by Louis IX
Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings. Additional warnings for this chapter include sadism, masochism, and mentions of suicide; booze use and abuse; and mental issues. Thankfully, the following collection of words is not real.
Marchioness de Sade''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
When You StumbleYou can't sustain pain indefinitely without consequences: deadened nerves, apathy, suicidal tendencies… some or all of the above come into play at one time. Sometimes, when one wants to off themselves because of a given psychological cause, they try to actually use that cause itself. Sometimes, the bullied turns to the bully for that "last blow" that would end the whole trip. And when facing that life-and-death question, some bullies don't realize the importance of their next choice for their victim… and for them.
After this momentous introduction, it should be self-evident that Taylor Hebert's treatment would lead to some final answers, one way or another. What had started as simple refusal for her to associate with Emma anymore had turned into harmful "pranks" and to continual gaslighting. Even the week-ends and holidays were tainted with this, because, somehow, things would get disturbed in her own home when she was alone – fragile stuff falling from their shelves, appliances burning themselves out. And her unresponsive dad wasn't helping either, blaming her for those. She didn't have, at that time, any idea that a cape could go through walls and damage her home just out of spite.
After a whole year of bullying, in the summer, a few things changed. But not for the best, for Taylor. First was the induction of Shadow Stalker into the PRT Wards. Then the drugs that appeared in her house, in the nights when Shadow Stalker would come back from Merchant territory, somehow unhappy not to have killed several of them. The ex-vigilante might have wanted to call the police on her, but Emma might have changed her mind, so as to keep their victim nearby.
Still, that didn't prevent Shadow Stalker from stabbing a sleeping Taylor with a used syringe full of heroin – well… not full, either: Emma had imagined a deal in which Taylor would be drugged without knowing it. Hence the disappearance of the drugs.
That had an unforeseen development, though: when Taylor came back to school, that September, she was high as a kite. Due to her usually shy self, no one caught it. Only when Sophia tripped her did Emma realize that something was wrong: Taylor was flat on the ground, her broken nose bleeding profusely. And she was smiling. "Thanks, Soph'!" she said around her misaligned nose, getting up. "That was great! Got another? No?"
And she left, actually pouting at the dumbstruck trio.
Sophia Hess was perhaps a difficult individual, but she now came with a stipend from the PRT, and the Winslow Principal would give her much more leeway than her peers. That made her eager to shove Taylor more and more forcefully in the corridors and the stairs. Only Emma stayed her hand at pushing her target over the bannister to the floor below – not for Taylor, though: she didn't want to be implicated in a criminal investigation about a murder.
It wasn't even when Taylor was on drugs, anymore – although Shadow Stalker still visited Taylor's house on occasion. Even when sober, Taylor was keen on getting hurt, perhaps with the intent of having the sharp pain allow her to escape her daily drudge.
After a few weeks, the escalating one-side violence reached the point of breaking bones. And Taylor reacted strangely, once more: sure, she cried when her arm struck the wall with a wrong angle. But she then moaned as if in rapture. And she even shook her arm some more, to check if she could get more of the same.
People started to notice, but Emma once again managed to keep the Trio out of harm. Taylor was diagnosed with a self-harm mental condition, and sent to the hospital… only to come back the next week, in perfect health. Apparently, Panacea had been doing her turns, had helped with her diffuse fracture: bone shards had travelled up and down her arm, bloating it dangerously and requiring either her help… or amputation. And then she had looked at her "mental condition" and scratched it out. She couldn't touch brains, but she could look at them, and Taylor was free to return to Winslow.
Of course, that infuriated Sophia, who pushed much harder. This time, both tibia bones got broken. Taylor still walked, using the fibula bones as support, and she continued to go to class as of nothing had happened. The trip to the hospital came when she jumped off the bus, that afternoon: both bones snapped under the strain, leaving her unable to move.
"You again?" Panacea asked when she met her that night. She wasn't one to recognize each and every patient, but the wounds were identical (albeit to another bone): fractures with bone fragments all over the place, with a high risk of amputation.
"I fell off the bus." was all Taylor could say.
This time, Panacea frowned when she touched her leg. "Your brain… I said you didn't have mental issues, last time. And you still don't. But there are traces of drugs… and endorphins."
"I don't do drugs!" Taylor replied immediately.
"I sense truth." Panacea said, still absently. "This puzzles me. You get high… on pain?"
Taylor opened her mouth to answer negatively, but moaned in pleasure instead, when the Healer pressed on her bloated leg slightly.
"You can't do that." the Healer pronounced. "One of these days, you are going to take one hit too many, and die. Do you want to die? I said you were sane, before, but I can change that if you want."
