Taylor

Lung was gone, the Merchants were gone. On my nightly patrols, I saw it. ABB graffiti being replaced by E88 graffiti. Slowly. The ABB still had plenty of unpowered men and women, but that wouldn't count for much if there was a push. But the Empire was moving cautiously, probably more worried about PRT interference.

Rumor had it that Purity was now back with the Empire. I didn't know if she'd ever really been apart from it.

After all, she mainly went after nonwhites.

But less than a week after Lung's transfer to the Birdcage, I was hearing rumors. The Elite, random rogues, and villains from other cities, they were all moving towards the Bay.

Just yesterday, I'd seen a gang get out of their car and check an abandoned warehouse. They looked like unpowered men and women—but they had bracelets and jewelry made of bone.

Low ranking soldiers of the Teeth.

Just scouting for now.

But that would change.

It looked like Brockton Bay would be hosting its very own Boston Games.

Part of me wondered why. The Bay had been economically depressed for years, but on the other hand, a city, even a small city, had a lot of money ripe for the taking. Lung had barely bothered to develop his territory, and yet it funneled millions of dollars into the ABB's coffers.

And now Lung was gone.

And that worried Dad. I'd promised to not directly go against the heavy hitters, but he understood about Lung. We were… Talking more, even if it was mostly about cape matters. That's how I'd managed to get some of my gear—a middle-aged man raised far fewer eyebrows than a 15-year-old.

But he now wanted me to get some kind of backup. Not join the Wards. I was too useful as a free agent.

Not the Undersiders. They were too close to being villains even if they were changing. Faultline's crew didn't do jobs in the city, and the E88 was obviously out. But I agreed with Dad. I needed someone I could contact, someone who might know to check up if I dropped out of communication.

And while I couldn't join the Wards, it didn't mean I couldn't get in contact with them…

Jim flew back and hit the side of the sparring room with a grunt. He frantically rolled to his feet, slapping his hand out for Eclipse and—

A halberd was touching his chest.

"Tell me you were using your prediction software," Jim finally said.

"I didn't have to," Armsmaster said, holding out his hand. "Your reflexes and endurance are far below your baselines."

"Yeah," Jim said. "Merlin and Panacea fixed that, but…"

"But you have yet to regain your muscle memory or your endurance, and since you will be returning to school…"

"I'd better hurry." And hopefully not get killed by Amy. Jim and Claire had both asked Vicky to convince Amy to heal Kenji—and she had, but according to Vicky, she hadn't liked it.

Also, Dean and Vicky were on the outs again.

So Jim was trying to cram in a month's worth of training on the Hero's Forge in a few weeks. As one of the members who was both strong and skilled enough for heavy duty sparring, Armsmaster had offered his services.

For now, they mostly involved Jim being a punching bag. Evidently Armsmaster had been part of the Draal school of "thump on him until he gets faster" training. Jim had been worried he was taking too much of his time, but when he'd mentioned it…

"Currently, I can both spar with you and dictate the results of my most recent work," Armsmaster had said. "Hopefully, you will improve until that is no longer required."

And isn't that just lovely. I'm so bad that he can dictate while he's thumping on me…

Jim shook his head. He'd just have to get better, faster.

He got to his feet, and worked the kinks out of his head, once again taking the guard position.

"Ready."

Armsmaster nodded… and the thumping continued.

Power testing. I hate power testing. Claire grumped. She and Merlin had been working on new spells, many of which were… New enough to demand she come down here. She was just able to start porting again, and Merlin had decided to take her down time with more books and more quizzes.

Oh, and now he'd decided that since she no longer sounded like a "newt with a breathing problem" when speaking Draconic, he could add another language to her list.

Arabic.

Claire prided herself on her skill, and she wasn't about to give up, but yesterday, Vista had startled her and she'd asked her what she needed in Draconic. She was having dreams in Trollish.

But now, she was talking to a bunch of people who insisted that she was using a Trump power, and that they could show her some books on how magic was merely parahuman powers that were being seen through a lens of superstition.

The bolts of energy were better, and she was now a blaster 5, largely due to the flexible nature of some of her bolts. Using her charm bracelet, she could change some of her blasts of shadow energy into heat, cold, or just impact. Someone had called her Legend's little sister. Yay.

She could cover her staff with purplish flames, and even give it blades on both ends, so that was impressive. Claire had decided to not bring up the way she could conjure knives, not yet. There had been enough rumors about the PRT's issues with leaks that she wanted to keep a few things for herself.

