AN: Small content warning for mention of sexual assault.
Danny dreamed of stars.
The theater sized planetarium had been a gift to his mother. In the dream the woman was running her slender fingers through the young boy's hair as he laid in her lap. It was their habit to stargaze for what felt like hours without a word passing between them as they marveled at the sky's former glory.
Danny and his mother watched the approach of a bright galaxy circling its black hole. As the image grew nearer toward the black hole more of it seemed to fall into an abyss.
With each swallowed star the theater grew darker, the pit gathered strength until it started to pull the child himself towards it. He tried to grab hold of his mother but the woman and her clothes had become like stone, hard and smooth with nothing to grab on to. The only thing connecting them was her tight grip over his skull; it didn't budge as everything below his chin was yanked towards the chasm.
Although he felt real pain Danny couldn't scream. Anchored by his head, the hole was forced to pull his body apart piecemeal, but even as skin, limbs, and bone were each taken he still felt his fragments through the darkness. The nightmare continued as more of him was taken, his neck finally breaking away from his head with a snap. Daniel jolted awake at his desk in a cold sweat, the headache from his nightmare following him into reality.
Even in his sleep Daniel kept his power running. It was how his uncoiled sweater sleeves remained stiff, as if pulled by phantom hands. Those same threads were pressed against several keyboards so he could type on the different monitors without directly touching them. The dozens of stiff threads kept it a manageable task.
The headspliting pain from his dream caused his power to shoot down his arm, through a keyboard, and into one of the monitors, leaving him with a small crater in his wall with a crushed screen at its center. Fortunately it had been the one he used for work; the other two were still recording sound was reminiscent of a gunshot.
His powers were at first glance a blend of tactile telekinesis and limited psychometry. The mental space where he could better control his powers, what he dubbed his pit, was what allowed him to work unconsciously. Dissociating from his physical self to engage and alter his mental network was a crucial skill. Thus, it alarmed him to discover the muddled connections between himself and the powers.
If Taylor was home he'd have to check up on her and maybe calm her down. He looked through the relays he left throughout the house. There weren't any in the bathroom or in either bedrooms but he saw enough to know she wasn't home. It was approaching midnight. If Taylor wasn't home that meant that she was probably with the Barnes. It had been awhile since she'd done that; it was reassuring to know that his daughter still had her friends' support.
Another surge of pain interrupted his train of thought. They were coming with greater strength and frequency. That time was strong enough to affect his pit. Several buildings and whole blocks disappeared from his awareness, replaced with a discordant static of visual and auditory information.
It was as if his brain were a collection of taut rubber bands that'd finally keyboards imploded as Daniel sprawled to the ground. Knocking over the trash bin, Daniel writhed in empty beer cans for several minutes. For all its intensity it wasn't a new experience for him he just had to ride it out.
He had pushed too hard in forcing his connection to his pit far past its limits. That was at least the dozenth time Daniel experienced a similar realization within the two years since his wife ha— was taken.
Abduction was the only reasonable explanation, there was no way she'd go so long as to not contact neither himself or Taylor. From the very beginning Annette had been honest with him; he knew about her past as much as she did his, with that behind them her illness was something they could face together.
It had become a different matter once the illness threatened Taylor. He could still recall prying Annette off their child; her panicked face as she fled the room, Annette crying into his shoulder.
Things had changed between the three of them since then they had grown distant not quite a family but individuals going through the motions. Annette closed herself off to protect Taylor and himself he had been hesitant to push and widen the gulf between them. Everything was his fault. Maybe if he had she wouldn't have contacted Kurt, wouldn't have appeared on Cauldron's radar. Or maybe it was the other way around, both theories were plausible.
Annette wasn't weak. Cauldron made it their business to study, manipulate, and sell powers. They were the only group with the knowledge, resources, and motive to take her. Maybe they tricked her with promises to treat her condition. They'd both exchanged favors with the organization enough to be wary. But she was desperate.
He didn't know how long he had struggled on the floor. By the time he pulled himself up onto the desk his remaining monitors played their screensavers. They were of the whole Hebert family throughout the years, some showing just a young couple, others showing that same couple with a small baby and then growing child. It was hard for him to look at that family with the knowledge of who they'd become.
That sentiment applied the most to their daughter. Daniel could still see the little girl who used to hug his legs together as a greeting. His current Taylor was a crushed spring. He knew that she was supposed to smile, to laugh, even tears might've been reassuring. She and Annette were alike in their approach to problems, he couldn't lose her too.
She slipped occasionally, the flicker of sadness or anger that flashed across her features when she thought he couldn't see her. Within his pit those moments were highlights within the sights and sounds comprising his city.
With so much data how did Taylor slip through his cracks? The strain of remaining submerged in his pit didn't absolve him of his guilt, how could he search the city when he couldn't even prioritize their daughter? Worse yet was the liquor that kept him going. Lately his choices were to work half drunk or not at all.
Months of choosing the latter created the mounting headache. It was severe enough that each throb was like an axe biting into his skull. Constantly keeping half of his consciousness submerged within the pit was taking its toll. Daniel gritted his teeth as he climbed to his feet, unsteadily making his way out of the dark office. He deliberately moved instep to each throb to manage discomfort.
He waded through the mounds of empty beer cans, eventually reaching the vodka he kept in the fridge. Holding the bottle with both hands he tore the cap off with his teeth, chugging the entire bottle until his throbbing head had been replaced with the warmth in his chest. He slumped down to the floor in relief.
