The wind was howling, shouting for her to run, to hide, to not face the monster in the night. It only made her blood pump harder. Feet fell and dust splattered across the night sky as she took another leap across the streets of Brockton Bay. Her powers sung to her, the full call to action demanding that she chase, demanding that she kill and ascend from mere mortal to god slayer.
She had delayed this hunt for a week now and now with no choice but to commit to it, brought her out into the dark cityscape of the downtown area. The need to tear her knife into flesh, into bone, into the very essences of the monster made her chase it to wherever it decided to fly off to. A shadow flicked against the moonlit clouds, swooping down close to her, the flapping of large silver wings belying the stealth the monster was employing.
The bloodlust was normal and expected by now and her senses had increased to such an extent that every water droplet falling in front of her danced clearly within her sight. She saw each step needed to hasten her sprint, every step and footprint highlighted in her mind, nothing can stop her from becoming a blur against the skyline. Her mind flared to life, blaring exact details about where she needed to travel to corner the silver beast. The screech of the monster echoed down the street and at this late hour, would spook every person out of their beds. A second roar, metallic and shirl; she was close.
The light rain patterned against the dark red plate of her armour, the calming effect of the rain lost as she sprinted forward, she leapt and her hand catches on the red-rusted railing of the fire escape. Slick with rain, her grip tightens and deforms the metal as she pulls herself up to the next bar over. Two at a time, she races upwards and within seconds arrives on top of the residential matchbox apartments. The crunching of gravel underneath her feet welcomed her with a discordant apprehension. The wind and rain obscured her vision and a lone bolt of blue writhed over the heavens, the pale sky painted with a pale brush and just in front of her: A silhouette, four legs, large wings, rage in its eyes.
A roar, a pause. A breath and a conviction. She leaps, power enhanced legs driving her forwards toward the monster. A glint of steel, sharper than it has any right to be, reflects the apathetic moonlight as the celestial object uncovers its waning face for a moment.
Her monster: Silvery iron scales, yellow eyes and large wings connected from shoulder blade to the tail tip. Calls to the heavenly domain of the air, crying foul at the hunter, foul that she had found it and now they would have to kill or be killed.
Taylor is fast, faster than any hunter before her. The wind that meets her halfway across the roof doesn't care about her speed and sends her sprawling across the rooftop. Red plate weathers the damage without issue, but the opportunity evaporated alongside the wind, leaving Taylor on the defensive from the get-go. Skidding to a halt, Taylor quickly looks up from behind her faceplate to Kushala Daora floating just out of reach, not that it would be out of reach for any longer as the monster rockets down towards her.
If monsters could smirk then Kushala would be. Pesky hunters shouldn't try to kill the prince of the skies and the king of wind.
A flash, a shriek. A thud, a grin. Taylor is over the building edge, trailing behind the monster before it impacted the pavement below. Her knife, all two feet of vicious steel, plunges into the neck of the Elder Dragon. The honed point gouging deep, severing arteries, tearing tendons and puncturing a lung before halting against a rib.
The monster thrashes, clawing the ground, hoping for purchase to recover and face the hunter. Taylor pulls the knife out with a sickening squeal, blood squirting from the wound; a deadly hit, one that will kill in time. Time that she doesn't have.
The timer is ticking and with the blood-soaked knife, Taylor charges to strike at the head of the iron monster. A swipe, a thunk. Her shield comes up just in time to deflect the paw of the dragon. She slides back a few paces, the buckler barely halting the iron talon that attempted to skewer her, saving her life for the first time, but certainly not the last.
Her raised shield blocks her vision as the monster uses the opportunity to rear up. A deep breath, hampered by a gaping wound, blows from the horned nose, a massive spiral of razor-wind meets the young hunter, her feet barely gripping the ground against the onslaught.
Taylor, enhanced beyond what is humanly possible, grinds her teeth and maintains her footing against the blast of the beast. She can't breathe as the wind keeps blowing past her, rending gashes across the concrete sprawl behind her.
At the first sign of the storm weakening Taylor surges against the monster, catching it by surprise as she carves a massive chunk off the orange horned snout. No more wind attacks would be coming her way, thankfully. The dragon recoils as the burn of the cold blade registers, a dangerous move as Taylor continues her assault by hacking away at the front paws.
