"So, what you are telling me is that I need to go into that portal…" said Taylor in an even tone, pointing at the said portal that was surrounded by candy canes and mistletoe. "And smash things?"
"Yes! Smash! Smash many things! Pretty Lady Smash! A Lot!" came the hyper reply from the skritt dressed in a very dirty Santa hat.
Not that she could talk, as she was dressed similarly, in red pants, and a red jacket with white fluffy parts and a reindeer head pant. Next to her stood the ever-excited Petra, in a criminally short skirt that attracted a decent number of gazes, and a similar jacket, just with a little more window to showcase the goods, so to speak.
"Come on, Taylor, you do this every year!" whined Petra next to her, holding a giant candy cane in her hands. "Just get into the portal, and let's smash things!"
"Yes! Smash! Smash!"
Taylor cast a judging gaze towards the other girl, then turned back to the excited skritt.
"And we have to use these… weapons?" she asked, ignoring the groan originating from Petra while gesturing towards the candy cane hammer she was holding.
"Yes-Yes, Annoying Lady! You go in, and pretty smash things! With candy! Yes! Smash!" came the reply from the skritt, and Taylor could have sworn that there was a minor annoyance hidden behind that excited façade.
"And why?"
The skritt looked at her for a full minute as if her question was so stupid it was taking every considerable brain cell of his to comprehend it.
"For candy?" came the hesitant answer from the now confused skritt.
"Yes, Taylor! For the Candy!" exclaimed Petra, then raised her candy cane into the air with both of her hands, and let loose a 'roar'. "Now shut up, stop bothering the nice skritt and let's go. Mama wants her candy!"
With that, she grabbed Taylor by her hand and dragged the protesting young woman through the portal, leaving a very relieved skritt behind.
"Next year I does behind work! Yes! No more Annoyance Lady! Yes!"
They appeared in an enormous hall, so big they couldn't really see the other end properly, on a platform that allowed them to see a giant miniaturized winter village with rolling, snow-covered hills, small forests, and such in the middle of the giant hall.
As they approached the railing, Taylor kept complaining.
"I don't know why you aren't worried, Petra. We don't really know anything about why they're doing this…"
Petra answered with a huff, not even looking at her friend, her gaze instead glued to the scenery.
"Oh, come on, Taylor. It's the Wintersday Council that does it, and they do it because it's fun, and they like to make money. Stop looking for conspiracy theories everywhere. Not everything is a plot to kill you or destroy the world."
"I know that Petra, but…" Taylor was, however, unable to finish her sentence as a very festive bell went off and several skritts were teleported in, running towards the dolyaks in the center of the room.
Petra simply vaulted over the railing, yelling something about candy, charging right at the approaching skritts.
Taylor shook her head, took another anxious and puzzled look at the portal and the giant contraption in the sky, then gently rose into the air and shot off towards her friend, her candy cane hammer glowing with rather festive magic.
After all, she also liked candy…
Taylor walked down the stairs of the inn and took in all the weirdly dressed people. It has been only a few years since she had arrived in Tyria, but it always weirded her out that the holidays mirrored Earth Bet so much.
Especially Halloween, with candy corn, dresses, and other activities that she herself had done back in Brockton Bay before her fallout with Emma.
She could see pirates dressed as sheep and some guardsmen dressed as bandits drinking with each other, none of them clear about the other identities, while women (and some men) walked around in skimpy, slutty, or even scandalous get-ups (sexy bee, why?).
Taylor was broken out of her musings by a tap on her shoulders. Still not fully used to being touched, she whirled around, readying her meager magical skills, only to relax immediately, seeing it was just Petra.
"What are you wearing, Petra?" she instantly asked, blushing a little as she took in the other girl.
Petra just grinned at her, and spun around, flaring her short black frilly skirt.
"I'm a witch!" she then announced with a satisfied voice.
Taylor gave her a withering stare.
"I'm a witch," she said, indicating her pointy hat and a rather comfortable white blouse, black vest, and much longer skirt.
Petra just grinned at her.
"I know! We can be witch sisters!" she exclaimed, then sprung forward to give her a hug.
Taylor for a second thought that Petra choose to dress up as a witch too to annoy her or maybe prank her, as the other girl was always much prettier than her, but hearing her reasons, and feeling the love in the hug, her complaints died on her lips and she simply smiled and hugged her back.
"But if we are both witches…" she began to say after separating, with a mischievous look on her face, while Petra looked back confusedly.
"Yes?"
Taylor suddenly turned around and began running towards the bar, while yelling back with laughter in her voice.
"The last one gets the broom and gets to clean up after the party!"
Petra stood there for a few seconds in surprise, then began running after Taylor with a joyful shriek and laughter.
"Taylor, you asshole! That's not fair!"
Taylor, bundled in several layers of sand repelling clothing, while also layered under an untold number of magical shields both from herself and from enchanted items, looked into the cave with a troubled expression.
When she arrived in Crystal Desert, she was so busy that it took her a while to immerse herself in the culture. Then, while resting between two fights, she began reading the local books about the history of the area, legends, and myths.
And that's how she came to learn about the djinn. Mysterious spirits which either guarded a location or item and could be found throughout Elona. Said to grant immense magical power, knowledge, or even items to those they deem worthy.
