Taylor Helbrass, Champion of Tzeentch
[Warhammer/Worm]

Summary:
Much like the first Helbrass, Taylor never set out to become a Champion of Chaos; much like Pepe Le Pew, Tzeentch just refused to stop messing with her. Blessed (or cursed) with regeneration so powerful that even things nearby can come back to life, she's about to be dropped into awful situations like a spiky harem protagonist.

TLDR: On top of being Taylor Hebert, she's inherited the power of being the ultra-Simurgh's squeezy ball. This should go swimmingly.

(Summary quoted/paraphrased from a comment made by Ian Von Doom. Cheers, Ian!)

THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT.

Ducking under the sword, I tumbled clumsily to the ground, spitting out a few more swear words as I rolled over the floor; there was as much grime and litter underfoot as there was concrete in this old, abandoned warehouse.

The heavy blade made a resounding 'thunk!' noise as it rammed into a large crate, cleaving through the wood and scattering a rain of splinters over my head. Another crate, which had been resting on top of the pile that the sword had just impacted, tumbled down. It struck the floor with a loud clatter, adding to the noise levels.

"Stop following me!" I shouted, hoping that my assailant might finally listen to reason, despite the utter failure of my previous eight or nine attempts at a diplomatic resolution. "I don't want anything to do with you! Just leave me alone! If you keep following me around like that, you'll out me as a parahuman!"

The sword sighed, as it tried to tug itself free from the crate. "Listen, sweetheart," the talking piece of oversized cutlery cooed at me. "I appreciate your go-getter attitude, I really do. Wanting to stand on your own two feet, handling all life's problems yourself, come what may? That's great! You go, girl!" It gave up on its escape attempts for the moment, and tried to tilt the crate, instead. After a few seconds of wriggling, the large wooden box tipped aside, teetering for an instant on one edge, before slamming down again on top of a smaller pile of crates next to it. I was now eye-to-eye with the human skull embossed on the hilt, which seemed to be where its voice was coming from. "But seriously, it's dangerous to go alone. Take me with you!"

"Absolutely not!" I cried, folding my arms. "Where am I supposed to hide a talking, flying carving knife that's as big as a pony?! Everyone will know I've got powers! I don't want to join New Wave, and have everyone know I'm a hero. Capes wear masks for a reason!" I slumped in despair and huffed, flopping an arm behind me in a limp wave. "Not that it isn't pretty much impossible to hide my powers already... I mean, just look at this mess!"

Looking back the way I came, it still surprised me a little that the biggest changes to the warehouse within the last few minutes were not, in fact, the results of a gigantic hunk of sharp metal hurtling through the air at high speed. Instead, my mere passing had left an obvious trail in my wake - and it was still spreading.

The first time I'd noticed the green footsteps I was leaving wherever my feet touched the ground, I'd thought I must have stepped in fresh paint or something. It'd taken a few seconds to realize that the green shoe-prints were moving, wriggling with life, and made of plants. Fresh blades of grass and hardy dandelions, quickly blossoming into little yellow sunbursts of bright flower petals, were erupting from the pavement where I'd walked, thick concrete cracking like dried clay to make way.

Now that I was standing still, the wave of sprouting flora was having an even stronger effect on my immediate surroundings. The dusty piles of old abandoned shipping crates – a relic of the prosperous days of international trade, that now seemed to be firmly in Brockton Bay's past – and the warehouse wall they leaned against, were all being rapidly covered by a layer of lush vegetation. The fluttering leaves made me think of flapping bird wings, or perhaps tiny hands trying to grasp and climb. Ropey vines twirled their way upwards. It was like watching a nature documentary, where they'd filmed a plant blooming in real time, then played it back in super fast-forward.

The plants all looked incredibly wholesome and intensely green, far more gorgeous than the usual scraggly bits of plant life you might see in the city, squirming past cigarette butts and broken beer bottles at the edge of the road. Heck, even the rickety old wooden crates had started putting down roots, with new branches reaching for the sparse beams of gloomy, dirty sunshine that filtered down through the oft graffiti-coated and universally dirt-smeared glass of the skylights overhead. As it turns out, trees really do go 'vroom' when they grow.

"Don't be silly, dear," the damn talking sword interrupted my musings. Did capes muse, or just have inner monologues? "Don't let a little thing like that keep you down. The Breath of Life is a blessing! You said you wanted to be a hero, right? Well, this will all help you fight the good fight – and so will I! You and me, against all the baddies of the world! We'll take 'em to school, and give 'em a lesson they won't forget!"

I sat down heavily on a fallen crate. "School..." I hid my face in my hands. "Oh, crap on a crud-pretzel, I'm going to jail for that, aren't I? And I didn't even do anything!" I slammed a fist against the side of the crate, then yelped as several splinters in the rough wood pierced my hand. "I'm the victim here, dammit!"

"What?!" Swordy McSwordington cried. "Inconceivable! They should thank you for that! The place was a dump! Turning it into a literal urban jungle was a great and lasting service to the community."

I groaned. "Somehow, I don't think the Winslow administration are gonna feel that way. They've probably called the cops and given them my description, already." I hunched over, sucking at the side of my hand in a listless attempt at getting those damn splinters out.

