Reply to Guest: Yep, sad to see one of the original characters go. We'll see what comes of it :)


Chapter 73: Sacrifice (Part 2)

The City of Townsville. Tenements District. Tenements-Slums Border.

01 MAR (Wednesday) 1989. 1242.

Buttercup ran down the corridor when Mom went out of sight. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, with endless doors flitting by. There were too many for it to be her house. Some of them would open and slam shut as if moved by invisible hands, and Buttercup would catch a glimpse of herself, re-enacting some past event. When there was still no Mom, she took flight towards the white, until even the infinity corridor she was in was taken over by the light, until all she could see was searing, bright whiteness that she had to cover her eyes.

"Mom? Where are you?" Buttercup felt like she was talking into a void because there was no reply. She could still see the light through her hands, somehow. But as time passed, it'd gone down somewhat. She uncovered her eyes…

Only to see that she wasn't alone. And there was no Mom.

The cultic swordswoman was standing before her, but she was different. Her hood was down, and she was wearing some sort of golden cultic mask that obscured much of her face except for the mouth. Spikes held together by bands rose from the top, making her look imposing - not that it was enough to intimidate Buttercup. What was more alarming was the assembly before her - some twenty or so other cultists, sitting on raised ledges in a kind of central area in the sewers, though it looked more like an auditorium rather than a place for human waste. They were mostly unarmed, with some wearing belts with swords or pistols hanging off them. It looked as if they weren't expecting her to put up a fight as if they weren't expected to fight even if she did.

Buttercup raised her light machinegun, intimidated by the number of cultists. She had never felt alone - indeed, she had never felt the need for her sisters, or anyone in her family, to be around her until now.

"I'll kill every one of you!" Buttercup yelled, her face a rage-filled grimace. "Try and make me!"

"Hush, shadow-kin," the cultic swordswoman said, apparently unafraid of the machinegun she was pointing at her. Instead, she stepped forward, barefooted. Buttercup tightened her grip on her heavy weapon.

Buttercup had anticipated more violence, but she was met with something else instead. The cultic swordswoman dropped her swords before the spiciest of the Powerpuff Girls instead, the blades clattering on the mossy old concrete.

"You are among friends, 'Buttercup Utonium',' she said.

"Who are you?" Buttercup asked, disarmed by curiosity of all things.

"I am Ishtar, but it does not matter," the cultist introduced herself, sort of. "What matters is that you're a very special girl."

There was no violence to be had. It was a shame, as Buttercup welcomed the challenge and thrill of facing over twenty cultists on her own, though she wasn't sure if they were enhanced beyond baseline human performance.

"Of course I'm special! But what's going on, missus?" Buttercup asked. The only reason why she didn't pump the red-robed woman before her full of lead was that she had information, things she never knew she wanted to know.

"You are about to meet someone very important, shadow-kin," the woman said, before extending a hand for her to take. Buttercup took it, and she was led down the sewage hall. "Someone you should be expecting. The cat had spoken about him, had it not?"

The woman had been blocking the view all along. An altar had been arranged in the middle of the septic auditorium. Braziers surrounded it. Someone was lying down on top of it. Buttercup squinted to see who it was, but unlike Blossom, she couldn't 'zoom in' her vision much. All she knew was that she - the person was a girl - wasn't wearing any clothes. She wasn't sure how old she was, but she had been tattooed all over with lines running across her entire body. She looked to be older than her, that was all she knew.

"The cat?" Buttercup wondered about what the woman meant. It didn't come back to her immediately. But it'd hit her soon enough. "The dead cat? How did you know about it?"

"His Magnificence is everywhere, dear Buttercup," the cultist woman said. "And now, you're going to take an important step towards seizing your birthright…"

The cultist woman led Buttercup to the altar, right up next to it. The girl was a teenager, nearly old enough to get married. Buttercup could tell, because the girl on the altar had a far more pronounced chest, like all the adults. She was also tattooed from neck to toe, though she wasn't sure if her face was pure or inked. She was wearing a golden mask like the cultic swordswoman, though it was without the spikes. Stylized tears were drawn below the eyes of the altar girl's mask, like that of masks worn by Greek actors.