Two toes fall off, severed from the body as another gash appears along the foreleg. Kushala recovers and swipes at the hunter, who simply rolls away and quickly circles behind the beast. Another wound appears along its ribs, the hardened iron skin of the dragon resisting the blade as it dulls with each subsequent attack.
Rage, boiling. A roar, a challenge. Fury overcomes the mind of the hunted, if it's to die, then it will drag the hunter to Tartarus alongside it. Claw swipes, tail whips, gnashing teeth. Blocked, dodged and shattered with each retort from the Hunter. Her sword punctures, guts and wounds the monster until its blood begins to drown the street.
The inky red liquid washes down along with the increasing rain. Its essence escaping and its will to fight fleeing, the monster collapses as Taylor hefts her now dented, bent and dull blade. A strike to the cranium bounces off, the next doesn't fare better, the third pierces an eye and skewers the brain.
A final breath, a victory. Taylor places her hand on the broken dragon head, blood soaking into the leathers of the gauntlet.
"You are mine. Every elder, every monster. Summoned by me to die by my hands. You are mine. Return to your master, strengthen me, reinforce me, make me strong." She had done this before, by now the ritual had become quite common and with a further push completes it.
"I am yours; I made you, I willed you to life. Let me gather you, let me improve upon you. And by the blood of the elders, let us grow stronger together."
A faint glow, motes of purple and blue, floats off the corpse. As each phrase passes, more and more power gathers at the palm of Taylor's hand, until the street glitters with blue light. The final phrase with the will to power calls the motes into her.
The corpse vanishes.
The hunter turns and with newfound power, scales the building with a gust of wind.
A siren, a bike. An empty scene, a confused Protectorate.
[/]
"Another fight, another mystery. Seems that last night she did considerably less damage than usual, Cracked pavement and tire marks galore, but further than that not much permanent damage." Colin stood inside the office of the Parahuman Response Team director, a miss Emilly Piggot. Colin, a long-time professional hero in his mid-twenties, stood in his handmade blue power armour. His blue eyes shone brightly and his cropped brown hair laid frazzle from a long night's work, his simple beard covered the relatively young face as many young men did.
Emilly, in contrast, was portlier. Her face hung from aged lines and stress curves, it did little to remove from the director's steely-grey eyes. Her dark blue suit matched the dark wood of her desk, where several papers were strewn about, only some related to the happenings of the previous night. Her attention was centred on a single A4 binder before her, the simple blocky lettering of 'Hunter' at the top describing as much as they knew of the woman, below the name sat a blurry image of the warrior in red.
"Eyewitnesses? It was the middle of the night but still, someone must have seen something. Camera footage should be available, even if it's spotty." Emilly folded her hands, her usual ravenous appetite for information regarding the local and abroad capes was gone; Colin wished he knew what it meant, still he continued with his condensed report.
"Eyewitnesses reports vary, some say it was a dragon, other a monster. They agree on the colour at least. Grey or silvery, large and very angry. They reported that it screamed incessantly and the flapping of its wings drowned out the sound of the small storm of last night. A few of them also mentioned the screams of a young woman, if the monster wasn't screaming then she was." Every report contained a picture of the woman, but the grainy images made it impossible for the PRT to discern even the most basic of information. No guess to her age nor how she looked underneath the red plate. Additionally, eyewitness accounts could correlate that she wore her dark hair loosely and it flowed out of her helmet.
Emilly sighed, with no new information about the 'Hunter' from last night's report and with a slew of sightings the past month, made her a top priority for the PRT. The fact that she was killing monsters inside Brockton left Emilly with no choice but to declare the woman a 'person of special interest' and with the declaration availed Emilly with access to more federal resources. Unfortunately, no amount of added tax dollars would help when the subject disappeared without a trace after each encounter. It was becoming a bit of a problem as politicians of every coat and colour began asking questions and Emilly had to find the cape responsible for the destruction of Winslow's sports field, the explosion at the train yard and the crippling attack at the southern power station. And now with last night a fourth piece to stoke the flames with, a true horror story about what stalks the bay in the middle of the night.