The sword hummed for a moment, trying to wriggle free again. Those crates were surprisingly sturdy, though. It probably didn't help that my powers had turned the old wooden box into The Not-So-Little Shipping Crate-That-Could. It was growing at miraculous speed around the sword, broad branches trapping the blade further. There was an awful lot of creaking noises coming from the tangled mess of moving sword and crate-turned-tree, now.

I stared at my hand. "The splinter," I muttered. "It vanished, into my skin! Just... Slurp! Gone!" Frantically turning my wrist this way and that, I yanked up the sleeve of my black hoodie. "Does that mean I have a healing power, now? Some sort of weak and slightly gross regeneration? Splinter absorption? Wait, no, that'd be remotely useful, so that can't be it. Good things don't happen to me."

"Well, I don't mean to alarm you," the sword managed to say despite the vines starting to wrap around its hilt. "Since you seem to be doing such a splendid job of that, yourself. But, uh..."

I held my arm right in front of my face, scrutinizing the faint bluish tracery of my veins with fevered intensity. "W-what if those crate-trees have... Micro-stealth assassination ambush-trap killer bark, or whatever? What if that splinter is deliberately heading straight for my heart, or my brain?!"

"...If you're worried about the police, you should probably get away from those things behind ymmh. Mmfrmm! Hmf."

Turning away from the muffled mutterings of the thoroughly enveloped weapon, I looked over my shoulder. After a few seconds, I groaned.

I'd already gotten the impression that my powers didn't cause random vegetation to sprout out of nowhere, or create new types of plants. No pineapples ex nihilo, or spontaneous purple banana-melons. Instead, it accelerated the growth of whatever seeds or plants that were already within my range, however large that area might be.

Looking around the warehouse now, I noticed a pattern. Amongst the countless wild flowers and patches of grass, there was a certain type of plant that seemed to be very prolific in this abandoned old derelict warehouse. Presumably, people had used the building as a convenient hiding place, to get a bit of privacy while engaging in their hobbies. Whatever scraps and detritus they'd left behind from their... recreational urban gardening, my powers had gotten hold of, and coaxed into fresh and overwhelming bloom.

Still, it took me a few seconds to recognize the plants. I'd never seen them before in real life, but there were plenty of slackers and wannabe gang-members at Winslow with connections to the Merchants, and some of those kids were less subtle than others about advertising their interests. The shape of the leaves were fairly distinctive, and often used in logos.

"Seriously?!" I shouted at the fast-growing greenery. "Dammit! When the cops find me, they won't just arrest me for what happened at Winslow, will they?" I kicked at a crate, to little effect. "They'll charge me with running a weed farm, as well!"

"Mmf," said a voice behind me. "Hrmm nnf rhmmhmm!" Turning back to the small copse of vaguely cubic trees that had once been dusty old shipping crates, I saw that the sword was almost completely buried by branches and vines. A bit of the jewel-studded pommel still peeked out of the foliage.

An idea formed in my mind. I trotted over to the grumbling tangle of leaves, as I worked on a very straightforward plan. Careful not to cut myself on any concealed bits of sharp metal, I ripped some of the vines away from the sword.

"Oh! Thank you," the blade gasped. "Those creepers are getting too touchy-feely for my liking. It's only my hilt that's meant for gripping, y'know?"

Ignoring its grateful ramblings, I stared at the talking skull on the sword's hilt. "If I free you, will you promise to leave me alone?"

It seemed shocked at my proposal, insofar as a metal skull can express emotion at all. "What? Why would you want me to abandon you? You need my help, girl! This city ain't safe!"

"I've survived this long without you," I drawled. "I'm sure I can handle myself just fine for a while longer without giant flying stabbing implements, chasing after me in public and threatening to out me, or impale me." My ingrained politeness reared its head, briefly. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Look," the sword said. "You really don't-"

"Alternatively," I talked right over it. "I could just walk away, and leave you to your predicament. Either way, I don't have to see you again."

The sword huffed. "I'm the mighty Windblade! Do you really think I can't free myself from a few twigs?"

I rolled my eyes. "If you could do that on your own, wouldn't you have done so by now?"

"You said you wanted to be a hero!" Mr. Windblade wailed. "What kind of hero would leave a poor, defenseless dagger-in-distress to fend for itself?!"

"Dagger? Dagger?!" I planted my fists on my hips, glaring at the sword. "You're bigger than I am! And I obviously can't free you, because you'd just go right back to flying around after me in public!"

"Well, I wouldn't have to chase you, if you made me your familiar!"

I stared at it blankly. "...What?"

There was a brief impression of movement about the skull's eye sockets, as though it was blinking at me with a perplexed expression. I hadn't seen the metal cranium move before, though, even when it was talking or shouting. Heck, the skull didn't even have a lower jawbone, let alone any muscles or other moving parts; it was just decoration. More likely, some of the million-bajillion waving leaves in here must have cast a shadow that caused a whatchamacallit... Trick of the light. Or maybe all the stress and fear and frustration, and running around without getting to eat lunch, was making me hallucinate.