The effect was immediate, extending across his senses making the world seem like it'd lost some resolution. The weakened connection to his body meant he could delve into the pit with greater ease. Despite its necessity Daniel usually denied that he enjoyed drinking, the sentiment felt hollow in that moment. Normally he'd used lighter liquors to continue watching the city, the exception were the nights that he had to use the full capacity of his powers.
It was a discovery that originated in the initial days of Annette's abduction. Before he deduced that Caldron were the ones responsible the bulk of his search had to do with the various factions of the city. A cycle of fear and anger were the only things that drove him. Those days were spent interrogating anyone who could've known something. Not stopping for rest or food, he persisted even when his powers had begun to fail him.
Four days had passed before he was forced to return home drunk and bloodied.
He didn't tell their daughter where he'd been. He was too drunk to answer her questions even if she had asked instead of wordlessly tending to him. Their first conversation quickly devolved into an believed Annette had finally abandoned them, Daniel tried to dispute her but the anger of his search tainted his words. Taylor spent the next week with the Barnes. He wanted to tell her the truth about her parents as if that would fix things.
When it came to their daughter it had been agreed that they'd wait until she was eighteen or she developed powers. She still wasn't ready, at fifteen Taylor was still little more than a child.
Daniel sat with his back against the cabinet, the house was dark but he didn't need light to slightly pulled at his power and felt a small buzz behind and between his eyes a sensation that bordered near pain, regardless it would have to do.
The sweater unraveled its sleeves as the individual threads began collecting the emptied cans. The months spent making regular contact with the metal made it easy to have them roll up the threads towards his lap. He'd gathered three dozen cans before reforming the sweater sleeves. Daniel pressed both hands into the mound, with so much of it touching his body there was almost no resistance as his power saturated the material. Some of the older cans responded faster becoming thin and dense needles.
Drenched in his power they would replace the relays that'd died earlier. He'd be forced to double up for each location if he wanted visual and auditory monitoring. The bits of metal wriggled up his hands to encircle his wrist, they felt heavy as he moved to stand. His body was thoroughly intoxicated but within the pit his mind was uninhibited for the time being. As he moved downstairs his body was guided by his clothes.
The fabric of his sweater and pants were rigid and tight, particularly around his joints. With his power he could reinforce most materials until they were harder than steel. The problem with his usual clothes was that his power treated them as separate objects; thus his gait included the occasional jerk or misstep. He needed his armor.
After several months without his wife Daniel had made the decision to clear their room of her things and bring them to the basement. It had been too hard to sleep in a room filled with constant reminders. Despite the room's renovations he spent most nights on the couch using alcohol to burrow into his pit.
Some of Annette's things like the boxes of her books or her dresser would've been too heavy for Daniel to carry without the equipment he kept in the old safe.
Placing his palm directly on the rusted lock he opened the safe revealing his old suit. It was one of the only remnants of his years working off favors to Cauldron with his wife. The singular bodysuit of sturdy black leather was marked with patches, burns, and pockmarks. Tangible evidence of all he'd survived, a reassurance that he could succeed .
The boots, gloves, and hood were each integrated making it a single unit to his power. Thus the only means for him to get dressed was the opening between the chest and waist, to be secured with a zipper and several straps. Tassels of black leather;varying in length and width, wreathed each of his limbs. The smallest of them tied against his face as a mask of sorts while the largest pieces were coiled near his waist and were twice his had been later additions to offer further protection and versatility from his abilities.
He barely touched the material before it lurched towards him. Daniel went limp as the suit elevated and twisted around his body. Through his power he could execute the complex sequence of motions like a practiced puppeteer. It was odd how he controlled his body better from a distance.
Even while completing that sequence of actions Daniel could still spare attention towards his relays. It was important to test his abilities before heading out. The needles formed a train that herded across his armor; they'd almost settled around his wrist again when a single relay was knocked away.
It was rare enough not to be a concern. Mistakes like those were a reminder that he was still human despite having a fragment of managed to get fully dressed without losing another relay. His mistake had rolled into a stack of his wifes things, and would have been too small for him to locate without the use of his power.
So long as he had handled an object he could maintain either a visual, spacial, or audiotoral connection with it. Continued touch meant that he could manipulate the object depending on qualities like weight, density and composition. The strength and duration of his abilities were proportional to how long he'd maintained a connection. The current batch would last for several weeks.
Cowl made his way to the backyard and crouched at the pit they'd once used for fires. Mummering a small prayer he pressed the wraps around his limbs and waist deep into the ground before soaring into the dark night sky as a blur.
-B-
Cowl's breath came out hot and hard as he moved between buildings. Though the strain had been a mental one despite the his telekinesis could enhance his speed on just two legs the four extra appendages at his waist were faster. It was just a bonus that the tendrils cushioned his fall, it was the one mercy that kept his growing headache at bay.
Though his preferred process of essentially throwing himself towards rooftops carried a tad more would be a necessary risk if he was going to make it before his abilities became unbearable.
The numbing effect of the liquor was beginning to fade. That didn't mean that he was anyless affected by the alcohol, only that his connection to the pit would feel increasingly strained. It was regrettable that he hadn't taken any pain medication.
His abilities worked better the less he split his efforts and that meant focusing on what had to be done. Unfortunately his powers weren't done malfunctioning. The dead zones of his power began to grow like starving canyons, forcing him to mentally push back from all sides. A part of him wanted to just let it happen so he could focus on a single task for once.