"I don't want to die." Taylor said humbly. "My mother… she wouldn't have wanted me to do it… to myself." A pause. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Well… since you're my last patient for the night (and since I'm not getting paid anyways), you can try to tell me about your life, and I'll try to help."
Taylor was wary, but Panacea was unrelenting, and the bullying came out. Not that it did anything at first, though: Carol stopped Panacea in her tracks, citing legal arguments and patient confidentiality oaths and whatnot, all preventing her from acting. Not that those oaths prevented someone from helping another, in fact.
Three times' the charm, they say. Apparently, Sophia was incensed about Taylor's apparent health and got herself into a frothing rage, right before the Christmas holidays. And she pushed the girl into a toilet stall, where she proceeded in punching her repeatedly – not in the face, Emma had said, which made her strike her torso. And Taylor was quite chipper when she entered the hospital, as school ended.
This time, Panacea arrived right behind her.
"Again, Taylor?"
"I'm sorry, Panacea." Taylor replied with a wide smile, holding her hand out.
"If we are going to meet regularly, you can call me Amy." the Healer replied with a small smile as she took the hand. "WHAT?"
"Mmm hmm." Taylor opined, still smiling. "She got me good."
"All ribs… broken… internal organs… crushed. How are you still standing?"
"With difficulty, given that I want to lie down and pass out from the pleasure."
Panacea straightened her, of course. Taylor had been mere minutes before death. "We have to stop seeing each other like this. But Carol, that is… my mother… she prevented me from acting on what you told me."
"What?" came from Victoria Dallon, still behind Amy.
"Oh, you're Glory Girl!" Taylor said, holding her right hand out. "Nice to meet you!" And she pressed with all her strength on the super-heroine's hand. The reflexive action was to squeeze back, and the sound of broken bones could be heard over Taylor's moans.
"Stop that!" Amy said, rebuilding her hand. "And Vicky, control yourself!"
"But… she tried to…"
"When infants tries to kick you with all their might, you don't return the kick with all yours, right?"
"She's taller than me!"
"You're a cape with super-strength!"
Vicky looked mutinous, and grasped the other topic that had caught her attention. "And what is it about mum preventing you from helping her? If she's beaten black and blue, it's perhaps a cape thing?"
"Taylor's not a cape." Panacea said. "The other one… I'm not sure. Those were ugly breaks."
"It's Sophia Hess." Taylor threw down flippantly, not caring about possibly outing a cape. After all, Sophia did her things in plain view, so she figured it wasn't a big deal.
"Sophia Hess? You're sure?" Vicky asked suddenly. In her mind, some words from her boyfriend Dean started to make sense.
"Quite." Taylor replied, approaching her demurely. "Say, can you hit me? I liked it… really much, when you broke my hand."
"What? No! I don't… No! Stop grabbing me!"
"Don't you want to slap me? Come on!" Taylor insisted, a mad glint entering her eyes. "You're dressed to seduce already!"
"Vicky! Taylor! Stop!" Knowing both of them, Amy tried to de-escalate the situation before the pain addict could get her clock punched into her next life. But, at the same time, seeing the taller girl take "liberties" with Victoria's body when she wanted to do the same, was confusing her, and she didn't react quickly enough when Glory Girl's punch to Taylor's face removed her whole jaw. She was properly horrified, of course, especially as many people were around, taking pictures – some were disturbingly following the trajectory of the flying jaw.
Taylor crumbled and shook, but Amy knew that it wasn't from pain. Still, she was dying fast (again), and she would be remiss not to heal her. Because of her oath (even if they weren't binding), their nascent friendship, her sister's peace of mind, and the cameras around.
"Promise me not to do that again." she asked Taylor. "You were attempting suicide by cape, right there. And I won't be there all the time to heal you."
Properly chastised, Taylor nodded contritely. "Thank you. And thank you too, Victoria. It was… nice. See you around!"
"God I hope not." muttered Vicky as she waved at the departing individual.
"You and me both, sister." Amy added. "You and me both."
"Isn't she your friend? It's not like you have many. I mean…"
"I understand what you mean, Vicky. Yes, I don't have as many friends as you do. And, yes, Taylor and I are friends… of a sort. But I'd rather see her without her enjoying a life-threatening wound."
"Enjoying?"
"Yes, enjoying. You saw what she did, right? That's disturbing on so many levels. As it is, I'm of half a mind to declare her insane again."
"Again?"
Amy smiled at the continually gobsmacked expression on her sister's face. So, taking a (small) leap forward, she lifted a finger to close her mouth. "Never you mind, Vicky. You can go home, now."