They also said they were not mere spirits that operated on instincts rather, they were fully sapient beings that had needs and wants. And based on several stories, anger…
So, on a whim, after remembering Aladdin, she decided to search for one of them and see what they could do for her.
Granted, she didn't really believe they would be able to send her home, as they were not that powerful, but as they were spirits, Taylor hoped she could glean some kind of understanding from them about the situation she had found herself in, so long ago.
Nowadays, she rarely even thought about returning, so it wasn't like it was a priority. She was simply curious. Back then, when she first appeared in Tyria, almost all of her waking moments (and some of her dreams and nightmares) were consumed by the thought of going back to Brockton Bay.
But as the years went on, and she made friends (and lots of enemies) and family, achieved things that she should would never done back on Earth Bet, slowly but surely, the appeal of her old dimension began to vanish.
She mostly kept up the research because she wanted to meet with her father, but even that was beginning to lose its allure…
Feeling horrible, she decided maybe consulting with a djinn would rekindle her passion for returning home, by at least reminding her of the old cartoon and the memories of her watching with her parents while her mother complained about the inaccuracies.
Chuckling a little to herself, Taylor drew the clothing around her closer, as the cave was deceptively cold, despite the desert sun shining down on the rocks with a fury of thousand dragons, then took her first step inside.
She had a djinn to meet, and nothing would stop her.
Rytlock loved fighting and hated war.
Fights were good. You went in, shed your sweat, maybe your blood, and came out more, with victory in your hand or less, losing the fight.
But war… War was horrible. War was hell.
And he who was at the top had to be there and help with making all the choices…
The lives lost from all the charr in the war, not to mention from his family…
He still didn't know how he managed to come out with his sanity intact. But maybe he didn't.
Rytlock let the fishing rod dangle a little more, and reclined in his chair as he mulled over the events that happened with Bangar, happy that he had time to relax a little now that it was over.
He was about to reach for a drink when his keen ears heard someone approaching.
Sighing despondently, he waited until the pup approaching him arrived while contemplating what kind of training he would have him do for being so easily noticed.
"Imperator!" saluted the other charr.
Rytlock just scoffed.
"I'm no imperator, pup. What do you want?"
"A question, sir!"
The famous char growled a few choice curses under his breath, then placed the fishing rod into a vice, then turned towards the fresh behind his ears charr, eagerly waiting to ask their oh so important question.
"This better be good, pup. This is my day off."
"Yes, Sir!" saluted the charr again. "I will be quick!"
He motioned for him to continue, while inwardly wondering what manner of idiocy he would have to deal with after it.
"I was wondering, Sir, now that the Legions have proved their superiority, why aren't we taking back old territory? We have the power and the training! The timing is excellent!"
Rytlock looked at the young charr, his face shining with fervor, and sighed. He slowly stood up, walked towards the other charr with a sedate step as the younger charr watched him, waiting for the answer.
Reaching the young charr, he spent a few seconds looking at him, taking all of him in, then, to the surprise of the other charr, punched him in the face. The younger charr fell to the ground and looked up at him in surprise as he held his face.
"Wha..?"
"You're an idiot, pup," he exclaimed, his voice more growl than speech. "We didn't win because of the Legion. We won because we had allies that were powerful enough to go against the dragons. Humans, asura, norns… All of them helped us solve and issue that the charr caused." He growled again, then turned around and stalked back to his chair and fishing rod while continuing his lecture while the other charr still looked up from the ground. "I can see you weren't on the front lines, because if you were you wouldn't say something so stupid…"
"But, Sir…"
"No. That's enough. One war was enough. Go and ask those who fought on the front lines what they think about your idea, then come back and ask me to do it again… For now, get lost before I give you a cut you won't recover from!"
He then proceeded to ignore the whelp, while gripping his fishing rod a little more forcefully than necessary.
The young char, still holding his face, stared at him for a few minutes stupefied, but then seemed to come to a decision and wandered off with a bewildered face.
Rytlock nodded to himself in satisfaction about educating another ignorant youth, then returned to his marginally less relaxed fishing while also muttering a little.
"And it's not like we could win against Taylor…"
Amy run as fast as she could, silently cursing her habit of eating just a little too much junk food, and not being able to affect herself with her power.
Running through the hospital, she ignored the panicking patients and nurses alike. Her only thought was reaching Weaver. Because if there was one person who could stand up to the Nine, it was her. And because she was with the Protectorate, and probably had up-to-date orders about what to do in the situation, and totally not because Amy was scared.
Definitely not.
Jumping over the last few steps, almost exhaling her lungs, she skidded to a stop next to the nurses' station closest to the rooftop access. Luckily for her, Weaver was there, in her usual white coat, short skirt, that held those legs and with a severe look on her face.
"Weaver!" she called out, but before she could continue, Weaver started to speak and move at the same time.
"I know, Panacea," she simply said, then turned to the nurse sitting, petrified, her eyes glued to the newsreel on the tv, in the station, and snapped off an order that reminded Amy of her mother.
"Clara, call every station, make sure they're ready," not even wanting to see if her orders were followed (they were) she then turned to Amy, and threw something small and black at her. Amy fumbled with it for a few seconds, then raised her hand to inspect it, only to see a communicator. "This has a direct line to the PRT, Panacea. Make sure to keep them appraised."
