Hero
The tidal waves were growing in frequency and magnitude, demolishing buildings on impact.
He flew up and aim his gauntlets down, unleashing a black pulse of energy which stilled and quieted the waves. It allowed Eidolon to swap out hydrokinesis for another power that split his body into hundreds of black wires. Whatever material they were made of, they were extremely flexible and impossibly hard and sharp at the same time, curving through the air nimbly and cutting into the endbringer, binding it long enough for Legend to carve gashes across its body with lasers that burned crimson. Yet they were not winning, for that was all but impossible in these fights. No matter how much damage they dealt, everything just bounced off the deeper layers of flesh .
The Leviathan 2.2 armour was working better than he had anticipated, though the power consumption was worrying. At this rate, his power source may be too depleted to allow him to fire off the disintegration ray; something inspired by the matter-annihilation burst Ediolon once had access to.
Hero wondered how things had gotten this bad, how the periodic destruction of entire cities and the death of millions became routine occurrence. It was strange to think that there was a time when he had regarded his cape duties as fun, a leisure pursuit. Instead, his civilian role had faded slowly, atrophying like an unused limb to nothing, then disappearing altogether.
Life, when he was Jonathan Harker, was monotonous, but peaceful. Long dull lectures at university and problem sheets, the beer, the long cool starless evenings. Then graduate work at MIT in freezing Boston, the wonders of suddenly living in a whole new country. A professorship. Research. Papers. Conferences.
Then came Scion and the capes, and the scientific world exploded.
Where did capes come from? Why could they do what they did? Did Scion cause them? Was Scion simply the first? Why did their powers vary so hugely? Genetics, radiation, unknown laws of physics – all these were bandied about. Eventually, the academics settled on it as a mystery best left unknown, leaving only the crackpots who thought of aliens gods and extradimensional rifts in space.
All except him.
He had searched always for something real to work on. Something he could call his own. This was his mystery, his falling apple, his golden leaf of foil. He would solve it by hook or by crook, for his jaws were fastened shut around the problem. Late into the nights he worked, covering paper after paper, then wall after wall with calculation and recalculation and theory and ur-theory – experiments, thought experiments, newspaper clippings, more. After his second day, he'd realised that he'd never solve it. That powers would remain, forever, a mystery to him. That he had failed.
Then a pattern. Faint but noticeable. Disabled people, miraculously cured. And the emergence of new, powerful superheroes. That had led him to rumours of some organisation who could grant powers. Pretending to have brain cancer had been easy - he'd known what symptoms to fake, what actions to make.
And then...an offer. An incredible offer. It had cost him his whole salary and he'd had to sell his apartment, but he'd had powers. Or he'd believed he'd have them. He hadn't had any notable manifestations he could study after drinking the vial...until he'd entered the small kitchenette, disassembled a coffee maker and a colander and made a headset.
He found that he could build devices for almost any function, as long as it touched upon the manipulation of wavelengths. But what most didn't know was that his technology could also affect his own power. Having donned his colander helm, the flickers of images through his mind had stabilised – he'd seen shortcuts where he could use notably substandard materials to have markedly similar or even better results. He'd run through the entirety of the Tinker cycle in two months flat, building progressively better and better enhancers and tools for his abilities until finally he'd broken it down all together and had understood the binding principles behind his technology, been able to extrapolate and build whatever he set his mind and tools to. Was it any wonder he'd risen to be known as the world's greatest Tinker?
There was, of course, a disadvantage. His powers only worked on himself. He'd tried – god, every time he saw David, fool that he was, pale and wan and almost weeping at his weakness he tried to get just one of his damn things to work for someone else – But they never did.
The early days were the happier times. All four of them did much good during that time. Legend – speed, goodness, nobility. David, sheer, raw power. And Rebecca. Smart, smart as a whip and sharper than steel. A master of misdirection, of the steel fist in the velvet glove. They'd clashed, obviously. She was far too callous, far too unconcerned about the populace they were meant to save. Far too willing to bend people over their principles and force them to her whims. But she could make the hard, harsh decisions that he could not. Together, they balanced each other, all four of them. The best team, the world's greatest.
With the best support too. Cauldron's methods were often murky, but he couldn't deny how...handy they'd been in those halcyon days, after they'd helped him gain his powers. Contessa, drawing out emerging threats. Manton, analysing powers. Doctor Mother planning, always planning. The threat they faced had seemed monumental. Even during the dark days of the arrival of the Endbringers, they had stood together, always trying to do what was best for all mankind.
Cauldron wasn't like that now. Contessa barely bothered to disguise the fact that she didn't exist outside her Path. Manton disappeared after the death of his daughter. Number Man was in many ways colder and more inhuman than him. And Eva pushed harder and harder for harsher and harsher methods for more and more of their poor subjects.
A cape he didn't recognise, some sort of changer, had joined the vanguard of the assault. Leviathan ripped into the cape, shredding vast swathes of flesh and scales yet it only seemed to make them stronger and faster, flames burning blue-white. Alexandria and legend attacked from the sides, and for a few moments, the beast was pinned.
Eidolon
As he watched the dragon burn Leviathan with a vast beam of heat and light, Eidolon felt a brief flash of envy. It wasn't appropriate, but it was there nevertheless. He clenched a hand into a fist and looked at it remembering the power he'd once had. Here he was, the strongest parahuman on Earth—but for how much longer? Would he still be worthy of that title in five years? Ten? He didn't know and the idea that this, the thing that gave his life meaning and purpose, could one day slip through his fingers…it scared him.
It was one of the few things that did. Being weak, being helpless—it terrified him.
While he became weaker by the day, the dragon only grew stronger without end. Already, they had grown larger than even Leviathan, a towering mountain of silver scales and fire. Leviathan reached to the intensified resistance it faced by summoning larger and larger waves, large enough to reach the evacuees fleeing from the area. He could continue fighting, but this was more important. Eidolon broke away from the endbringer and swapped aerokinesis to hydrokinesis, pushing the water back.
He couldn't help wondering that if the cape had been a villain when he was in his prime, would he have won if they fought?
Could they have been a worthy opponent?