Doing so would make infiltrating the Merchants easier. But nothing was ever easy with Annette. If he let the pit fully collapse it would be days or even weeks before he could replace it. What if the thread leading to his wife appeared in the meantime, it might've been his only chance. The potential was impossible to ignore.
The Merchants headquarters was important due to its location between the PRT and the ABB. The gang itself didn't amount to much beyond a collection of drug pushers and addicts. They were mostly tolerated by the other factions for either being a reliable consumer base or too small of a target to prosecute. The handful of capes leading the gang only made them more pitiful.
There was a well known rumor surrounding the Merchants bolstering their ranks through kidnappings and addiction. As ineffectual as they seemed they were still enough to kill him if he got reckless.
A visual reminder of that fact appeared to him in the form of the merchants new base of formerly small time gang outgrew their collapsing lighthouse for a condemned apartment complex. It was one of several buildings like it around the block. An ambitious project that eventually grew too expensive to continue.
He had bugged the place only a few months prior and yet the building seemed even worse for wear. It was as if the building had been stripped of anything they could sell regardless of how it diminished their shelter. Trash fires scattered through the building were the only source of was a miracle that the building was still standing.
The only exception was a closet on the first floor. Its door was composed of thick wood, he knew it was one of their drug stashes. Besides it all the other rooms were pocketed with holes. Some of them were big enough for him to peak through but he was discouraged with the idea of startling some drugged out thug. His goal was to sneak in, plant his bugs, and leave without raising any alarm. Anything more was foolish.
Thus he kept to his first route from when he'd originally bugged the building. Cowl had entered through the roof exit to make his descent through the building. Even while so close to the original bugs, he couldn't establish the connection. Fortunately it was easy to be stealthy so long as he avoided the piles of debris scattered throughout the building.
He entered one of the more intact rooms; seemingly the former landlord's office, he did the normal routine, bugging the room with two relays for audio and visual awareness respectively. The office had obviously been used. It was unlikely he'd uncover any relevant information but it never hurt to be through.
The desk had been kept surprisingly neat which meant that it didn't take long to search each drawer. They contained several files, some cash, and few drugs. Looking through the files revealed several detailed ledgers and a contract of sorts. Taking a closer look he could make out the symbol for Cauldron on the first page.
Danny could feel his hands tremble. After several years he had found a sliver of a thread leading back to Annette. For a moment he saw his family whole again, no more problems and no more secrets.
He took a moment to calm himself. Even if he knew Cauldron was working in the city that didn't mean he could find his way through a portal. He didn't even have a plan beyond that point. But things could change.
He skimmed through the pages before folding the packet into his armor for later. From a glance it seemed like Skidmark had sought out Cauldron which made sense. Potent powers in a bottle would be appealing to an aspiring super-villain. The other important detail had come in the form of a warning from Cauldron outlining the conditions and penetalies for any breach of contract. In addition to the regular threats was a mention of S-class enforcers on retainer as a deterrent for breach of contract.
S-class was the danger level reserved for world-wide threats like the Endbringers or the Slaughterhouse. Cauldron might've been the only group that could make such a claim with complete honesty. Still this fact left him feeling hopeful the referenced S-class was likely a group instead of a single entity.
If he could somehow lure those enforcers out he might be able to slip through a Cauldron portal without having to kill the whole group. The warmth of the mental image returned to his chest and propelled him forward.
Moving silently on light tendrils he crawled the walls and ceilings as he made his way through the complex. He didn't bother bugging most of the rooms as the risk of him awakening their occupants were slim but he'd avoid fighting if possible.
Fortunately Skidmark didn't believe in lookouts or even general security for that matter, or so he assumed. Despite having it bugged and monitored since his original visit the first floor somehow transformed without him noticing.
The first floor had been a lobby adjacent to a moderate sized gym. It had been transformed in the weeks of Cowl's original visit, but that couldn't be the case. He was aware of the merchant's tinker Squealer, maybe she'd done something to affect the powers perception. It was difficult to decide which possibility was worse that either he had been detected or that the pit was starting to eject him.
Still hidden within dark corners of the ceiling, he could make out the scrap metal remains of the former gym equipment. Twisted into squat cages, many of them so cramped and misshapen as to have prisoner limbs juting between bars. Despite his height the smell of excrement reached him.
The prisoners numbered in the dozens and were arranged in the room like a maze like fashion. They were watched by a single guard. The man had a similar build to Cowl, tall and wiry, but even with the scant light offered by the occasional trash fire it was evident that his sunken cheeks were the result of missing teeth.
The effect added decades to his appearance, which was somewhat contrasted with his habit of striking his pistol against the cages as he made his rounds apparently enjoying the subsequent panic. He made his way to a cage where one of the prisoners had managed to fall asleep. Making use of his captive audience the guard made an exaggerated quiet motion as he pushed the gun directly against the prisoners head. It didn't take long for the prisoner to awaken in a panic.
"Oh,god please don't kill me!"
The voice had been female and young.
"Sure thing but you'll have to convince me."
As he spoke the guard placed his gun on the floor and began to adjust his pants. That was enough. It was clear that the guard was no victim of guilt or circumstance he'd made his choice long ago.
With the help of his tendrils he was able to slingshot himself towards the guard. The moment before he pushed himself off the ceiling with power trembling through his brain, the force became too much as it shot out through his tendrils.