The only thing Amy could do was nod, as she and every other patient, nurse, and doctor watched as Weaver issued those orders, then simply reached into the pocket of her coat and casually retrieved a glowing ball.
They watched, mesmerized, as she held out the hand in front of her, then let it go. There was a second, where Amy's instinct urged her to catch the ball as it would surely break on the hard, sterile surface, but in the last second, she held herself back and watched as a ball alight with a mysterious glow, didn't fall, instead hovered in the air.
Flinching as another roar shook the city, joined by even more sirens and alarms, and a few panicked cries, Amy's eyes were glued to the artifact hovering in the middle of the lobby.
Then the ball pulsed once, twice, and three times, then grew several sizes until it reached the size of a medicine ball, and let out a visible pulse that slowly grew in size, and began to travel in every direction.
The bubble, made of weirdly transparent material, expanded so fast they could hardly follow, but by the time Amy blinked, she had to look outside to see where the expanding bubble went. The bubble left the building but stopped around the boundary of the parking lot, enveloping the entire hospital.
"It's a shield, should be useful," spoke up Weaver casually, then began to slightly warm up.
"What're you going to do?" Amy asked, swallowing her nervousness.
"Me?" replied Weaver, with an arched eyebrow as she began to glow with dull pink light and glitters, while also slightly vibrating. "Just have a nice, calm talk with a few people. That's all."
Amy nodded nervously, almost stepping back from the pure anger in Weaver's eyes that contrasted with the calm tone she had used.
Then Weaver stepped forward. Then stepped forward again. And again and again, until seven Weavers stood around the nurses' station, all of them with the determined look on their faces.
As one they nodded to Amy, then they slowly faded from sight, leaving Amy and others staring with bewilderment until her newly acquired communicator began to beep feverishly.
Hastily putting it into her ear, and totally not fumbling it several times, she pushed the only button on it and started talking.
"Er, this is Am- I mean, Panacea at the Brockton Bay General…"
Emily Piggot stood in the middle of the hastily put-together situation room as she took in the chaos.
The sirens had long since stopped, but the sound still echoed in her head, as well as the terrifying feeling she had for a moment where she thought an Endbringer was attacking the city. But no, instead, America's resident psychopaths decided to attack the city.
With a fucking dragon. That was probably Lung, based on what her people told her. Which neatly explained where the ABB leader was for the last few weeks. But, it was still over her city, and somehow no matter in what manner they tried to communicate this and the fact that the Slaughterhouse Nine was in Brockton Bay with the outside world, be it the PRT HQ or even a random McDonald's in Boston, every avenue was closed. Apparently, they were being jammed.
How? Nobody could tell her, but more than likely because of Mannequin.
"Fucking Tinkers…" she murmured, then straightened her back and steeled her heart. It was time to do her job.
"Sitrep people!" she called out, hoping to hear something good. "Anyone seen the targets?"
"No, Sir. No sighting on the Nine!" came the call from somewhere in the room, causing a scowl to appear on her face.
"But Panacea just checked in from Brockton General!"
Emily had a sinking feeling in her stomach hearing that. The Nine were known to target hospitals.
The man, whose name she didn't know, continued ignorant of her fears.
"Weaver was present and left to deal with the situation, and also left behind some kind of shield around the hospital. They are preparing for the incoming wounded currently."
Emily let out a relieved sigh at hearing that, joined by several other people in the room. As much as she didn't like the now very famous parahuman, she still understood that Weaver was probably their best hope in repelling the Nine (she didn't even dare to think about taking them out).
She spent the next minute or so watching different feeds and listening to reports, churning her thoughts over in her head, formulating a plan for the situation. Finally, she nodded to herself and spoke up.
"Everyone! Somebody give a packet with the data to Velocity, and send him out to Boston." the moment she finished, one person immediately raced out of the room. "Increase the guards around the PRT and Protectorate HQ, and make sure the Wards are in their rooms. And somebody get me Armsmaster! Where the fuck is he?"
"On patrol, Sir," came the answer from Rennick standing next to her.
She turned towards her second in command with an ashen face.
"Does he know?"
Rennick shook his head.
"We can't reach him, nor can Overwatch."
"Well, fuck…"
Colin was kinda happy. While the fact that another parahuman joined the local Protectorate that could overshadow him in the power department rankled him a little, Weaver managed to improve his armor, weapon, and motorcycle beyond anything he envisioned he could do in such a short time frame, so it was hard to stay mad at the capricious woman.
Her knowledge about science, and design for all sorts of things, not just elevated his own work, but also somehow galvanized his own power to provide him with much more potent technology. Sadly, or fortunately, how one looked at it, he still hadn't had the opportunity to test them out in a live-fire situation.
Lung was strangely absent from the comings and goings of the city, while the Empire, after their run-in with Weaver decided that for one they would be smart and not lash out, or do anything that would require Weaver to go over and discipline them.
So, here he was on a simple patrol, in a normal part of the city, just thinking about things…
The first thing he noticed was that there were too few cars on the road he was going down, next to a pleasant park. The second thing he noticed was the roar shaking the entire city.
He glanced up, trusting that his motorcycle would keep him stable and on the road, took in the enormous dragon, with a nine seared onto its side, cursed silently, and looked back at the road, intent on flooring it and heading back to the headquarters.
However, when he looked back at the road, instead of being weirdly empty, it was occupied by a lone, very well-known individual.
