"So, how much longer do you want it?"

Burnout shrugged a little, sitting in the folding chair, his back to me, his head in my hands. I was tugging at his scalp, growing out his bald spot, little touches of my power. His hair was still dark, but I had a few colored powders I could smudge into the roots to permanently change that, if he wanted. So many possibilities.

"I can always cut it again later, right?" He seemed calm, but a bit of fidgeting made me think he was a little nervous. He wasn't entirely wrong to worry, I thought. We were both supervillains, after all.

"Any thought of horns?" I kept my voice as casual as I could, but he still stiffened. "It'd be easy." I talked quickly, trying to keep him from dismissing it outright. "Could be small. And it would be pretty reversible."

He leaned forward, his already-lengthened hair falling over his shoulders, and I carefully pulled my hands away, not trying to hold him in place. Twisting his head around to look up at me, his eyes were narrowed, calculating. "How small're we talkin' here? Covered with a hat if I was going out on the street? And what do you mean, pretty reversible?"

"It's like working with clay," I hedged, running one hand across my own mohawks, wishing I could change my own hair so easily. "Sometimes you can't help but leave smudges. Fingerprints. It'd be pretty close. Promise." I had gotten a lot better since… I had gotten a lot better, with practice.

The stray cat winding its way between my legs meowed at me, but I knew better; I'd seen it eat a mouse not half an hour ago. Greedy little shit. Plenty of other suckers nearby if it wanted an easy meal, begging for scraps.

We were backstage, taking a union break from setup. Burnout had finally gotten to know me well enough to ask me about my power, and we took the opportunity to find a quiet spot by hospitality to give a more constructive, hands-on demonstration. It was still just past noon, so we had time, even without Mr. 'I-get-off-on-tax-forms' cracking the whip. Duct Tape was making rounds on the golf cart, wrangling stagehands while Burnout rested, and most of the band was rehearsing, still too early for sound checks. I could hear the wail of guitars echoing through the canyons of crates and giant spools of cable.

Before Burnout could reply, there was a new group of people making their way backstage. A van with what I assumed was a local news station logo splashed on the side was parked not too far away, back doors open, disgorging a small horde of techs and other people in labeled polos. One man in an ill-fitting suit, doing his hair, grinning into a mirror. A cameraman, checking his gear. A lot of nervous energy, restless movement, looking around like yokels in a big city. Amateurs.

"Did lawyer-man approve this?" I asked, maybe a tiny bit judgemental.

"Law—Kurt? Dunno. He does this sometimes. Maybe it's in an email I ain't checked yet. He's off doing his 'lawyer-man' thing offsite." He pulled out his phone, a heavily-ruggedized brick with cracks on the screen, but before he confirmed anything they were there, aiming a camera at us, cheap-suit-guy waving a microphone under my chin. His teeth were uneven, his hair greasy, and I was amazed they would trust someone like this with the weather, much less covering Gold Mourning.

"Kenneth with Channel Four News. What is it like working with Apex?"

Burnout and I just blinked at each other. The camera was pointed at us, a small crowd of AV nerds spreading out behind it.

He spoke before I did, climbing out of the chair, running a hand through his now-glorious locks. "Working with Apex is a privilege. He's a great musician, a talented writer, and a good friend." That sounded rehearsed, and nothing at all like Burnout. Actually, I was pretty sure I'd heard that exact quote from previous interviews. Trust Burnout to preach the party line; saved me the trouble of trying to come up with an answer or, god forbid, trying to put my relationship with Apex into words suitable for the news.

There were a few more questions along that vein. A few of the AV nerds wandered away a little, some towards hospitality, some towards—

"Hey, you're not allowed back there without an escort," Burnout called out. They hesitated, then stopped just at the invisible boundary between back of house and backstage. One of the women loitered at the catering table, stealing a donut.

"And you, you haven't spoken much. How did you join the Gold Mourning company?" I turned back from the nerds to see that greasy news guy had pointed his mic at me, the camera now uncomfortably close. I flinched back, but tried to mask my discomfort. This wasn't live, was it? I wasn't even in costume, I just had my mane pulled back—hadn't run into any iguanas or snakes on the road big enough for a tail, and shit they were waiting for me to say something fuck this is something I'd prepared for once upon a time damnit—

"Um." Great opener. Maybe they could edit this part out. "The usual way, I guess." There. Nice and vague, not inaccurate. Not headline material, but again, I wasn't in costume. I really wished the blond fucker had given us some kind of warning about this beforehand. Had there been a memo I'd missed or something?