His arrival came with a crash and left a shallow crater with. It also surprised the guard causing him to fall over the girls cage. With lingering pain he grabbed the man's ankle with a gloved hand hard enough that the bones audibly popped. The man's last words were a scream before he yanked his body overhead and back into his crater.
Several of the nearby prisoners cried out in horror. Cowl himself felt nauseous for a different reason. He nearly fell as he took his first step towards the girl who within her cage seemed little more than a child.
"W-who are you,"asked the anxious girl.
She held the discarded pistol with both hands up towards him.
The caliber was too small to threaten him but he raised his hands anyway. He needed to help the prisoners and leaving a frightened child with a gun wouldn't help matters.
"I asked who you are!"
"I'm a husband and a father here to help."
As he spoke he slowly moved towards the girl. He felt the urge to let down his mask for some measure of a human connection. But no he couldn't do that; even if none of the prisoners could recognize his face that still left his stigmata, all black eyes had a way of startling people. Instead he made his way closer to the cage careful not to step in any blood.
"Are you a hero?"
The girl had lowered her pistol but still held it with both hands.
He turned to look back at the cooling corpse.
"No but you can call me Cowl," he said, moving to stand over her makeshift
cage,"what's your name kiddo?"
"Charlotte."
"Okay Charlotte I need you to do me a favor and stay still."
The bars were sloppily welded together but even so they proved a challenge to pry open. Tactile telekinesis only helped so much.
He helped Charlotte out of her cage. At her full height it was obvious she was a teenager. How easily could Taylor had taken Charlotte's place. If the merchants were capable of trafficking children then they were a bigger threat than he had given them credit for.
"Um.. Cowl are you alright?"
Charlotte had been the one to speak. He was zoning out more often now he knew he needed to get back home and into a bed but not until he finished what he started.
"Yes. We have to find a way to get these people out of here."
"Um… yeah the guard had some keys do you think you could..."
He moved to search the corpse and found two pairs of keys and a small folding ring was bent but the keys were mostly fine.
"Here we need to hurry before the Merchants find-"
His words were cut off by the sudden blare of fire alarms. Glancing back towards the cage he could now spot the tinkertech that just alerted the entire building.
"Help everyone escape, I'll buy you all the time I can."
Charlotte took to her task. For his part Cowl let the tendrils of his armor flare and unwind. He took hold of the cage and shot it through the boarded up door. At the same time he also collected the corpse of the pervert guard to bring with him upstairs.
He made a point of loudly running through each floor along the walls and ceilings. He even went so far as to snare and drag some of the gangsters as they left their rooms. The extra weight meant he couldn't maintain it for long but he didn't need to. By the time he'd reached the top floor he'd had garnered the attention of every Merchant in the building.
Unfortunately that meant he was cornered by fifty or so armed opponents in a situation where escape meant abandoning the victims below. He stood in the middle of two crowds next to the intact door. Their numbers alone were enough to swarm him, it was a bad situation for sure but he had seen worse, he hadn't been alone then.
With a single tendril around its throat he raised the guards broken body for both groups to see.
"Holy shit is that Clairence?"
"Yes," he said with his armor, using vibrations among his various needles to form words.
The display had the desired result, he watched as the threads of bravado snapped off the crowd.
"If you want to avoid his fate, surrender now," the words sounded with a metallic hum through the air.
Members of the crowd looked back and forth, none of them brave enough to take the first step, despite one anothers urging. That seemed to change as a single figure made his way through the crowd.
He was sickly thin to the point that the dirty mask and cape he wore were seemingly too big for him. Further subtracting from his demeanor was the constant itch he maintained underneath his mask. Cowl doubted Skidmark would look any different from the other addicts without his mask or obvious skin condition. Yet the man moved with the confidence he had only seen in other parahumans.
Before Skidmark could make his way fully out of the crowd Cowl tossed the corpse to the ground ahead of him. Most of them retreated from the body but not Skidmark. Instead he smiled revealing teeth the shape and shade of rot cracked pistachio nuts.
"So you mean to tell me this gimp kills one of our guys and y'all just gonna take it?"
He turned his back to Cowl to address the crowd.
"Someone take a group of guys to check on our guest the rest of you are gonna give this creep the beating he's gonna- "
He didn't pay attention to the threat. He relaxed the leather beneath him to lower himself to the floor. He was going to skewer the gang leader in front of his followers to win the fight before it even started, to do so he would have to harden the leather into a steel like state.
It was a fairly regular use of his powers, flaring his influence within a particular section but doing so in that moment had sent another arc of pain flaring through his synapse. He dropped to his knees with a thud bringing Skidmarks attention back to him.
"See he's literally begging for it!"
He knew from his relays that he still held the Merchants' full attention. Charlotte had most of the people out of their cages already but they still needed time to escape. He had only one way to keep all the attention on himself.
With several labored breaths he rose to his feet. He more or less had his faculties in control again but he couldn't afford another episode. This was going to be difficult.
He reached within the folds of his armor for the stolen documents"Do you think Cauldron would consider this a breach of contract?"
He had maintained the use of his altered voice, but while the effect on the crowd had remained something in Skidmark hardened.
"Twenty-four hours of the best high of your life to whoever brings me his head."
Shimmers like air over hot asphalt erupted on the ground in front of the crowd seemingly nudging them towards Cowl.
