem had been ¡°transmogrified,¡± yes it too was a real word, into a chimney. She made the whole thing big enough for me and Andy to visit.


    Next to it was a little, toadstool cabin that she''d been staying in. It had likewise been transmogrified to be bigger, big enough to fit Zippy, our new gryphon friend.


    Flying was great, but we got bored by ourselves. Then Lulu had the great idea to play tag with the gryphons that flew around Neverland. I wasn''t sure what she told them, but they chased us lots.


    We won, of course. Lulu was an excellent flyer. The next best flyer was Zippy. And to celebrate, we painted Zippy bright green, with purple and red stripes like on racecars.


    I hugged Lulu and rubbed my cheek against hers. She was so soft and cuddly, perfect for snuggles.


    ¡°The clubhouse looks great, Lulu. I think even Andy will love it,¡± I told her, only to be interrupted by my grumbling stomach. Which reminded me that my backpack had a do-si-rak, mommy''s fancy way of saying lunch.


    I pulled it out of my backpack. It was a cool, misty-blue and snowy-white, just like Andy''s costume. It was even decorated like a big turtle shell. Aunt Fortuna got it for me. Andy didn''t want me to have it. He said me having Hyunmu-themed things was ¡°cringe,¡± whatever that meant, but mommy said it''s cute and everyone knows mommy is Andy''s real boss.


    Inside, I saw four yubu-cho-bap, two with tuna and two with ham. There was also icky spinach, which both Andy and mommy said I needed to eat, and a separate, smaller container of fishcake and turnip soup.


    The second container was the real motherload though. It was stuffed with Andy''s snickerdoodle and chocolate chip cookies.


    I took out one rice ball and saw Lulu looking at my lunch like a puppy. She didn''t have a mommy or big brother to make her food. I put two rice balls onto the lunchbox lid and slid them over. ¡°Andy says food tastes better when we eat with friends.¡±


    Lulu gasped with delight before bowling me over in a hug. ¡°Yes! What is this though? It looks Ionian.¡±


    ¡°It''s yubu-cho-bap, funny word, I know. It''s really good though. I think that one has tuna.¡±


    ¡°Ooh, it''s sweet.¡±


    ¡°Right? Mommy says it''s made from tofu.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s tofu?¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­ I think it¡¯s beans¡­?¡± I said, unsure. I knew loads about biology, but that didn¡¯t mean I knew everything about cooking.


    ¡°Weird¡­ I like it!¡±


    We chatted and shared my lunch. I also gave her half of my cookies. I didn''t want to, but doing it made me feel all warm inside and suddenly, I didn''t mind as much. I''d just get Andy to make more next time.


    We played some more. We even got some of the village''s kids involved. Lulu''s magic was great for hide and seek.


    And when the sun began to set, the children all turned back to their normal shapes and we found ourselves back at our new clubhouse.


    ¡°Do you have to go?¡± Lulu asked softly. ¡°We can keep playing together. I''ll even show you how to do our special yordle dance.¡±


    ¡°I can''t Lulu. Mommy and Andy said I need to be back in time for dinner. I only got to stay this late because of Doormaker.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ What if we can convince Andy to let you stay?¡±


    ¡°How are we going to do that? Andy can be super strict.¡±


    She told me. I wasn''t sure, but it was worth a try.


    X


    Andy Yusung Kim


    I couldn''t find Riley. Given my range of vision, that itself told me who was to blame. No one else had anything close to the magical ability necessary to hide from me.


    I sighed. I knew letting Riley go into Lordsmith ran the risk of her running into Lulu, but I''d been hoping the two would behave themselves and she''d return on time.


    She obviously hadn''t, but even now, I doubted Riley had been hurt. Lulu just wasn''t that kind of malicious fae. That said, I''d get scolded by mom if I couldn''t find her soon. Dinners were sacred at the Kim household. If at all possible, we were expected to share a meal as a family. Or else.