Collin let the director rest as she ran through all of the information available through her head before continuing with the tail-end of his report. "No corpse of the monster was found, but a crater on the pavement gives us an estimated size of about forty feet long and close to about five thousand pounds. Correlating this with other witness accounts of the other monsters tells us that it's the same shape as the Winslow fire and the Trainyard explosion. But we can't be certain that it is the same monster as those two occurrences." He turned to the white projector paper in the corner of the office. His hyper-advanced suit already connected to the projector hanging from the ceiling.
"The only clear footage comes from a traffic camera." The monster's image was hazy through the rain and wind. The grey scales of the monster glinting under the pale moonlight, evil eyes focused on a red armoured woman.
"Five-foot, eleven. Dark hair just peeking out from under the helmet. A two-foot-long sword and a shield of about two feet diameter."
"Last time she used a hammer? Why a sword now?" Colin brought up an older photo, the same red armour but with a large hammer, the wizards in the analytics department estimated its weight at about one hundred pounds. The red hunter hefted it with no issue.
"We can't say for certain. I'm guessing she chooses what she needs to get the job done. The thinkers don't think it's tinker tech, but they agree that her gear is stronger and more deadly than it should be." Left unsaid was the futile effort of a few hundred thousand tax dollars used to try and track the components of the gear. The maze of Brockton Bay and the dilapidated condition of most of the industrial sectors of the city left enough scrap lying around for anyone to try something fancy and get away with it.
"Keep looking. Colin, we need to find her before one of the gangs nabs her." He at least knew when he was dismissed.
He nodded, grabbed his helmet and plonked it back on, turned to face the stern woman and awkwardly waved goodbye to his boss.
Miss militia was waiting for him just behind the door, she wore her usual green military fatigues, an American flag bandanna covered half of her face and the rest was hidden behind her shoulder-length black hair that had escaped from the strict ponytail she usually wore. Collin wasn't the only person who had long nights. She fell in step alongside him and they made their way through the halls of the PRT's floating fortress. Only after they passed the sprawling offices of the top compartments did she speak to him.
"Any news?" Colin's slow shake answered her question.
"Her fourth Sighting in a month, this time there wasn't as much collateral damage. Either she's getting better or her latest show was a fluke. We've got more people being assigned to help us find the hunter before she can blow up another piece of the city." Collin never gave long answers, it made him efficient and effective. If anybody wanted to know more then they could read his detailed reports.
The double barricaded door swung open, the locks recognizing the two protectorate members, hardly impeding their advancing strides as they made it deeper into the centre of the floating rig. His lab was located here, RnR for the capes occupied the station right next to his little haven.
"You'll let me know if you need more help right, Colin? She hasn't actually done any real damage to the city yet; nobody has died from her actions." Collin couldn't say for sure whether it was true or not, the power outage might have led to a few deaths as more than half of the city was plunged into darkness for the day. The destruction of the sports field at Winslow was without casualties and the explosion at the train yard might have been more severe if it hadn't happened in the middle of the night.
"I'd like a new frontline fighter in the roster, we have too few people capable of taking a hit as is." The only armoured protectorate members here in Brockton was himself and Dauntless, neither of them had powers that allowed them to take hits for their teams. Hannah was right, a good brute that wasn't in the wards could do wonders to help the team fight the unending skirmishes with the gangs.
"We'll still try to recruit, rather than prosecute. The city needs more people willing to fight for its future and if we can get the 'Hunter' to join us, maybe we can get some momentum going against the gangs." Wishful thinking, the PRT had enough capes to handle the gangs here, they just needed a bit more willingness from the government to actually use them to clean up the city.
Before they parted ways Militia grabbed his arm, "Shadow Stalker has been going on about this one girl in her year for the last month now. Saying something about her 'changing her personality on a whim'. The girl also has black hair, might be more than just that. She told us that she might have been bullied to such an extent that she triggered." Sophia almost never talked about Winslow; the girl notoriously kept her personal life away from the PRT. Why would she tell Militia something like that?
"Get the caseworker to write a full report, everything she can think about for the last few months or so." He turned around, not waiting for the reply from Militia. He had some tinkering to get to while the day was still young.