Both halves of the crowd surged towards him like a wave. Before they could crush him he snared a heavyset man around his ankle, flinging him through the sturdy door. He was thrown with enough force that the momentum yanked Cowl through the makeshift room would've been cramped without two people inside it. Cowl was pressed against shelves of drugs and using the full extent of his powers would leave him vulnerable. The closet would help keep the mob directly in front of him and not be immediately overwhelmed.
Unfortunately the merchants weren't so intoxicated to forget their guns. At such close range they didn't need to be sober to pelt him with several dozen of the bullets felt like heavyweight punches through his suit, but it was only a matter of time before he faltered.
The inaccurate bullets had punctured various substances spilling their contents over Cowl. Liquids were difficult to manipulate with his tactile telekinesis he managed to move the substances down his arms and away from his wrist as mist. Sparking the metal around his wrist ignited the substance as it fell across the crowd. The fire was immediate as were the screams of the gunmen.
Before they could even reel back in pain he leapt towards them grabbing a man whose hair had caught fire and dropping him unconscious with a single punch. The other men had already dropped to the floor by then writing in agony, encircling him with burning bodies. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air.
The man he'd attacked was nearly fully engulfed in flames and yet he still held him by the neck. His intimidation proved effective, shocking the mob out of their frenzy with some even taking the chance to run. Before they stopped calling for their friends Cowl threw the body into the nearest remaining merchant.
"Come on!"
The men charged him with their fist, knives and bats. They left a gap in the circle, clearly hesitant to get close to the bodies, and thus making it simple for Cowl to funnel them towards him.
For a while he engaged individual merchants, dodging the initial attack before beating them unconscious with hardened blows. The fire was beginning to spread across the floor back into the closet, once it ignited the rest of the chemicals he would have a raging flames forcing him towards the crowd. Not helping matters was the growing heap of unconscious bodies that'd begun to limit his range of motion.
Despite the mounting headache he sent one of his tendrils to snake through the merchants. He was planning to replicate his earlier tactic but when the tendril was supposed to constrict around one of their ankles he was suddenly tugged forward.
"I got him, help me pull."
Whoever had spoken had definitely been heard as he was suddenly pulled into the mob. He barely had enough time to grab one of the limp bodies as a makeshift shield before the crowd got to him. The body only took a few blows before it was ripped away from him.
The merchants didn't attack with their usual aggression, fear took its place as they frantically stomped, stabbed, and beat Cowl into the floor. He could only harden select areas of his suit then. Even with it mostly intact the protection was sparse enough that his body, or maybe his corpse, would be brimming with bruises.
Someone grabbed one of the longer straps from around his waist to twist around his throat. Another gangster apparently determined not to lose Skidmarks competition retrieved a gun from one of the corpses near the closet. She held the gun to his eye and pulled back the hammer.
In that moment all he could see was that chamber. If he died he'd never see his wife or his child again, he'd fail them yet again.
He saw a flash. If he was going to die then it would be in agony as he fought to his last.
Daniel delved into his pit heedless of the pressure it put on his mind. His head exploded with pain but he was still conscious as part of his masked unwound itself to catch the bullet before it pierced his skull.
It was all enough to make him scream. With both hands raised he propelled every one of his needles into the mob with tearing velocity. The only merchants left then were the dead and dying as they bled out.
Despite his victory he wasn't in much better shape. His vision narrowed to a tunnel, all he could see was the slow dribble of blood as it fell from his eyes. A hollow feeling had overtaken his body as his head felt like it was going to burst. He tried to rise out of the pit but the pressure made it a slow process.
It took him several moments to muster the strength to drag himself off the floor. The pressure in his head still hadn't subsided but by then he'd dive deep enough into his pit that his human body was just another point of reference.
The closet fire had grown astronomically in the time that he'd been incapacitated. Skidmark was nowhere to be seen. He heard what must've been a massive engine rev. Skidmark had sacrificed his own people in order to recapture his victims. He hadn't made it further than a single floor down before he felt a tremble through the felt too small to be an explosion. Whatever the source it was big and coming towards him fast.
From the other end of the corridor he watched as a vaguely humanoid shape of rubble, pipes, and other debris exited the stairway. It stood hunched and underneath the ceiling propped up on swollen limbs. Its upper torso and face revealed a balding, sweating man, with bulging eyes too big for his skull.
Mush only let loose an ugly cackle before amoring the rest of his body or a charge, gathering up more mass as he his current height the man had enough power to run at full speed as he tore the ceiling with his head, the debris of which only added to his mass.
He braced himself by sinking his tendrils deep into the floor and ceiling above. There wasn't enough room to evade Mush, just before he impacted he sunk his fist to where he knew the man's head was.
Mush staggered for a moment though it was more due to shock as his punch was just strong enough to break the armor and just barely touch the skin. The parahuman didn't let him remove his hand, anchoring it with a vacuum tight seal.
He proceeded to leap back with the struggling Cowl ripping him out of the floor and ceiling. As he watched, he could notice vein-like constructs spreading to consume bits of the fallen ceiling.
With every moment of struggling Mush was pulling him deeper into his body. His arm had shifted down towards the chest where it sunk down to his elbow. The seal had grown strong enough to shatter the bones in his forearm and elbow. The pain was making it difficult to remain distant from his actual body.
He resorted to attacking with his tendrils instead of sacrificing another limb. Dozens on the short and long needled Mush. The collective sound was like the thunk of darts sinking into a board. Mush cried out as he fell to his knees, evidently some of the longer barbs bite into his flesh.