    Which was why I was in Lulu''s glade, thankfully lowercase ¡°g.¡±


    ¡°Lulu, where is Riley?¡± I asked, gamely ignoring the house-sized aubergine and the preening gryphon that had been painted in what she''d no doubt describe as ¡°ALL the colors.¡±


    The sorceress in question put her hands together on her lap and wiggled like a nervous schoolgirl. ¡°Riley? Umm¡­ Who?¡±


    ¡°Lulu¡­¡± I trailed off, layering my voice with all the disappointment I could muster.


    ¡°Okay, but I want to play a game first!¡±


    ¡°What did you turn Riley into?¡±


    ¡°A squirrel. You need to find her.¡±


    ¡°Lulu, we promised that all transformations would be turned back at the nearest sunrise or sunset,¡± I chided, doing my best to suppress the mounting migraine.


    ¡°And they do!¡± she insisted, only to swiftly mumble, ¡°I just turned her right after sunset¡­¡±


    I took a knee so I wasn''t quite looming over her. I picked her up and pulled her into a hug. ¡°Lulu, you know that isn''t in the spirit of our promise. Riley has to go home and eat dinner now.¡±


    ¡°I know¡­¡±


    ¡°Can you tell me why you did this?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I wanted us to play longer¡­¡±


    ¡°And if I can''t find her, I need to let her stay until sunrise,¡± I finished for her. She nodded shyly. It really was like dealing with a child, immortal sorceress or not.


    I thought about what I should do in this situation. Fighting Lulu was out of the question, nor did I want to yell at her.


    Even if I could find the right purple squirrel, I wasn''t confident in my ability to turn Riley back. It''d be hard enough reversing a transformation on my own person, never mind someone else. I had no intention of experimenting on my little sister.


    Leaving my sister in the forest was obviously not an option though. Mom would kill me and it would only reward Lulu for skirting my rules.


    After some thought, I came to a decision.


    ¡°Lulu, Riley can''t stay,¡± I said insistently.


    ¡°Come on, please?¡± She begged. She waved her staff and turned a rock into an apple. ¡°I can make dinner, see? She''ll be super safe, promise!¡±


    ¡°Our mom would miss her. You don''t want that, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡±


    ¡°Now where is Riley?¡± A purple squirrel scurried out from under the hem of Lulu''s shirt. ¡°There she is. Turn her back, please.¡±


    One puff of glitter later and I had my sister back. Judging by the guilty look on Riley''s face, she wasn''t exactly innocent in this little scheme either.


    ¡°Andy?¡± Riley began.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Are we in trouble?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°No, you''re not in trouble.¡±


    ¡°So I can come back?¡±


    ¡°So long as this doesn''t happen again.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ If I can''t stay, can Lulu come with us? It''ll be like a sleepover.¡±


    Lulu gasped in delight at the idea. ¡°A sleepover? Yes!¡±


    Opposing them was a lost cause. I''d never been good at telling children ¡°no¡± and Riley was¡­ She was lonely, even I could see that.


    She put on a brave front, but not having friends her age wasn''t good for her. Truthfully, Lulu was probably in the same boat. She could be mature if the situation called for it, but the yordle very much preferred otherwise. The two being friends wasn''t the worst thing in the world, but I felt like my stress level would rise for the foreseeable future.


    That was how Riley got her first ever sleepover and I ended up explaining the idea of yordles to my mother.


    Author¡¯s Note


    This was mostly a Riley chapter. She deserves more attention I think. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got her voice quite right, six year olds are hard to write, but I hope she at least sounds believable.


    We¡¯ll get to Leviathan next chapter, but not even Andy can stay focused 24/7.


    Animal fact? Sure, why not. This is anecdotal, but President John Quincy Adams owned an alligator. He kept it in the East Room of the White House. If true, that gator would be the most dangerous First Pet.


    Technically not a fact? Fine, you whiny fucks. We do know that his wife kept silkworms. Still weird, but kinda cool.


    Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs</a>.