Colin took in Mannequin's lanky too tall, and too thin form, with his shining white armor, and oddly shaped limbs, and the creepy featureless mask in a second. Then his opponent raised their hand and shoot off his arm, connected to the body with a chain directly at what his predictive algorithm was telling him at his center of mass.
Making a quick decision, he had the motorcycle floor it, and keep its heading, intent on ramming into the villain, while he, using the inbuilt system (and they said it would be useless…), jumped straight in the air from his seat, avoiding the projectile, while at the same time reaching for his halberd on his back.
It was lucky he did so because when Mannequin's arm reached where his body was, instead of going further, it turned at ninety degrees and continued to follow him into the air.
Unfortunately, he was much slower in the air, so the arm managed to catch up to him, so he had to use his halberd, bringing it down on the arm ending in wicked sharp claws and parrying it.
Meanwhile, his motorcycle kept going, but Mannequin simply jumped over it, letting the cycle skid to a halt behind him, its emergency brake functions activating. Colin let it there for the moment, letting his enemy believe it was useless.
He didn't have much time to think, because the moment he parried the first arm, the second was coming from the side. Managing to block that one with his halberd, he was, however, surprised by the kick coming from a third direction.
Colin flew through the air, then crashed directly into a shopfront, sending debris and glass everywhere.
While he laid there and watched as Mannequin retrieved his limbs, he quickly sent out several warning signals on several different frequencies, as he knew Mannequin would surely try to block him from requesting backup.
Watching the demented supervillain walking closer, his metal legs making a very distinct clack sound every time they touched the concrete, Colin didn't feel fear. He only felt determination.
He studied them. He planned for them. He knew he could do it.
Slowly reaching for his halberd, pretending to be hurt more by his impact into the building than he was in reality, he carefully activated the systems in his motorcycle.
The moment he grabbed his weapon, Mannequin's head twitched and his hand launched at him again with blinding speed.
Colin activated his suit fight frame support program, and with its help parried the approaching limb intent to skewer him, and did an admittedly impressive flip from the ground to a standing position. Then he settled into a stance that had been practiced so much it was practically burned into his mind and body.
Mannequin slowly retracted his arm, no doubt trying to increase the tension and scare him. But he simply shot forward, intent on beheading the supervillain in front of him.
He was blocked by a long blade emerging from the palm of his opponent's other hand. Then the other hand, which was still being retracted, moved on its own and tried to skewer him from behind.
Colin kicked back, blocking the offending appendage, then pushed against the blocking blade with his hammer, intent on creating some distance between the two of them.
He was relieved to see his fighting frame, inserted into his armor with Weaver's help, was working as intended as Mannequin skidded several feet back, allowing him to get a stable footing and raise his halberd into a guard position.
Mannequin stared at him for a fraction of a moment, his head tilted sideways as if curious, then he shot forward, bladed hand raised, and Colin barely had time to even think.
For every blade or strike he blocked, he was hit by as many, as Mannequin's unique body allowed him to move in such a way that was hard to predict. He was glad his armor was several times reinforced, and while he took the hits, none got through, because from what he saw, several of the supervillain's blades were coated with some manner of poison.
Mannequin even tried gas-based attacks, but quickly realized that the built-in rebreather in Colin's suit would protect him.
The small area where their fight was progressing was in shambles. Either by one of them crashing into walls and shops, or Mannequin's surprisingly powerful guns doing the damage, or even Colin's one-shot plasma projectiles. He only had a few, but he felt it was a worthy sacrifice as he managed to take out Mannequin's right hand with them.
Granted, that action enraged the mass murderer enough that the next minute was spent trying to fend off even savagery strikes from him.
Colin shot forward, dodging another barrage of projectiles from one of his opponent's wall-mounted weapons and using his halberd to shield his face, while not caring of the hits that according to his HUD were close to breaking his armor's integrity.
But he didn't care.
Because while Mannequin was content to play with him, at least based on the rather pitiful physiological profile he managed to read about the 'man', Colin had a plan from the beginning.
It was risky and depended a lot on his meager acting skills and on literality risking his life. But he knew he could do it.
So he got closer to his enemy and tried his best to work around the moving joints and insane sensors that made Mannequin an impenetrable fortress to melee weapons. His own sensors were great, especially after both Dragon and Weaver worked on it, but he suspected he had nothing on the mad Tinker in front of him.
Which was made clear when, the next second, Mannequin managed to knock the halberd out of his hand with the remaining stump of his arm, then with a lightning-quick motion, during which Colin had to suppress all of his instincts to move, grabbed his throat and raised him in the air, ignoring his armor's added weight.
Even with feeling the constricting force from the supervillain in front of him on his throat, Colin couldn't help but be satisfied.
Mannequin's hold on his throat tightened and he could hear something crack, but he didn't care.
With a cruel smile, he spoke up for the first time in the fight.
"Got you!"
The moment he smiled, several points around them, hidden in the rubble, came alive, and small drones camouflaged against said debris lit up with intense light, and by the time the first syllables left Colin's lips countless high-intensity plasma and laser beams were fired directly through the supervillain holding him up by his throat.