Kenneth grinned, baring his fucked up teeth, looking entirely too satisfied with my discomfort. "So you tried to claim the title of Slaughterhouse Slaughterer for your own, then. And clearly failed."

I narrowed my eyes at him just as Burnout widened his. "The fuck is this shit?" I asked, but Burnout was already pulling his phone back out with one hand, lighting his other abruptly with green flames up to the elbow.

I felt something cold in my stomach.

Kenneth's arm. Metal. His crooked teeth smiling down at me.

Fucker just stabbed me.

"What did you mean, before?"

We were naked—well, he was always naked, I was just also naked, except for the horn necklace—and cuddling on the pillow pile in his—our?—trailer. And by cuddling, I meant I was half-buried beneath him, using him as the world's sexiest blanket. Even when he made himself light, he was still the size of a bus, so he was half-propped on one of his big arms so he wouldn't crush me. It had taken some trial and error, some enthusiastic experimentation to figure out what worked and what didn't; we were figuring out our grooves together, kinda literally. I certainly appreciated his enthusiasm, tonight, even if my sore muscles protested. Fights got him riled up like nothing else.

He just made a questioning rumble that I could feel in my stomach, my whole body vibrating. If I wasn't so exhausted, it might have made me lose my train of thought, but I persisted.

"After the attack. What you said." No response. "To me," I clarified.

There was a long pause, where if it weren't for the lack of snoring I'd have thought he might have fallen asleep again. I was going to go for a light punch to the ribs—careful as always not to smudge the canvas, so to speak—but then he shifted, lifting his weight off of me, rearing back enough to look at me with the two faintly red-glowing pits where his eyes should be. I crossed my arms at the sudden chill, waiting.

"I shouldn't have said that," he rumbled, his equivalent of a low whisper.

"For the Nine!" I heard one of the news van people cry out, before transforming into a… crab-turtle thing, thick concrete shell with jagged spikes of splintered wood, loops of cables for muscles, forklift prongs for claws. Sent the catering table flying with a backswing. Screams, shouts, people running, explosions...

Of all the stupid, ironic bullshit...

I was not going to be killed by fucking Ninnies.

'Kenneth' had transformed as well, cheap suit exploding from the inside like an industrial shredder, revealing something sharp, spindly and inhuman beneath. His upper torso and head were the normal kind of ugly, but everything beneath was scissor-edged blades and long, skinny, spear-tipped legs, absurdly top-heavy, teetering back from my outreaching hand. I staggered, but the hand-knife in my stomach held me back, a blinding point of pain radiating like lightning out from it. I tried to pull it out, but couldn't. Stuck. And then he reared back his other spear-arm, too many joints, his teeth bared in a disgusting, smug smile.

I lunged again, desperately trying to reach that self-satisfied fuckface—

There was a sound like a tiny chainsaw revving as the cat jumped up on to the back of his head, a ginger blur, throwing him off balance, moving him forward just as my hand grasped—

We staggered apart, me clutching my hands to the suddenly empty wound in my stomach, an ice-cold, breath-stealing agony. He was crouched low on too many knees, metal spear hands scrabbling at his face, where his mouth and nose had been replaced by smooth, concave skin.

Die choking, asshole.

"Why?"

He couldn't look me in the eye anymore, turning his head towards the back of the trailer, the door cracked open, a faint whistling wind accompanying the low drone of road passing beneath us. I knew he could still see me, though. "You know why."

I felt a cold that had nothing to do with the lack of his body heat and everything to do with the lack of him. Words crawled out of my throat, a hoarse whisper. "You're just waiting till you can't get any more out of—" me "—my power." I hated how my voice cracked in the middle.

He made a sound that started in his chest and stayed there, something like a garbage disposal being run empty for a second. A sound of disgust? Frustration? Was he already getting sick of me?

"It's not like that."

I glared at him, offended he would try to waffle out of this. "What is it like?"

That deep vibrating growl again. Clearing his throat? "It always happens. No matter what I do."

Setting my jaw, looking up at him staring off into the distance, I asked the question I was terrified to hear answered. "What happens?"