[/]
I knew I had changed; nothing had been the same since the fire. My temper flared at the simplest of things, anger raged to be freed at any opportunity. Simple things that bothered me now grabbed my attention until I had to physically restrain myself from lashing out.
Compounding the problem was the fact that I was much stronger than a fifteen-year-old girl had any right to be. My body had become toned and fit overnight and I imagined I could run a marathon without any preparation, I could lift hundreds of pounds without breaking a sweat and a hundred other small things.
I didn't look much different from what I used to, my hair was still the same and my figure was still the same bean-stalk of a girl. Eyes, ears, teeth everything was how it should be, yet I still felt different on a deeper level. My skin itched sometimes, a hollow sensation begging me to let it out.
And the hunts, oh the hunts.
It was an involuntary addiction; my powers demand me to hunt. But the pleasure from completing a hunt left me in a giddy mood for days, until that dissipated and a hole formed inside of my soul again, begging, pleading.
I didn't know how it worked exactly; I could just 'go' on a hunt. My senses would sharpen, every little thing in the world snapping into focus as I could remove my glasses without losing vision. A yearning would form, distinctly different from the clawing desperation of the hunger, the feeling would pull me -like a magnet- towards my target. I could describe that feeling as beckoning as taunting.
I followed the signal and came across monsters, monsters from fantasy. A scaled lion, larger than any creature on earth. Horned, red and maned, with two massive wings. Fire, fire billowed across the field as I squared off against it, only to have it dive onto my lance as I plunged it into its heart.
A horse with scales, a horn, a unicorn, lightning and ozone. My hammer broke its spine and pulped its head.
Another lion, blue this time. Explosions, so many explosions. My first taste of blood, my own blood. I cut its tail, its legs, then its head. A sword longer than I was tall.
Each time I consumed them, draining them of their essence, absorbing their powers, granting me a fraction of what they were capable of.
And now a steel dragon, king of the sky. A blade sunk deep into a chest, appendages lost and a brain eviscerated. The shield the only reason I stood victorious.
These thoughts clouded my mind as I stepped onto the bus heading to Winslow High. Several students eyed me warily, they probably saw the same old Taylor, they just thought something had changed. A change in posture, my back was straight when I walked and my eyes never stared at the ground anymore.
Self-confidence, I had realised in the second week. Gone was the meek and shy Taylor of yesteryear, in her place stood a girl ready to take on the world, and that scared me.
I was still fifteen, lanky and scrawl and the target of a bullying campaign by my ex-best friend for over a year, the only friend I had after the death of my mother. By all accounts, Taylor shouldn't be self-confident. But me being sure of myself made other less sure of provoking me, they'd probably thought I had joined a gang or something, a white girl like me would do well in the neo-Nazis. But I never did, instead, Emma and Sophia brought me to the edge of sanity and left me with superpowers, superpowers that were needy and imposed emotions on me.
I took the seat in the back, the already seated teen flinched when I sat down. I could feel the tense atmosphere, everyone waited for something, probably something from me. Like I said: A lot had changed in the last weeks. I remained seated, waiting for the bust to move, to take me to high school hell.
The walls were dilapidated, the paint peeling or non-existent. The chairs were old and wooden, carved full of ink marks, the desk wasn't much better. Gum stuck to the bottom in droves, waiting for you to accidentally hike your leg up and touch it. Red bandanas and blue scarves lined the clothes of the people sitting next to the walls. Open gang colours were a thing in Winslow, something the school had no chance to stop.
I, in contrast, wore my signature baggy clothes. They were warm and the spring weather didn't make them comfortable. I could feel their eyes boring into the back of my head as I sat there, most thought I decided to join a gang, but my lack of colours made it suspicious. It would make things difficult.
I didn't share homeroom with Emma, only her crony Madison sat in the same local. The cute barbie girl took a seat to the left behind me. She hadn't bothered me in a while. It would make things difficult.
I didn't pay any attention to the Canacum -the teacher- she didn't say anything useful. the ringing of the bell sent us on our daily trip to the hallways.