By the time he finished the short sentence, Mannequin was falling to pieces, each of his self-contained body parts cut into several mismatched pieces. At the same time, he also fell to the ground, but he managed to land on his knees, his hand automatically coming up to his throat, trying to massage away the pain mas he took in the carnage and the defeated foe in front of him.
With Mannequin, the problem was that there were so many backups in all his body parts that you had to attack each and every one at the same time to make sure you took out the mad man once and for all.
However, that wasn't the easiest as Mannequin, formerly known as Alan Gramme, added so many sensors to his body that it was almost impossible to surprise the man. Unless he had all his attention on something. And the things that attracted his attention? Tinkers he was about to kill.
So, Colin planned along those lines, preparing small drones that could fire high-yield energy beams that would certainly go through whatever material Gramme could come up with. Then he had just pretended to fight well enough, so that his enemy wouldn't realize they were being led into a trap (and survive, that was also important), and not so good to frighten the supervillain away.
Falling back on his ass, breathing heavily, finally realizing that his limbs were shaking, he was sweating buckets, and he was definitely bleeding and his HUD was blaring with so many warnings it was a miracle he could see anything.
But he had done it.
Mannequin, Alan Gramme, was dead.
Then his suspiciously silent communicator crackled to life.
"…ter! Armsmaster, come in!"
He took a deep breath, greedily drinking in the fresh air, now that he wasn't in danger of swallowing Mannequin's (and probably Bonesaw's) insane concoctions, then accepted the call.
"This is Armsmaster. Mannequin is down."
There was a silence on the other end, and Colin began slowly to get up. There were other things to take care of.
"T-that's good. The Director wants you back at the HQ," came the reply from a dumbfounded operator.
"Understood."
Ethan was not happy. He and Shawn were on a patrol, which he usually did with Sherry, but she was out sick, so he had to partner with Dauntless, who was once again morose due to problems at home and Ethan had no idea what to do with him.
Then they were called in to assist with a suspicious fire, then the dragon appeared, and now they were hiding behind an overturned car and Dauntless's shield as Burnscar rained down fire on their position.
He looked over the visibly sweating Dauntless, and couldn't help but curse, as in the background Burnscar, with a demented laugh, decided to bomb a nearby building, causing debris and dust to fly everywhere. Then, just to be extra (he assumed), she detonated the dust, causing a wave of air pressure to sweep through them.
Noticing a little lull in the bombardment, he decided to try something. Something probably stupid.
"Hey, Burnscar! Why don't you stand down? How about we talk about it?"
His answer was even more laughter, and he chanced a quick glance to see Burnscar in a red dress almost doubled over, holding her stomach and laughing. Ethan quickly prodded his partner with his elbow, who fortunately got the message, and shot off his lance towards the young supervillain.
Burnscar, however, instantly stopped laughing, her face gaining a stone-cold look, and with a great whoosh of fire teleported out of the way of the arclance.
"So you are burning up to play me, huh?" came the monotone reply from the woman as she reappeared a few feet away from her previous spot. Then she raised her hand and the out-of-control fire began to grow and swell, slowly but surely encircling him and Dauntless.
He cursed under his breath and was readying himself to rush through the fire, when a great scream rent the air, heralding Shatterbird.
Both of them looked up, searching for the other Nine member but the only thing they could see was the windows breaking on the highest building, the breaking sound traveling downwards, while the flames were getting closer and the scream was starting to hurt their ears.
Then the sound is cut off, and the sound of breaking glass peters out a second later, and the only thing left to hear is the glass falling from great heights and impacting the ground.
Ethan looked at Shawn, who just shrugged his shoulder, and refocused on finding a way to take down Burnscar without becoming well-done.
Despite being famous for being pyrokinetic, she had much better reflexes and was stronger than they expected. Ethan's only thought was that Bonesaw probably upgraded the woman. Which was bad for them, because neither of them was fast enough to take her down before she teleported away and began raining down fire on them.
He just thanked his lucky stars that Burnscar was content to play around because his calls for backup weren't getting answered fast enough. Apparently, everybody was busy, go figure.
Then Weaver was there, with a body on her shoulder that looked suspiciously like the pictures he had seen of Shatterbird, with a grim look on her face as she took in the inferno raging around them.
Unfortunately, the moment they noticed Weaver, so did Burnscar.
"Ahh, Weaver!" she yelled with the same monotone voice, as she was pretending to be really excited. It wasn't really working. "I have been waiting for you!"
Weaver only said one word.
"Cute."
Then she dumped the body of Shatterbird on the ground without a care as the fire swirled around them like a snake ready to attack and raised her hand. Ethan could see that Burnscar was doing the same.
The next second, however, everyone was surprised when Weaver just snapped her fingers and all the fire just simply vanished.
Burnscar looked focused, waving her hands in frustration.
"What did you do? What did you DO?" she shrieked as she waved her hand around as if expecting flames to shoot out of it.
Ethan and Dauntless wasted no time.
Dauntless, after signaling his intentions, shoot off to check if there were anybody living in the area, while he bounded over the debris and within seconds he was behind the supervillain, forcing her to the ground with her hand behind her back, groping for the sleeping agent on his tool belt they were issued, while Burnscar kept shrieking about the vanished fire.
But as Weaver, once again, carrying the probably unconscious Shatterbird (he wouldn't really care if she were dead) walked closer, the shrieking subsided and instead, he noticed that Burnscar was intently staring at Weaver.