The villain's focus had lapsed enough for Cowl to pull out his hand. He had only just done so when Mush grabbed the arm with his own gigantic limb. The force of his grip bending Cowl's arm into an unnatural angle. His own scream of pain cut off as he was tackled through an adjacent wall.
He floated away from his power and back into his body. The pain felt raw and twisted. For a moment all he could do was lie motionless in a bed of rubble. He couldn't even keep that much as yet another throbbing vein spread out to consume the extra mass. Mush stood over him big enough now that he was forced to crouch under the cramped ceiling.
"You know what," he spoke from underneath his armor muffling his voice," the boss told me to finish off what was left of you quickly. But guys like you really piss me off so i think I'll just enjoy myself. "
With that Mush seized his leg with massive hands he heard the bones pop and snap even as he hardened the suit around the limb.
One moment he had been lying on the floor the next he was sent flying head first through a wall. The g-force alone felt sufficient to snap his head from his spine. His opponent had split into three individuals, for as well as he was doing the illusion might have well been real.
The blood streaming from his eyes had nearly doubled obscuring his vision even further. He tried falling back into his pit to supplement his eyes with the blood coating them.
Instead of seeing Mush he saw a raging fire from dozens of angles. In his current state he had almost forgotten the fire he'd started on the floor above, the sound of cackling wood filled his ears. Enveloped in his powers Cowl found himself able to focus again. He had shifted his attention back to the fight just in time to avoid Mush wrapping his hand around his body.
Mush still managed to swat him towards a wall even as he escaped. The slap felt like it shook a few organs loose but he nonetheless managed to anchor himself to the ceiling. The tendrils hooked into the ceiling went deep enough to surface on the floor above. Pushing off the ceiling with both arms and legs he pulled the tendrils back down burying himself and mush underneath the burning debris.
It had been a desperate tactic but Mush was predictable. Even as the fires raged the parahuman pulled both it and the extra material into himself and off of him. It didn't take long for him to realize his mistake, as the fire found fresh kindling in his armored form Mush couldn't help screaming.
Mush opted to try and smother the fire over simply shedding the armor. He'd only made it worse by absorbing more of the burning building as he flailed within his self-made oven. At the rate he was going Mush was going to drop the building on them both.
Coiling the tendrils behind him like compressed springs he shot towards the giant like a cannonball. The force of his impact combined with Mush's weight and the damaged state of the building meant both men were sent careening from the building onto the street below.
He had managed to secure himself to the parahuman well enough to ensure he'd take the brunt of the crash. Mush was unconscious though if from the burns or the fall he was unsure. The two of them had left a massive hole in the building, it was a miracle it was still upright.
He stumbled off the burned giant taking a moment to catch his breath. His suit had ripped in several places with a variety of burns, cuts, and contusions where the tears were located. The night had taken a heavy toll but he could rest knowing-
He peered through blood- tinted eyes to see a crowd of people only a few yards away gawking at him. They were the prisoners corralled within a circle of shimmering rings. Skidmark stood outside of it towards Cowl, his mouth agape while a clearly tinkertech vehicle revved next to him.
The street was lined several with light poles that offered sporadic lighting, thus most of the illumination resulted from the burning building. At only two lanes wide, with everyone outside it felt cramped.
Aiding that sensation was Squealers vehicle, a massive monowheel a single track vehicle where the rider sits within the wheel itself. Cowl remembered a similar novelty from his homeworld.
Unlike those familiar monowheels Squealers possessed a junkyard quality that went beyond the scraps she used for building it. The machine had a blaring engine that revved discordantly, its entirety shook as if it were mere seconds from falling apart, and its cockpit were the warped remains of a port-a-potty . It seemed incomplete with several gaps with half built weapons, only the rockets and net gun seemed operational.
Skidmark let out a frustrated scream,"You total fuck-up you had one job Mush, one!"
He took a moment to calm down before producing a handgun from his waistband and pointing it into the crowd.
"Alright Gimp it's you or them I got bullets to spare either way."
He didn't move, he needed to think, he wanted to believe that Skidmark was bluffing but the man had taken too many risks. He needed something and was willing to work with Cauldron to get it. He knew what desperation could do to a person all too well, Skidmark wouldn't stop until he was killed.
Eitheir enough time had passed or something in his demeanor had exposed his thoughts, but Skidmark dropped his gun before vanishing part of his ring and recreating it beneath his prisoners.
"Squeals baby a little help," he asked the bulky machine.
In response the whole contraption turned sharply towards Charlotte's group before firing a net from one of its various guns. He could almost put together a plan to rescue the hostages, his only problem was how difficult it was to think then.
In spite of the depth he pushed himself down into his powers he couldn't avoid the damage to his body. He'd need a few weeks rest after he survived, if he survived. Part of him reasoned that escape was the best option. The Merchant might've hurt more people but they couldn't kill them for some reason, he could come back healthier and better prepared for a fight.
But then he heard Charlotte's shouting as she and the other prisoners tried to force their way out the net. He had never been the muscle of the duo but he was the only chance Charlotte's group had. No one would be abandoned on his watch.
Skidmark had joined his girlfriend inside her vehicle before they charged towards him. The contraption moved with enough speed to turn the top layer of asphalt into powder. The noise was enough to set his teeth vibrating. He enhanced both legs for a charge of his own, something feral tearing out of his throat.
He had to get close to do any actual damage. Skidmark must've had a similar idea as a circle of blue-green shimmers appeared a few yards in front of him. He opted to run through the effect correctly guessing that it would push him towards the vehicle.