"Miss Hebert," Canacum's nasal tone viscously grabbed my thoughts. I turned to face her, meeting her brown eyes framed by her blond hair that sagged to her shoulders.
"Yes, miss Canacum?" She didn't respond, patiently waiting for me to approach so that she could keep her tone of voice strict and professional. I waited for the other students to walk out, Maddison wearing a tiny grin on her face as she brushed past me and moved over to her desk.
"Miss Herbert, bullying of classmates won't be tolerated. Several students have come to me in private stating how you've been physically harassing them. The whole faculty is looking at you, if you step out of line even once we'll have to get your parents in on the situation." I only had one parent, dad wasn't much of a parent anyway, he didn't drink, didn't hit me, but he shrivelled up after mom died. Hearing the teacher talk about parents, plurally, just told me how much she knew regarding the truth of my situation.
The allegation of bullying didn't bother me. Yes, I know, I was the victim not long ago, so I should feel angry that I'm the one being persecuted for it now. But I expected as much from Winslow, if the three couldn't get me physically, then they would harras through other means.
"I understand miss, I'll be on my best behaviour." I'm pretty sure she heard those words weekly, but she just lifted one eyebrow to stare at me. I turned around, several of the groupies of my tormentors hung out in the hall. They talked about trivial stuff. I moved past.
A foot, a crack. A scream, a sigh. One of them had tried to trip me, but me being me, meant that I walked straight through her, hooking her foot with me and sending her sprawling onto the floor.
"Miss Canacum! Taylor kicked me!" The clicking of high heels bled into my ears as anger flared to life inside me. Blood pumped in my ears, drowning the sound of the hallway.
Five against one, their word versus mine, I'd be in trouble and it would make things difficult.
The principal's office was a stark contrast to the office of her secretary, it wasn't rich, it wasn't decorated in trophies or commendations. No, it had a deep dark desk in front of the most asinine principle I have had the pleasure of meeting. Blackwell.
"Taylor, Bullying is not tolerated at this school." - No, it was. - "I'm sad to hear that you have resorted to violence to make your sad little life worth living." - I haven't done anything. - "Miss Canacum had also just given you the warning, and the first thing you do is kick someone so hard they'll have a bruise for the rest of the months." - An exaggeration. - "We'll have to get your father here." Good luck in contacting him, if he wasn't at work he was in bed.
Her corded phone rung for thirty seconds, she had probably called home. Another thirty seconds led to her calling the dad's job. An immediate answer, a frown twisted her face when she asked for dad, seems that he didn't go to work today.
"It seems that your parents aren't answering, this leaves me with no choice. Taylor, you're suspended until the end of next week. I hope you learn something in the time you're away from school and come back with a better attitude." I hoped they learnt something too.
"Thanks for the vacation, Miss Blackwell, I'll be happy to tell you that nothing has changed in this sorry little school. I'll be happy to take a break from all the scheming that takes place behind your back. Who will be bringing me my homework?" Off to a wonderful Monday morning.
"It will be up to your parents to come fetch it, we find that having the parents pick up the homework helps to drive home how serious suspension is, miss Herbert." I didn't even have the energy to correct her pronunciation. Having dad pick it up, it wouldn't happen.
"My mother is dead; my father works until sunset. You have to be reasonable." Her sly smile told me what she thought about my situation.
"Well, he'll just have to come pick it up then." She stared me in the eye, daring me to go further. I wanted to; my skin itched. I stood up and walked out of her office.
The condition of the steps leading to the street mirrored the condition of the walls in the school, the concrete was worn and the stones poked out from where hundreds of thousands of shoes had worn away at it.
I wasn't allowed to leave in peace, blue bandanas swayed softly in the calm breeze, the necks they were around were all staring at me. Brown eyes and black hair, Asians.
"Word on the street, girly, is that you're part of the Empire now." His remark hung in the air, I moved to brush past the three boys. But they closed ranks and shoulder checked me backwards. I didn't bulldoze through them, unlike before, this time I could see them trying to stop me and simply let them push my meagre weight back.
I let them stand in their triumph for a few seconds, "Does it look like I have colours? No, so leave me." The leader just smiled, wearing colours often saved a kid from a beating, girls didn't usually fly them if they couldn't fight.