The moment Weaver was a few feet away from them, Burnscar spoke up, causing Ethan's blood to freeze.
"Hey, Weaver, where do you think Jack is? Did you think it was only us here?" then the supervillain finished her question with a creepy monotone laugh. "Hehehehehehehe…"
To Ethan's surprise, Weaver just raised an eyebrow before answering.
"Where do you think I am, Burnscar?"
"Huh?"
"Get the fucking asshole, Storm!"
"I'm on it!" yelled Stormtiger as he bombarded Crawler rushing towards them through the debris field that was once a dilapidated park in the outskirts of Brockton Bay with his strongest and most lethal way he could use his powers, but nothing seemed to stick to the monster assaulting them.
Cricket was already dead. Chomped into two when she tried to ambush Crawler from up high with her sonic attacks and kamas, while Krieg was sporting at least a shattered arm, and Hookwolf was buried under a warehouse where Crawler had thrown him after the first clash. The less said about the non-parahuman Empire members that were with them, the better.
He was about to say fuck it, and run away when Hookwolf came barreling back into the battle, bristling with even more spikes and hooks on his body, slamming into the grotesque body of Crawler.
Sadly, the only thing he managed to achieve was Crawler stopping and turning several dozen eyes at him with condescension.
"Foolish mutt…" came the extremely deep growl from several mouths that honestly freaked Stormtiger out real bad.
Despite that, Stormtiger didn't stop bombarding the body with air bombs, and claws, but every time he wounded the van-sized monster in front of them the wound regenerated in seconds.
Watching as Crawler played with Hookwolf as a dog would play with a chew toy, he was once again contemplating running away, despite knowing Kaiser would have his hide for it when he heard another feminine voice.
"Flamy, kill."
Snapping up his head, just as Krieg, he beheld Weaver, in her ridiculous outfit, standing while a gigantic, at least twice the size of Crawler dog made of rocks, lava, and actual fire was jumping over her head aiming directly at Crawler.
The monster dog roared, the sound akin to grinding rocks and somehow the ever-burning rage of those that were hurt then pounced directly at Crawler, who, in his astonishment at seeing the dog dropped Hookwolf from his mouth, and with a simple paw strike sent the monster of the Slaughterhouse Nine away from them.
Then simply began bounding after it, leaving Hookwolf shaken on the ground, the metal slowly receding from his body, Krieg limping back from somewhere holding his bleeding arm, and him just staring at the woman.
She looked them over, then spoke up.
"Fuck off."
Then she began walking sedately after the giant dog she simply decided to sic on a monster they couldn't do anything about.
Stormtiger looked the others over and decided that indeed the best decision here would be to totally fuck off somewhere where there was less chance of being mauled by a giant abomination.
Emily hated her job.
The more time she spent as the Director of the PRT East-North-East, the more he hated not just the position but parahumans, her boss, the other directors, and humanity in no particular order. And seeing the carnage and destruction that the Slaughterhouse Nine managed to accomplish while not even showing their full roaster, that belief solidified in her even more.
Why the hell was the group not bombed to hell and back by the army yet?
And now she had to deal with those psychopaths' temper tantrums.
"Sir, reporting!" came from the side, but she refused to take off her eyes of the video feed showing the probable-Lung dragon currently over the docks breathing fire down, while they tried to figure out how to deal with it, as the few flying parahumans who tried, nominally New Wave were swatted aside, or not even noticed, while Miss Militia's strongest round only elicited a simple grunt from the monster.
"Yes?"
"Reporting, Director: Mannequin is down and Armsmaster is available again. Burnscar and Shatterbird down and Assault and Dauntless are on the scene. Crawler is on the outskirts of the city and is occupied by some kind of giant rock monster, summoned by Weaver."
Emily turned towards the person reporting, looked him in the eyes, and nodded.
"Patch me t…"
But she was interrupted by a frightened yell from somewhere in the room.
"Look!"
Her eyes snapped to the video feed, cursing herself for looking away to see a giant white beam heading towards the dragon. Purity.
The next second after, everybody was surprised. The dragon, instead of tanking the hit as it did every other projectile they threw at it, vanished and reappeared a few meters to the side, continuing with its single-minded mission to burn down the city, building by building.
They watched as the next several beams, some smaller some wider than the first one, were also dodged in the same manner, while several people were updating the personnel on the ground about Lung's apparent new power. Not that it would be much help for them.
Then Emily noticed the sky darkening not far from the rampaging dragon and then watched mesmerized as the dark clouds came together within seconds, creating a miniature thundercloud. Wondering whose power it was, and wishing it wasn't a new trigger when the mystery was 'solved' by another dragon, almost the same size as Lung appearing, wreathed in lightning.
The new dragon was much sleeker, with only for thick legs ending in short claws, and a truly enormous wingspan, with dark blue and purple scales that ended in almost back color on its tail tip. However, compared to the monster that the Nine decided to unleash on Brockton Bay, it barely had any spikes, and the only horns she could see were on its head, wreathed in even more lightning.
Zooming in on the picture, she could see someone standing on its back.
"Who is that?"
The reply came immediately.
"Weaver, Sir."
"Huh, didn't know she could do that," came out in a murmur as she tried to spot the famous parahuman on the new dragon's back. But then Lung noticed the interloper, opened its gigantic grotesque maw, and unleashed a horrific torrent of fire at it and its rider, which was responded by the other dragon also opening its mouth and firing something similar to what Purity did a while ago.