Her tattoos were like nothing Buttercup had seen on the various criminals she had fought. They were lines tracing the natural curves of the human body, with hieroglyphics and pictographs that looked alien, a world removed from a modern, American city. The girl wasn't chained to the altar, and yet she was lying down on it as if it was bedtime. Buttercup thought she was brave (though not as brave as her), considering how she was lying down soldier-styled and face-up instead of curling up into a fetal position.

"She has been specially prepared for you," the cultist woman said, waving a hand at the shapely young lady on the altar. "She's the best among us. Intelligent, strong, beautiful… with an unshakable faith in Him. And yet so young, so very young… A worthy sacrifice."

Buttercup was thrilled by this sacrifice. It'd reminded her of that last time in the Silver Age Cinema when a cultist had given himself over to her, to be mutilated at her pleasure. He had smiled all the way, even after she ripped his lower jaw off.

But this one seemed different somehow, and it wasn't just because it was a step towards meeting the friends the dead cat had been promising her all those weeks ago.

"What do I do?" Buttercup asked. The cult set-up seemed elaborate, formal. The cultic swordswoman took a ceremonial knife from the altar and handed it to Buttercup.

"Do you see that circle on her chest? Stab her heart, that which is marked by the Circle of the Shadow, and leave the Dagger of the Holy Assumption in," the red-robed woman hissed. She'd explained the steps loud enough for the entire congregation to hear, and yet the girl to be sacrificed did not even flinch one bit. "Do this for yourself, and I will guide you along after."

Buttercup could see it. The Circle of the Shadow was like a target on the sacrificial lamb's chest, with hieroglyphs written all around it. There was no mistaking where she would plunge the Dagger of the Holy Assumption in.

"But my Dad…" Buttercup hesitated. She'd thought back to what Professor Utonium had done to her to make sure she would not hurt anyone again, the things he had said to her. But he'd gotten through to her more than that, beyond threats of grounding or the forfeiture of her desserts. The silver lining in her brain had done its work - a little bit here and a little bit there, ensuring that she'd felt a little guilt here and a little sadness there to make her understand subconsciously. Easy to ignore usually, but not during a pivotal moment like this. She backed away, dagger still clutched in her hand.

The cultist woman pushed her forward gently, a hand on her shoulder.

"He is not your real father, Buttercup. Did you not see the signs of it?" the cultist said. "He is denying you your true destiny even now - you have a powerful friend waiting for you, Buttercup. You'll need only take a step forward…"

The cultist placed her hands around Buttercup's tiny, gloved hand and guided her towards the sacrifice. Buttercup had to float to see what she was doing.

"Do it," the golden-masked cultist egged her on. Buttercup gasped; she wanted to. She knew the pleasure of killing all too well, and the promise of friendship with this new, all-powerful entity was enticing. She'd been fed well with cultists, and she wanted more! Damn her Dad for holding her back! It's not like she would ever be first in line for his affection, anyway!

And she didn't hesitate any longer, bringing the ceremonial blade down on the tattooed, masked girl. She'd done it with so much force that she could feel stone at the tip of the blade. The sacrificed young cultist gripped the edge of the stone altar as she gasped and heaved her final breaths. It would be a slow death, however, without the blade removed.

"Very good. You've brought the Master great pleasure by doing this…" Ishtar said as she drew another blade from inside her robe. "Put out your hand."

Buttercup was ecstatic. What's next? Who cares? As long as she got to indulge in all this excitement! Obliging to her new friend's instructions, she removed her combat glove and put out her hand. The cultist proceeded to put a diagonal cut there in short order.

"Ouch!" Buttercup shouted. "Hey! What gives!"

"Shhh… This pain is temporary, but the pleasure you'll gain from the Master's promise will be infinite," the cultist said. She then proceeded to pick up a bowl on the altar. Kneeling down, she then positioned it below Buttercup's hand. She closed the enhanced little girl's hand for her and squeezed it gently. Blood was pouring into the bowl, and when enough of it was collected, the cultist returned to the sacrificial lamb on the altar and proceeded to make a slice on the dying teenager's jugular. Blood was spurting out, and the cultist made sure to collect an equal volume of the lamb's blood.

"What are you doing?" Buttercup asked, confused as to how bleeding her and a tattooed teenager would achieve anything. Looking at her with a mysterious smile, the cultist stirred the blood mixture with her index finger. The woman's eyes went down to the swirling blood, which had turned black, before flitting back up to Buttercup, whose mouth had gone agape when it was done.