Before he'd stepped into the trap he used his longest remaining tendril to anchor himself to a nearby light pole. Yanking on his tether he snapped the tendril but not before circling around the pole towards the vehicle.
He'd meant to hit the flimsy cockpit but he missed and instead dented some of the weapons along the monowheels rim. He hadn't even touched the ground before the spasm of pain encompassed his left leg. Falling on his back he tried to clutch the limb to his chest only to find it bent inwards at the knee and twisted.
With a grimace he hardened the leather around the leg before forcing the limb back into its proper place, the bones made a sickeningly wet popping sound as they snapped into place. The pain was so blinding that he had just barely rolled out of the monowheels path. Apparently his impact wasn't enough to knock it off balance.
He tried to end the roll on his feet while keeping his leg stable within its makeshift cast, but instead ended up sprawled out on the asphalt. His suit had begun spasming across his body quickly clinging to his body before flaring out in quick succession. The process took mere moments, once it was over he found his entire consciousness almost completely forced into his body.
He tried to re-enter his pit, but found only limited success. He was made entirely aware of his body's pain and without the suit's strength he could barely turn his head towards the monowheel.
The Merchant duo had seemingly mistaken him for unconscious or a corpse. In whichever case neither villain thought to either shoot or contain his body and instead opted to grab their hostages before the authorities arrived.
Unbearable pain wasn't a new experience being taught how to push it away was one of his earliest lessons but it took time. He could only watch as Squealer climbed her way out of the vehicle to manually secure a line to the net to evidently drag the human cargo to their next prison.
Upon closer inspection Squealer was obviously intoxicated. He knew from first hand experience what to look for the sloppiness and incoordination that was characteristic of her every action. It was unlikely that her tinkering was immune to those habits. He took another look at her machine.
Ignoring all of the bulky additions her monowheel wasn't that different from the ones he'd been familiar with. From what he could recall the largest outer wheel was controlled by smaller ones within the rims. The rockets seemed to be meant to quickly stabilize the vehicle in case of emergency. As a young boy he'd only ridden such a vehicle once, managing to lodge the wheel into a tree and thus spin like a gerbil while going nowhere.
The beginnings of an idea began to form just as he finally brought his body back under his control. The entire night he approached every conflict head one as if he weren't alone. But Annete wasn't there, it was about time for him to adjust.
Even with a mental wall between himself and his body, he felt it move as if underneath molten lead. He used what little function he could squeeze from his powers to help him move. It left him slowly crawling towards the monowheel on his remaining limbs. He hoped that he was hidden behind the vehicle's blindspot. The prisoners were only a few yards away from him but a lifetime passed while he wormed himself towards them.
He didn't worry about making noise, the monowheels engine roared as rockets on its left side burned fuel. At least he'd accomplished that much, as he crawled closer to the machine he could see the dent that cost him his leg. It would make destroying the machine easier.
By the time he'd finally neared the machine Skidmark was too busy berating Squealer to notice him. Cowl thought it was a wasted effort due to the deafening noise, yet in spite of it Squealer had somehow managed to hear him. The moment she turned and noticed him a shrill panic left her voice as she alerted Skidmark.
It had taken Skidmark mere moments to process her warning and swerve to crush him. That time had barely been enough for him to pull his two moving limbs beneath himself, too latch onto the rim.
He hadn't jumped very far and thus his legs were left dragging beneath him. Skidmark was only a few inches out of his reach within the cockpit evidently aware of his presence as he jerked the rocket-propelled vehicle side to side to force him off. It took all of his remaining strength to remain attached but he couldn't last much longer.
Skidmark once again jerked the vehicle to the left, the rockets adding enough power to the motion to raise his legs into the air. Hugging the machine close to his body he waited until Skidmark made another turn, the motion pressing his body into the machine and slamming his legs against the road. He took that moment to shift the power away from his arms and into his remaining leg, kicking against the ground at a sharp angle that sent the machine tumbling into the nearby buildings.
Skidmark had overcompensated with the left rockets sending both of them through the foundations of several buildings. While the machine took the brunt of the damage Cowl was still pummeled underneath several hundred pounds of rubble before he was thrown off the impromptu wrecking ball. Where he managed to ragdoll down the sidewalk only a few feet away from the wreckage.
He felt more like a beaten sack of powdered bones than a human being. It was likely the best outcome he could've hoped for given the situation. Their crash had taken a massive chunk out of half a dozen buildings that somehow hadn't yet collapsed.
Moving was out of the question. Squealer had let herself be distracted by the crash, during which time Charlotte had apparently made use of her knife to cut a way out of the net. Squealer was forced to face the former prisoners without her gadgets.
Thus he alone witnessed Skidmark stumble his way out of the ruined tinkertech. The gangster seemed to be in a similar state to his own. The disheveled costume was reduced to tatters, the mask falling away from his exhausted face. He didn't so much as walk to Cowl than fall towards him. Skidmark wheezed labored breaths as he dragged himself closer towards him.
Their faces were only a few inches apart. So close to the man Cowl could see what his face looked like beneath his mask. Starting from the ridge of his nose and up towards his scalp were dozens of dark blotches, only slightly reminiscent of moles, they were colored in dark shades of red, brown and blue. The melanoma seemed to rot the skin in some places.
Skidmark took in a difficult lungful of air before he spoke.
"Guess were both freaks huh, gimp?"