Then the screen went white as the two attacks collided over the city.
Emily calmly pushed away from the station, stood up, and went to get a drink of water. She chugged the refreshing drink down, then turned to Rennick, who was a little frazzled.
"What's the update on Armsmaster?"
Maybe if she pretended she didn't see it, she wouldn't need to deal with it?
Taylor walked through the overgrown vegetation, grumbling about how she should have expected the Nine to attack the city, while the two dragons continued to duke it out over the city.
She was currently on the outskirts of the city, an area full of abandoned plots, weekend houses, and a few manors. Her destination was one of these manors, which to her senses contained several unknown parahumans.
Taylor hated the fact she couldn't see her own future. It made things like those so much harder to deal with, especially with the knowledge that the events in the city were just distractions so that she could be baited out.
She long ago overcame the feeling that the deaths and wounds during times like these were her fault for not acting fast enough, but she still would have to live with the knowledge.
But she was here, and it was time to put a long-overdue end to the Slaughterhouse Nine.
Walking through the poorly maintained garden, she could see body parts, half-dried pools of blood strewn around haphazardly, and couldn't help but grimace at the sight. She had seen some stuff, but this up there with the worst stuff Tyria has to offer (breaking into inquest labs was never fun).
Finally, stepping beyond the last shrub, she came to a poorly maintained grass field decorated in the same manner as the rest of the garden, with the remaining members she could see standing and sitting around the veranda of the forgotten manor.
There was a colorfully dressed young woman, slipping from a glass with a bendy straw, sitting on a chair while absentmindedly poking the back of the head of an Asian woman, with burned hair and a vacant look sitting on the ground in front of a giant contraption, rocking back and forth while muttering: "I will show them!" continuously.
Probably a new member, because she hadn't heard or read anything about her.
Then in a chair not far from her, upon many pillows, was sitting the Princess of Blood and Terror, Bonesaw, cradling some kind of spider monster, in blood-soaked dress, grinning at her, her eyes alight with excitement.
"Look! Look, Uncle Jack! She is here!"
Taylor didn't respond, but her eyes moved to the leader of the Nine, dressed in simple black pants, and a white shirt that only had a few artfully placed bloodstains, and a meticulously cared-for goatee, who upon her entrance had stood up from his seat where he had been languidly resting, with an impassive look on his face. But seeing her, that impassive look changed into a giant smile.
"Well, well, look who has come! Welcome, Weaver, to my parlor!"
Taylor opened her mouth to answer, but she was interrupted by an incoherent roar originating from the second floor of the manor. Then a window was blown out, as a giant body launched itself out and at her.
She didn't even look up, keeping an eye on Jack, but the body that reached the ground was in two parts, the head rolling away, rage frozen forever on its face. The giant ax that came with the man simply slammed into the ground without anyone bothering to look at it.
Taylor glanced down for a moment, then back at Jack and spoke up.
"Hatchet Face I presume?"
The smile on Jack's face got even wider, and Bonesaw began clapping childishly while the new member disinterestedly kept sipping her drink (the Asian woman was still muttering and rocking back and forth).
She didn't have much time to talk, because the moment she once again opened her mouth to question the supervillains, a new body slammed into her.
Crossing her hands to block the punch aiming at her stomach, she beheld the Siberian in all her striped glory.
Glancing at the spectators, she saw Jack still smirking, the new woman looking on with renewed interest, and Bonesaw cheering the Siberian on.
Taylor didn't get a lot of time to think, as the Siberian continued her assault, trying its best to kill her with the same arms that ripped Alexandria's eye out or killed Hero. However, Taylor had magic, and after she stood up to attacks from literal gods, the freak of science that the Siberian was, her attacks wouldn't amount to much.
Still, it was somewhat troublesome to deal with it, so while trading blows with the cannibal, with the other members of the Slaughterhouse Nine cheering or just watching with glee, she refocused her supernatural senses on the woman in front of her.
Elsewhere, Taylor was sneaking around the manor, sheathed in her best stealth magic, making no sound, showing none of her body, or even letting out a single scent molecule.
She stilled for a moment, receiving the message, then a wicked grin appeared on her face.
In the next moment, she vanished, only to reappear a mile away, not far from a beat-up van.
The fight had been going on for almost five minutes, and the garden had become even worse, littered with craters and ground torn up when either her or the Siberian's attacks went off course.
She could have used elemental attacks, but all manner of other esoteric spells, but within seconds of meeting the Siberian Taylor knew there was no soul in it, it was simply a construct doing somebody's bidding.
So, she simply used hand-to-hand combat to delay as much as possible, giving time for her clone to find and deal with the controller.
Getting the signal from the clone on the task she was ready, she mentally nodded, and punched at the Siberian, who, despite not being able to be affected by regular physical attacks, went backward skidding.
The spectators all cried out in surprise at seeing this, except Jack, who just narrowed his eyes. Taylor just turned around, as if dismissing the Siberian, and began walking back to the house through the crater-filled and destroyed garden.
"My dear Weaver, I don't think you are fini…"
Jack's sickly sweat voice was cut off when the Siberian simply vanished, like a bubble that has been popped.