"Drink this, shadowkin," the cultist commanded the enhanced little girl.

"Ewww! No way!" Buttercup was shocked. It was bad enough if she had to drink her own blood, but when it was mixed in with another girl's blood, turning black as a result? And in the sewers no less? "You're icky! Yuck! That's disgusting!"

The cultist woman simply stared at Buttercup, unblinking, unfeeling, the bowl still clutched tightly in her hand, held up to her.

"You are tired of living around people who understand you not. You hate being ordered to avoid satisfying your unique needs, and yet what few common needs you share with others are neglected. You dread living the life of a 'good little girl'. Do you want to go on like this? For years and years and years?" the golden-masked woman said.

"Blossom's letting me kill-" Buttercup said, but was interrupted quickly by a stranger who seemed to know her far too well.

"It will not last. Soon, you'll be back to being the 'perfect little angel' you're not if you're not punished harshly for doing what comes naturally to you first," the cultist went on. "Is that what you want? Because my Master - your powerful friend - has an alternative for you. He will give you what you want, as much as you want, to your heart's desire…"

Buttercup looked down at the bowl of blood. Her image was vaguely recognizable in it but blackened and distorted. She still felt disgusted over the idea of drinking blood, whether it was hers or another girl's, but it had never sounded more enticing than the way the golden-masked woman put it.

"You'll get to kill and bring justice to this world at the same time. He'll let you do whatever you want, for His vision is not as narrow and short-sighted as your 'father's," Ishtar continued whispering words of seduction to Buttercup. The enhanced little girl thought about it some more, but now, the thought of rejecting the bowl of blood had become unthinkable. The woman, who was an enemy she wanted to kill just ten minutes ago, was completely right. Buttercup couldn't think of an argument against her. Her life in her Dad's family was empty - like falling into one hole after the next, all the while hoping that the place she was going was a worthy destination, except that she remained unfulfilled all the while. The slim hope she held was more torture than comfort.

Buttercup brought the bowl of blood up to her face and tipped the content into her mouth, gulping down the blood mixture greedily with unnatural enthusiasm and gusto. The taste was terrible - it was like drinking metal, but there was something else - a texture and smell not of this world, so indescribable even to her senses that it shifted from one thing to another, at first clay-like and bitter, then burning and acidic in the next. But it didn't matter - she was doing it! She was taking the next step towards meeting a powerful friend! Hell, she felt good just by being rebellious!

Then the pain began to spread in Buttercup, starting from where the vile, bloody mixture had touched, then to the rest of her body. At first just a dull ache, it became stronger, then sharper. Buttercup fell to her knees and clutched her stomach as she tried to endure the agony. Her vision became red, and unknown to her, her eyes had gone red like Bubbles back when she had gone BerXerk. "What did you do to me!?"

"The shadow-blood you consumed will change you - just subtly and slightly," the woman explained. She'd gotten down to her knees too, holding Buttercup as a mother would just so that she wouldn't collapse on the floor entirely. "The Master will be able to sense you better from now on. He will be with you, always. If you're fortunate, he'll even converse with you soon, even bless you with certain… gifts. Oh, how I envy you!"

Buttercup could barely hear the cultist. Her vision had gone dark, and her limbs numb. The cultist lowered her to the floor, gently. And soon, even her mind had gone blank…


The City of Townsville. Tenements District. Tenements-Slums Border.

01 MAR (Wednesday) 1989. 1249.

Detective Mullens had to search from desk to desk to find Bubbles. She had run away so fast that he didn't catch where she had hidden in shame. The decommissioned utility office, however, was a small place, so it didn't take long for him to do it. Leaving a disappointed Olivia to pick up the pieces when it came to the evidence, he actually got down and sat next to Bubbles, nearly bumping his head on the old desk.

"How're you holding up, kid?" Mullens asked, genuinely concerned and asking himself if the Bubbles had relapsed.

"I'm sorry…" Bubbles simply repeated herself, unable to bring herself to look at Mullens or sit close to him.

"Ain't nothing to be sorry about," the old detective said. He moved himself closer to the enhanced kid and began checking her for needle marks. He had faith that Bubbles had remained clean, but he was damaged in that department by decades of repeated betrayals. He had to know for sure. "Here, let me see."