"So, no colours, but you're walking around all high and mighty. What you doing? Sucking dick behind the bleachers to get you sum rep with the gangs?" I was faintly disgusted, but the whole day was starting to get to me. I could feel the blood pumping in my ears again but unlike last time, I didn't want to ignore it as much.
I ground my teeth together and clenched my hands. "If you know what's best for you, you'll let me leave before I deck you." An honest laugh, a distracted simpleton. A haymaker, a smattering of blood. My fist found his face quite quickly, I should have given them the chance to leave, but something told me that if I didn't make the first move, they would.
His friends weren't that eager after I left their ringleader on the ground; I was told that your hand hurt after punching a jaw, I barely felt anything. Seeing me not even shake my hand in pain left them backpedalling. Guts and glory, the one on the right went for me. I stepped into his wide swing. His eyes widened and my fist found his stomach.
Hunched over and coughing, he stumbled away. The left lacky didn't so much as look at me, he simply turned and bolted. It would make things difficult.
I stepped over the slowly recuperating ring leader. He coughed, whipped his bloodied mouth with a hand and shouted at my back.
"Don't come back! If I see you again, you're dead! Dead I tell yea!" Blood pumping, rage building. I had to take a deep breath to not spin around and hit his stupid face with my foot. I kept on trudging, slow and steady I made distance between me and the hell that was high school. Just before I made the last corner to get on the main road leading to my house's general direction, a PRT car made the corner. I sucked in a breath, had they finally found me?
It didn't seem that they had as they drove past. I didn't stare at the passing vehicle; I just made my way back home.
[/]
The step of the house was broken, it didn't squeak anymore, one heavy footfall from a few weeks past finally coffined the thing and dad hadn't gotten around to fixing it, like most things in his life.
"Dad! I'm home!" I was glad that he didn't drink, he'd have done something stupid if he did. He just had a massive case of depression. Medical and an extra helping on top of that, he'd been battling it for years even before mom died. Mom dying just made it worse. The insides were 'clean', or as clean as I could get it. Honestly, I tried, but the house had never felt clean since mom died.
A knock from upstairs caught my attention. Dad hadn't gone to work, so maybe he was awake enough to do something else than mope around and sleep. The stairs creaked, the carpet was a dirty beige colour, reminding me of better days when it was still vibrant. A second creak announced my presence as I made it to the landing upstairs.
Danny Hebert met me in a white wifebeater and boxers, at twelve o'clock in the day, in his room's doorframe.
"Hey Taylor, why aren't you at school." 'Why aren't you at work?' I wanted to shout.
"Suspended." I didn't elaborate. The word cut through his groggy state, I could see him finally realising that something was wrong.
"Why!" he didn't ask. His demand fell on flat ears instead.
"A setup. A girl tried to trip me but sent herself to the ground instead. The teacher believed her and her friends over me." I supplied, the words rending the tense atmosphere.
We had the same mannerisms, a deep breath and scrunched eyes. "How long?"
"Two weeks. They want you to pick up my homework." I didn't know if he could, he didn't do much past going to work and sometimes making food.
"Two weeks!" His anger blew. "I can't pick up your homework for two weeks, I'm already pulling extra overtime at the union to keep the roof over our heads!" I knew; it would make things difficult.
"Told the principal that, said 'tough shit'." This conversation could only end one way.
"Why did you have to get suspended! Your last report mentioned your failing grade already. You can't miss two weeks of homework!" His inability to help me would now be my fault. "I can't do that. You'll have to go to school to get it yourself."
"Suspension means I can't go to the school building or they call the cops! Either you get my homework, or I don't get to go to school again till next year and repeat the grade." Four or five months of no school. Or a little bit of effort from my super-depression dad.
I knew his words before he even said them. "I'm going to call them." As if that was going to help, I knew how the conversation would go. Instead, I stepped over the broken step at the front door and made my way down the street. My skin itched.
A pit of hunger was already forming inside of me, I had just killed a monster last night and still, I needed to hunt again. What would it be this time? Flying pigs? Or a racoon the size of a car?
"What the fuck is a Valstrax?"