"Now, those creations of yours…" One officer gestured at the shadowy figures that stood around her, attacking target dummies. "You say you can't maintain them?"

"Not when I conjure them like this," Claire said. Moments later, the gem on her charm bracelet cracked and the shadow forms vanished. "If I can make them part of a physical body, they'll last longer."

"We can think about that, now, what other powers do you have?"

"Well…" Claire kept going through them, listening to their amazement at her flexible and developing trump powers.

I'll trump you if you keep me down here for five more minutes…

Brad Meadows didn't scare easily. Part of it was the fact that there wasn't much that could hurt him as Hookwolf, but even when something could, he didn't care.

But right now, his nuts were trying to crawl back up into his body cavity. Stormtiger was in front of him, turning around. "Brad, you want a be—"

Flicker.

"Brad, you want a be—"

Flicker.

Behind him, an E88 soldier was lighting his buddy's cigarette, over and over again.

Grey Boyed, they've been fucking Grey Boyed, but he's dead, he's…

"The PRT is keeping it quiet, for now," Merlin said as he walked out of the back, wearing a business suit like Brad wasn't even worth him putting on his armor. "I had some minor role in devising a way to break a bubble, and well, the first step to making something is taking it apart to see how it's done. Do you like it?"

Fucking Merlin. Brad swallowed. If he had Grey Boy's power, Brad would be done before he got across the room.

But he wasn't going to beg. "What do you want?" he finally asked, voice quivering only a little. No fighting, no struggle, no death, just repeating the last minutes, over and over again…

"For you to carry a message to your leader," Merlin said as he sat down on Brad's chair. He opened up one of Brad's beers, raising eyebrows at the tab. "Delightfully clever," he said as he opened it and took a sip.

"What… what is it?"

"The Trollhunter is currently incapacitated. And yet, the overgrown lizard with pretensions to dragonhood sent him a message, 'giving' him the lands the ABB once ruled over." Merlin sighed. "Like most foolish heroes, the boy will take up the gauntlet, whatever he says he'll do now."

"And…"

"And I would be most grateful if you would postpone your movement into the ABB regions. They will fight, they will lose against your capes and if the PRT doesn't move fast enough for his satisfaction, the Trollhunter will hobble out and undo all the hard work I and Panacea have done for him." Behind Merlin, the guy with the lighter kept lighting the same cigarette, over and over again. "And rumors speak of other gangs arriving, and you hardly need to be fighting on two fronts, now do you?"

"How long?" Brad asked, keeping his voice steady.

"Three weeks, I'd say." Merlin tilted his head. "Yes, that would do nicely. I'd say that you could deliver a message to the PRT, but it would be better to show via your actions—we cannot control our young men, but you could keep your capes in reserve…" he smacked his lips. "Someone still treasures the art of brewing. Do you mind if I…"

Brad nodded, and Merlin picked up the rest of his six-pack.

"Well, then, I'll be off."

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

"You're—if you can do this, Kaiser would give you just about anything, and after what the slants did to your boy…"

"Ah, well, I've found that unpleasant natures can come in any skin color," Merlin paused. "I've learned to deal with it, and in fact, I have found people of all kindreds to be tolerable companions. My annoyance is reserved for the company of dullards. And with that, I must be off." Moments later, Merlin was gone (along with Brad's beers) and there was a flash.

"Brad, you want another beer after finish your six—" Stormtiger fell silent. "What the hell, you look like you just saw an Endbringer."

"Next best thing," Brad said. "I've gotta go talk to Kaiser."

"But we've got some fights tonight!"

"You handle them!" Brad said as he vanished through the front door.

At the PRT building the guard waved Merlin through as the illusion of the business suit faded to reveal his armor.

"Found some booze?" the man asked. "Looks like it's a foreign brand."

"Oh, it's absolute swill," Merlin said. "But sometimes, it's not what you drink, but who you took it from, that gives it its taste." The guard looked confused but waved him in.

I do believe that was one of the more profitable uses of a 10-second looping illusion and a freeze spell I've used in the last few decades…

After all, he could break a Grey Boy loop. But casually create one? Never.

But Hookwolf didn't need to know that. Chuckling, Merlin returned to his quarters to enjoy the drinks he'd 'liberated' from Hookwolf. Victory did have a pleasant taste, after all.