"I didn't do it…" Bubbles blurted out.

"I know, I know," Garrett cooed at the enhanced little girl. "I'm just concerned about you is all, missy." He had never been more gentle with anyone else than Bubbles. Pulling down her sleeve properly, he buttoned it as though her arm might fall off if he'd applied any real force. It was odd that she was wearing a sleeved set of uniforms. But the fact that it was wet with perspiration had told him everything. She was feeling withdrawal symptoms hard today for some reason, all the way from morning until now. The father had told him about her need to take watered-down His Secret as withdrawal medication. Thinking back to this, it'd explained everything.

"Have you taken your medication?" he asked. Bubbles didn't react immediately. Detective Mullens knew the look. She looked like she'd broken a glass in class like she was about to be asked to stand in a corner for the rest of it.

She shook her head after that. "I hate it."

"Take your meds, Bubs," the detective insisted. "It's for your own good."

"Hey, lieutenant!" Olivia yelled out to her father. Detective Mullens didn't like her calling him that, even though it was the professional thing for her to do. The old man popped back out of the desk, accidentally bumping his head on the old wood.

"Damn it," he winced as he straightened up, gasping when his back was giving him some trouble. "What is it?"

Olivia had been rooting around inside the crate that contained the drugs. She'd been digging into it with her hands. A combination of yellow hay and white styrofoam was billowing out of the wooden box. Stanley Talker had been sniffing around the room - what Olivia had tasked the talking dog with was a mystery to the old man.

"It's the drugs. I think we've overestimated the volume being trafficked here," Olivia said. When she was done making it snow around her, she got out of the crate and got up. In her hands were pieces of styrofoam boxes. "It's funny enough that there's only one crate, but what's funnier is this lonely boy's mostly empty. Stuffed with trash, mostly. The number of drugs here wouldn't be enough to supply even a small crack den."

"Ri don't smell ranything relse reither!" Stanley the talking dog barked from the far side of the room, which wasn't that far off, to begin with. As it turned out, Olivia had tasked him to sniff for hidden caches.

"That's all there is, then," Olivia said. Pulling her radio off her belt, she requested a status update on other narcotics teams, only to receive a negative on drug recovery from every one of them. "Why would the Cult of His Promise commit so many of its members and resources into a slim fraction of a crate?"

Detective Mullens watched Bubbles inject herself with watered-down His Secret as he thought about it. It was indeed a mystery. Even to a cult as big as the thousands-strong Cult of His Promise, splurging something like an estimated fifty members and twenty or so allied associates into what amounted to not even a quarter of a crate of drugs was counter-productive, even stupid and pointlessly suicidal in all respects. Except the cult was far smarter and craftier than that.

"Maybe these drugs are going to someone important?" Olivia suggested. "For some kingpin's personal use?"

"Nah, that can't be. After the Expositos' takedown, I don't think there's anyone left in the slums. The Gangreen Gang's next in line, but they don't play by the mafia's rules," Detective Mullens said.

"Bubbles? Buttercup? Where are you!?" another voice interrupted the discussion. It was coming from everyone's radio. Mullens picked his up.

"Blossom? What took you? I've been trying to reach you for a while!" the old detective spoke into the radio.

"The bad guys broke my walkie talkie," Blossom said over the radio. "I had to borrow your friend's."

"I'm fine…" Bubbles spoke into her radio to reassure her sister. There was a pause after that from Blossom's side. The leader of the Powerpuff Girls knew her sister all too well. "I'm really fine."

"Yeah, she's with us," Detective Mullens seconded Bubbles.

"But where's Buttercup?" Blossom replied after that.

Garrett and his daughter, Olivia, exchanged looks. Olivia shrugged her shoulders. He then turned to Stanley Talker, who started taking a few whiffs of the air.

"Rrr… Not around here," the talking dog said. The moment he was free of any duties, he'd gone to Bubbles, whining and licking her in the face in the hopes of making her feel better.

It would take another hour and the entirety of Detective Mullens' task force to find Buttercup. They would find her almost a mile away from the flashpoint of the police raid, passed out in some sewage hall.

As far as they knew, she was alone and unable to say what had happened. It was something for her to know and for the rest of them to find out; even the altar was gone and her eyes, while she was looking at them, was glowing green as it should be.