"I'll kill all of you motherfuckers!"

A streak of green fire was followed by an agonizing scream and a small explosion as one of the Ninnies burst into brilliant flame. Burnout was screaming obscenities, incoherent, throwing fireball after fireball at the murdering shitheels, always seeming to miss or sputter out when it got too close to crates or equipment. He turned to me, eyes wide, radiating green light. Pointed one flaming hand at me, pausing his tirade long enough to shout out, "Stay down! Wait for Bee Gee!"

Fuck that! I wasn't—every step sent jolts of muted pain through me, electric, already worryingly dulled but still leaving me gasping—I wasn't just going to lie down. I just… I just needed to get the fuckers in arm's reach. I stopped, looking for someone to—

Someone shoved past me, and I whipped out a hand to grab their wrist, pulling—

The fucking camera guy screamed as he took his next step with his arm shredded, his hand, wrist and forearm whole in my grip, but bones and strips of meat torn from his shoulder like too-tender brisket, fatty and falling apart. I dropped it, staggered back a moment as he fell, tumbling, dropping the camera and curling into a ball around his bloodless, destroyed shoulder. That wasn't how—I'd never—

I couldn't—

"I will forget you."

There. Plain as the horns on his head, the nightmare I'd been dreading since my first day with the crew. The ticking doomsday clock counting the seconds until I didn't matter anymore, went back to being… just another Ninny. Images of metal claws, a smeared face flashed through my mind, and I shook my head, letting anger well up inside me, smothering sick feelings. I reached out with my foot, rubbing a part of him. He stirred, a low growl rumbling through him, head briefly looking down at me with that hunger I'd never get tired of.

"You'll forget this?"

I could see him calm himself down, tail stilling behind him where it had briefly started to brush through parts of the pillow pile. He looked away again. Damnit. "Had one before. Didn't last."

Shit fuck damnit. "I helped you fly."

That frustratingly vague throat growl again. Coughing? Laughing at me? "You did."

"And?"

He covered his face with one of his big claw hands. His nostrils flared, taking in a deep, long breath. His tail twitched like it wanted to whip out, but he stopped it. I saw the spikes anyway, normally concealed, now out, ready to punch holes in steel.

More screaming. Some of the other Ninnies had transformed. Others lit up with internal light, or hovered in the air, or sent out ribbons of Christmas tree tinsel that sizzled when they hit things. It was a fucking mess, and—

Tinsel-bitch whipped a hand my way, sending a fresh wave of streamers, and I caught them with—

Kenneth spasmed noiselessly, head lolling back, eyes so wide I could see the whites all the way around the iris. I had my arm up to the elbow buried in his shoulderblade, through the inside of his upper arm, his spear-hand twitching with every movement of my fingers. He was so light, I'd barely even noticed I'd grabbed him. I flexed my fingers, felt his spear-limbs shift in response, and set my sights on ribbon girl. Her streamers took a second to reel back, and I didn't give them a chance.

I split her in half from crotch to crown, and she peeled apart. Like a banana. And then burst into brilliant… blue flames?

Happy Pill had come out of one of the trailers, wearing nothing but underwear and a bandolier. Her expression was eerily calm as she threw bottle after bottle at the bastards, some of them exploding, some of them choking on thick green smoke, one melting like day-old ice cream. She sidestepped a bubblegum-pink beam, then was tackled out of the way of the next by Black Goat, who was wearing nothing but his horned mask and some tighty whiteys.

My vision went white, and a crack of thunder nearly deafened me a fraction of a second later. Four of the attackers were down: concrete shell guy cracked in half, screaming; pink beam man convulsing, charred and smoking on the ground; the human-shaped storm cloud had straight up exploded. A blur of spikes and black-red fur leapt in the middle of the action, spinning claws and teeth.

"He's here! He's he—" A screaming Ninny was cut off as Apex's tail, spikes extended, tore his upper body from his legs without so much as slowing. And Apex… he was laughing. Roaring, wordless bloodlust, so loud it drowned out the screaming, explosions, the green inferno's crackling, everything.