He didn't answer him devoting all his attention to forcing something from his powers but nothing was happening. Skidmark tugged the handgun out of his waistband pressing it against Cowl's temple.
"I'm gonna die because of you, but I'm not going alone."
"Abbadon,"he prayed",please."
Skidmark gave a weak laugh before pulling the trigger.
He felt something jerk hard into his temple. The gunshot sounded muffled and was swiftly followed by a choking sound. He opened his eyes to see the handgun discarded next to him, its chamber had been squeezed shut with the rest of the gun had blown up as a result. The resulting shrapnel had left a gash across part of Skidmarks throat who struggled to stop the blood with both hands.
The gunshot distorted as it had been enough to scatter the crowd away from Squealers still form. He was beginning to lose consciousness when he saw a single person approach. They stepped around the dying man to wrap two thin arms around his chest. After a few moments of struggling the person helped him up to his feet. It was Charlotte.
"C'mon I still have that guard's keys. His car has to be nearby."
He was too tired to thank her so he did his best to support his weight.
Charlotte found the car not too long afterwards and they left the scene just as the sound of sirens grew near.
He let his eyes close for a moment he was too tired to fully sleep, shut eyelids would probably slow the blood trickling down his face. In the end it was Charlotte who shook him awake.
"We're almost there they can take care of you."
The car was driving towards a hospital's emergency entrance. At that sight he lurched forward from his seat only to immediately regret it.
"No, not there too risky. Home instead."
The girl stopped the vehicle for a moment to look at him. Her stare lasted a few seconds but she made a turn away from the hospital.
The silence between them lasted only a few seconds before Charlotte spoke.
"Whose Annette is she your daughter or something?"
He took a slow breath silently chiding himself for the slip.
"No she's someone important to me. How did you end up in a cage?"
It was a blatant attempt to change the topic but she answered anyway.
"I met a few merchants at school. They were alright until they ran out of money for drugs, they traded me instead."
"Which school?"
"Winslow."
A shiver ran through him. Taylor could have easily taken Charlotte's place. A child had been held prisoner under his watch and he hadn't noticed.
"Um, Cowl you alright."
His breathing had become heavy.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you."
"It's not your fault."
" You're wrong."
The conversation ceased there, the only words between them were the directions towards his home.
The small dribble of blood had stopped pouring down his face leaving a thin crust at the corner of his eyes. The dashboard stated the time to be a quarter till two in the morning. Fully awake he realized they were driving an old minivan.
The car was stuffed with trash in the form of discarded food wrappers, some clothes, and whatever else the former owner didn't care to throw away. All of it combined to give the car a musk wholly unique to itself.
Despite his body's protest he prodded his way through the mound in the hopes of finding clothes to cover his armor. His search was rewarded with a pair of shorts and a dirty oversized hoodie, both would look on him but he wouldn't need to focus on that for long.
Charlotte helped him put the clothes over his suit, he couldn't do even that much. He had directed her to a house neighboring his. He made sure to thank her before she drove off. Daniel stood on the sidewalk giving all his attention to keep balanced on two feet.
He never carried keys as Cowl. The years of living within his home meant he could unlock the door with a touch, an action that would knock him unconscious. Thus he made his way towards the backyard for the key underneath a fake rock.
Stooping down to reach it he couldn't stop the bile climbing up his throat. It wasn't much though it did leave him with a fit of coughing and dry heaving. Too weak to get back up he was forced to crawl and stumble his way to the backdoor.
It took him longer than it should've to unlock the door, he didn't bother locking it behind himself. Even within darkness Daniel could avoid tripping over any furniture. Unfortunately the same couldn't be said for the sea of empty beer cans. Crawling on all fours meant his ears were closer to hear the sound of crushed aluminum. A sound that in his current state made his earlier headache seem pleasant in retrospect. He worked his way through gritted teeth up the stairs and towards the bathroom.
Before he climbed into the shower's tub Daniel removed the Cauldron papers from the folds of his suit leaving them on the sink counter. A not insignificant part of him wanted to find the hardest liquor he could, pain be damned.
Instead he pulled himself into the tub without bothering to remove his clothes. He managed to switch on the shower latch by falling against it. He remained underneath a cold stream of water, a broken heap.
Such nights weren't a new ordeal. For a while his body would feel like a single twisted bruise; it wouldn't be long before he'd feel the full weight of his actions as he completely emerged from the pit. Again he thought about alcohol even as his powers failed him he still had a means of escape, a way to put some distance between himself and his pain.
His thoughts returned to what'd happened with the Merchants, and then further back to his own family. The night's small success didn't erase the mountain of failures he made along the way. If he couldn't see the Merchants prisoners what else had he missed throughout the years. If someone had tried to hurt their daughter would he even know?
It first started his leg, the sensation going from a general static to a concrete understanding of how each bone was broken. He writhed in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort only to make it worse. His thoughts drifted back to the alcohol. It would numb him long enough for his powers to recover enough to offer him refuge.
But then what? It was obvious that the powers were overtaxed, could they get even weaker? Daniel couldn't let that happen; his powers were his only means of finding Annette. The pain was beginning to blossom throughout his body but Daniel had already made up his mind.
His way wasn't working but the problem remained his alone. He resigned himself to the pit, finally letting it collapse entirely. Within moments every wound felt ablaze to, overwhelming him the sensation knocked him beneath waves of unconsciousness.
Daniel dreamed of family.