...Could marijuana plants affect people just by proximity? Didn't you have to smoke it, or ingest it in some way, first? ...Oh, crap! Had the flying cutlery set the warehouse on fire, somehow, and I was breathing the fumes?!

"...Uh, apprentice? Loyal servant? Um... Sidekick?" Windblade's tone of voice had been pensive; now, it turned triumphant. "Yeah, sidekick! That's the word! ...Um, sweetheart? Why are you... Are you sniffing the air?"

I tried not to blush. "...What? No! I was just... Checking if the warehouse was on fire."

Starting to make sobbing noises, the sword managed to choke out a few more sentences. "Oh, gods! Am I smelly?! Is that w-why you're so adamant against having me as your sidekick? B-because I suffer from s-strong blade-y odor?!"

"You don't smell," I sighed. "I just don't need a giant medieval melee weapon in my life, right now."

"I can't help it," howled the weeping blade. "I g-get it from Uncle Kay's side of the family! He only bathes in the b-blood of his enemies!"

I frowned. "Get what? You mean, the smell you don't have? Or the fact that you're an oversized implement of carnage and bloodshed?" ...Also, how could a sword have an uncle?

"Oh, that's nice! So I'm fat, as well as stinky, am I?!" Windblade hollered. "Well, thank you so much! We can't all have the slim and slender body of a runway model or a Wood Elf Wardancer like you, you know!"

I held up my hands in a gesture that would hopefully seem placating, as well as ward off the occasional bits of splintered wood that the wriggling sword tore loose and sent flying. "Look, I'm not trying to insult you, or hurt your feelings! Really, I'm not! I just don't need a massi- ...A gargantu- ...A well-built and perfectly proportioned sword. If I tried to wield you in battle, I'd probably end up beheading my opponent by accident, or bifurcating them, or... Or some other gruesome outcome that starts with a B!" ...Like being beaten by my opponent due to giving myself a hernia when I tried to swing the huge damn thing.

"Really? Is that so?" Windblade said, its voice sounding like it was sneering at me. "And you couldn't just put me in a scabbard, with no sharp edges, and simply clobber your enemies into submission? Hmm? Never thought of that, did you? Ooh, no! Of course not! Because I'm obviously too fat to fit in any scabbard!"

I opened my mouth to try and formulate a rebuttal, but then closed it again. That was... Not a completely terrible idea, come to think of it. I still doubted I'd be able to lift the sword, let alone wave it around in combat, but I wasn't going to point that out, right now. It'd no doubt just set off another tantrum.

All this shouting and screaming really wasn't helping matters. Even if the trail of rapid plant growth didn't clue someone in to the presence of a parahuman in the area, they could just follow the noise. If I left the sword behind, someone else might interrogate it and learn my identity, that way.

I rubbed my temples. "Will you stop crying if I free you from that mess?"

The sword sniffed. "...Maybe."

With another deep sigh, I grasped the hilt of the Windblade.

Wow, that was really lodged in there good and solid, huh? Perhaps if I nudge this tree branch to the side, and brace against this other branch for leverage, I can... Pull...

While I struggled to dislodge the huge lump of sharp metal, I registered in a distant, distracted way that the sun must have fully emerged from behind a cloud and found a skylight in the warehouse's roof to shine down through; there was a sudden illumination from above, bathing my surroundings in hues of vibrant pink, and gold, and bluish-purple.

I heard the wind pick up outside the building, too. Must have blown those clouds away, I guess. Past the noise of my own grunting and swearing, the creaking of the wooden crate, and the sword's encouraging commentary, it seemed as though the sound of the wind whistling between the warehouses outside, and rattling through holes in the walls, took on an almost alien character. Was I still hallucinating? Wind couldn't sound like a chorus of voices, droning and chanting a string of unintelligible words, could it?

And then, with a great deal of snapping wood and crunching planks, the sword came loose. I barely managed to stay upright, as the sudden lack of resistance from the now-splintered shipping crate almost made me overbalance.

Should I try to hoist the sword aloft in triumph? My arms were as brawny as two sticks of spaghetti, and all the exertion made them feel as sturdy as cooked spaghetti, at that... But it seemed so appropriate, for this moment.

Seconds later, the wind rushed through the warehouse, carrying loose leaves and discarded burger wrappers. One of the biggest marijuana leaves I'd ever seen came tumbling towards me at high speed, slapping me in the face. The surprise was enough to make me drop the sword, pinwheel my arms wildly, and fall over backwards.

At least there was loads of spontaneous vegetation to break my fall. Too bad most of the plants were stinging nettles.

THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT. THCoT.

A/N:
Yet another "Taylor gets a different power" story, hooray! As it happens, there's at least three perfectly splendid reasons for this mash-up: Firstly, Aekold debuted back in '98, AFAIK, which means that he and Taylor are very nearly contemporary. Secondly, "Taylor Hebert" and "Aekold Helbrass" are phonetically similar, sort of. Finally, considering that Aekold's power set has earned him nicknames like "Chaos Spiky Disney Princess", it'd be a crying shame not to use it.