Only one attacker still stood after another devastating blast of thunder, a hulking shape with a body made of twisted wrought iron. He had a cage for a chest, wrapped around a rapidly spinning ball of purple energy, rattling against the bars like a bird trying to break free. A motion, like throwing a football, and streaks of blinding energy whipped out from him, disintegrating everything they touched, seemingly at random. One lanced towards me—

Stab-hands convulsed one last time, back arched as he began to crumble to dust—

I kicked him off of my arm, the movement doubling me over as the pain in my stomach sent me gasping, and then Apex was there, standing between me and the beams, the purple energy lighting him up until I could see every hair in profile before me, the crystals on his spine glowing bright white as he started to disintegrate around the edges—

I called out, wordless, as he leaped, heading right into the beams—

All sound died in my throat as only a crystal hit the ground, tumbling, clattering on the concrete as it landed. Three feet long, half as thick, faceted, it looked like the biggest of his crystal spine spikes, big enough to take up most of his chest. It… he was…

Even the remaining Ninny seemed shocked at what they'd done. There was a brief pause as the world held its breath…

Apex took another deep breath through his flared nostrils, then slowly lowered his hand. His eyes were fixed on the back door of the trailer. Was he actually fucking walking away from me? In the middle of this… fight?

Sure enough, one clawed foot thudded on the pillow pile, nearly squashing it into the metal floor. Then another step, leaving the trailer, leaving me.

"So you've had others. I get it," I called out after his retreating back, words rushed, desperate to let him know I understood, I really did. I wasn't the jealous type. He didn't have to leave me behind to be with anyone else. He had to do his thing… I just wanted…

I demanded to stay by his side.

"How many of them were like me, Apex?"

He paused halfway past me, mere feet from the back door.

"I don't remember."

"You stupid fuck!"

Burnout hurled fresh obscenities and a ball of green fire at the iron person, exploding into violent, white-hot flames as it hit. They didn't even seem to notice, shoulders slowly melting, just staring at the crystal as it glowed with purple energy, swirling inside it, brighter and brighter. It rattled, clattering on the concrete, vibrating with power.

Vines erupted from it, whips made of corded muscle or bone, grasping, reaching. It looked like roots growing in ultra fast-forward, the tentacles lashing out, growing thicker and denser with every breath, dragging the crystal towards the last standing Ninny…

Who blasted it again, sending the ball of light in their chest spinning, diminishing with each spiraling beam that hit the core of what had been and was rapidly becoming Apex. The crystal soaked in the energy, absorbing it, growing its meat shell even faster until… my baby, whole and restored and royally fucking pissed, stood in front of the wannabe Slaughterhouse.

His crystal, now just jutting out at the peak of the arch of his back, still glowed a brilliant, eye-searing purple, but so did his eyes, and his mouth, and it was open wider than I'd ever seen it, the light growing brighter and brighter until—

A tightly-focused double-helix of purple beams erupted with a roar like a volcano erupting, washing over the imposter, the failure, the would-be king. They were gone, nothing but ash. So was the stack of crates behind them, and the concrete wall behind those, and half of the fake or stolen news van behind that, rapidly crumbling to dust.

The beam ended. The glowing faded. He was breathing hard, whole body quaking with the motion, like tectonic plates. And then his head turned towards me, and…

Black Goat let out a high-pitched scream as he was grabbed and carried across the thirty foot leap to my side, placed gently where—I hadn't even realized I'd fallen, but he was there, hand on my stomach, his whole body shaking, eyes wide. I looked down to see a nose and a mouth, roughly smeared over my wound, now peeling off—

I looked up instead at Apex, stronger than death, the most beautiful monster…

The purple glow had dimmed, his spine crystal no longer swirling with those disintegrating energies, but when he looked back down at me, his eyes had a more purple tint, and the occasional jolts of lightning that coursed over his waving fur had a matching hue. He growled, low in his throat, a purring satisfaction I'd only rarely seen in the midst of the afterglow, and said…

"I'm not done with you yet."

"What if I'm not done with you yet, motherfucker!?"

He had opened the door, the headlights of following cars lighting him in profile, filtering through the crystals on his back, cloudy skies framed around him. One of his hands rested on the closed door, the last thing keeping him from falling through, out of the trailer. Away.

Birds cawed angrily at him from their perches inside the trailer, loud, accusing.

He let loose another buried growl, its meaning irritatingly unclear. Without turning, he said, "There will always be a place for you here. With the band."

And then he was gone, leaving me naked and cold on our—his—bed, only the sound of panicked honking and the screech of tires following in his wake.