Taylor raised an eyebrow, sending a mental thanks to her clone, then refocused her attention on the psychopaths in front of her.
"My, my, what a valiant effort by our hero, don't you think darling?" spoke up Jack, with a calm tone, but Taylor see from the minute expression on his face, that the Siberian's vanishing act rattled the man.
Bonesaw clapped even harder, then exclaimed in a childish voice.
"It was amazing, Uncle Jack! But it was maybe a little boooring? I wanna see some cool ice powers!"
Jack reached over and ruffled her hair.
"Soon, my dear. Soon."
"Yay!"
The new woman, whose name Taylor still didn't know, just snorted. Jack heard it too.
"Don't worry, Cherish. You will have your time in the limelight too, soon!"
The woman, Cherish, sipped her drink, then scoffed.
"Like I care…"
Jack chuckled, then looked back at Taylor.
"Youth, huh? They grow up so fast…"
Taylor said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.
Jack, seemingly not minding the silence, continued to speak.
"But you are not here for that. You are here for us. Correct, my dear Weaver? And might I say, I adore your name. Just rolls of the tongue…"
"Indeed, Jack. You know the song. Surrender or die."
Jack just chuckled hearing that, this time joined by chortles coming from Bonesaw.
"It doesn't work like that, my dear Weaver," he spoke, his voice taking, for the first time, a threatening cadence. "You see, there was a reason my comrades were sacrificed in your magnificent city!"
"And that is?"
Jack's smile reappeared, and he held his hand out theatrically.
"To show the world how useless it is to place their hope in someone like you!"
"That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, Jack," said Taylor, while mentally complaining about all the psychopaths she was forced to deal with.
"But it does! Hope kills, and you killed the Hopekiller, and now people hope you will be their salvation!" said Jack while still grinning. Then lowered his voice into a conspiratory whisper. "But we both know it doesn't work that way, right?" Then he resumed his normal volume, paired with a wicked grin. "And I'm here to show them why!"
Bonesaw clapped at the end of the mini-speech, while Taylor just looked on impassively.
"Okay, I'll bite. How?"
"There is no need to be so cold, my dear Weaver! After all, we are all friends here!" responded Jack with a grin then continued, and Taylor could literally feel the satisfaction rolling off the guy. "You are here to make a choice, Weaver."
He took a step forward, pointing at her while still speaking.
"Either you let us kill you, and then televise your death, or…"
Then he raised his other hand and pointed at the contraption on the veranda and the rocking girl.
"Or you can try to kill us. But! If you kill us, this fiendish contraption that our new friend, the ever-talented Bakuda built, will annihilate the East coast. At least."
As Jack finished with his plan, Taylor saw the proud look on his face, and as if he expected her to flip out. Bonesaw was also staring at her, almost at the edge of her seat, waiting for her reaction, while Cherish was looking at her through half-lidded eyes, her face almost in an orgasmic rictus. The now named Bakuda just kept rocking back and forth.
Taylor looked back at the expectant Jack Slash, and couldn't help but sigh.
"That's it?"
There was a beat of silence as Jack processed her answer, then the grin slowly slid off his face, and he spoke up.
"I don't think you understand the severity of the situation, my dear Weaver. If any one of us dies. It explodes. If I decide you aren't performing well, it explodes." Here his eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a rather nasty quality. "If I don't like you, it explodes."
Taylor looked at Bonesaw, Cherish and Jack, as they looked back at her with excited faces, and she nodded, then smiled.
Jack smiled back.
Bonesaw began cheering.
Cherish continued to sip her drink.
Then, so fast that nobody could react, Taylor raised her hand and snapped her finger. At the same moment, a dark circle appeared under Taylor, and it began expanding so fast that between two blinks it covered the area under her, Bonesaw, Jack, Cherish, the half-insane Bakuda, and the bomb Jack was using as a threat.
Granted, she would be a fool to believe that it was the actual bomb, so while she would be dealing with the imbeciles in front of her, who just realized what was happening (yay, for magical sense acceleration), her clones would be dealing with the real bomb, hidden under the manor.
It was not her first rodeo. Or even the second…
The dark circle then shot up around them, creating an impenetrable wall, which immediately gained an equally dark roof. Then, as fast as it happened, the dark walls vanished, leaving them somewhere else.
They were standing on what some would call solid clouds, the surrounding area filled with flashes of lights, incomprehensible pictures, and shadows in equal measure while the rest of space was filled with slowly moving, but never stopping silvery mist.
She smiled at them and exclaimed.
"Welcome to the Mist, Jack. Here I'm the one offering the choices!"
Jack lost his friendly demeanor and instead of looking at her angrily, but he said nothing, ignored the curious Bonesaw who was poking the solid mist under their feet, and the visibly freaked out Cherish who was looking around with a fearful look on her face.
He raised an arm, suddenly holding one of his famous knives, and slashed towards her, but to his surprise, nothing happened. Taylor watched as Jack, stupefied, repeated the same motion that probably ended a few hundred lives, still getting no results.
It was so worth it spending so many sleepless nights researching parahuman powers. And now, with guinea pigs that nobody would miss, she could experiment as much as she wanted.
She cleared her throat, gathering the supervillains' attention, and gave them a bloodthirsty smile.
"How about you make a decision, Jack?"
A/N: The dragon Taylor summons: Stormscale