Glory Girl visibly shook herself, and returned to her normal bubbly self. "Alright! See you later, sis!"
Amy waved back and entered the hospital.
True to her words, Taylor tried to stay away from being in need of medical help during the whole holidays. But she was often alone, her father working most days. And she tried many things to bring joy to the merry Christmas vacation. Painful, but not lethal. Cutting skin was a good attempt, especially when peeling just enough so that she wouldn't bleed, but her pain receptors would be rubbing on the raw clothing she would choose to that effect. That, or outright burning.
Her father was suspicious of her happiness, but he chalked it to her youth and the Christmas spirit.
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When You StruggleTaylor was quite happy when returning to Winslow: her attempts at pain had been improving, but she wanted to get back to the ones who had started it all… her "masters" – they always had new and interesting ideas.
Sophia wasn't there, though. Emma was, but she was paler than usual. Madison didn't seem to know what was going on, and even tripped Taylor as she usually did, in their World Affairs classroom. And Taylor didn't try to stop her fall, succeeding in breaking her nose, two fingers, and impaling her hand on her pen.
She had to go to the school nurse, who only dressed her nose without painkillers (they always got stolen). The overworked woman, didn't care about less-than-visible wounds, and expected her to leave immediately – most students did, when hurt.
Instead, Taylor went to see Emma. "Where's Sophia?" she enquired.
"It's your fault!" Emma claimed, visibly upset. Still, she hadn't answered. Taylor noticed that her erstwhile friend started speaking several times, only to stop suddenly, as if what she intended to say had to be kept secret. And she wondered about how it could be her fault.
Nope, no idea. "Since she's not there, do you want to slap me in her stead?" Taylor asked, wondering about who would deliver her daily dose of violence, now. She kind of needed it.
"You're weird." Emma simply uttered, turning away.
"What? That's all? What are you, eight?" Taylor asked, walking after Emma – her longer legs allowed her to keep pace easily. "Why don't you tell me again how I should choke to death on my mother grave, like you said last time? Or that I should take her flute, that you damaged, and insert it where the sun doesn't shine, like the time before? Or should I cry for a week because you vandalized my homework again, like the one before?"
"How…" Emma started, before noticing the suddenly attentive audience… which included several teachers. And many of those people were angry at her. "What do you mean?" she asked sweetly, not fooling anyone. "I'd never damage your mother's flute, or sabotage your work."
"Oh, sorry. Some of the "you" I used referred collectively to you, Sophia, and Madison. But you knew that already, right?"
"You're a basket case for the asylum, is what you are." Emma tried to get the rebound and push back. But this Taylor wasn't like old Taylor. She took the insults with a smile, as if they pleased her. That infuriated her, and she escalated, again and again, until what came from her mouth was so vile that the teachers had to intervene.
Of course, with those around them filming the altercation, the whole thing put paid to Emma's career in that school. And the others around. Only a select school, far away from that whole mess, and without an internet connection too, could conceivably accept her in their walls. Alan Barnes would pay for the whole thing to be buried without anyone the wiser, and would move his whole family at the same time. And Daniel Hebert would be richer, suddenly, without really knowing why. Unfortunately for the depressed man, money had been the only thing preventing him from burying his still-acute widower's sorrow in alcohol. With the ability to get shit-faced, he'd get a car… and crash it.
While Emma was lambasted, Madison was somewhere else. That put her out of the loop, and she found her day progressively going worse when she crossed more and more people cross with her. Some even shoved her without explanations or excuses. She would soon find herself at the bottom of the totem pole. For one who had enjoyed being at the top, she'd take it quite hard, and would try to kill herself. Unfortunately, she'd do so with pills without knowing the content, and she wouldn't die. The "unfortunate" part was that she'd end up paraplegic, needing either walking sticks or a wheelchair. Her parents not being rich enough for the latter, she would have to navigate life with four legs, and in constant pain. And seeing Taylor healthy, sometimes even coming to her to ask from more torment, would slowly push her into her own insanity.
Because Taylor would be healthy, at that time. Not that she was so, in the intervening days. That day, when Sophia wasn't in school, ended in quite a high note of pleasure… and the harshest pains she could imagine. You see, Sophia hadn't been in school, and that was because Victoria Dallon had conferred with Dean, after meeting with Taylor. The boy, also known as Gallant, had reported to Armsmaster. With his lie detector, the Protectorate leader had been prompt to ferret the truth out of Shadow Stalker, and to tell her that she had breached her probation and was to be put into prison. His only error had been to think that others were generally as logic-inclined as he was. By then, Sophia had lived as a vigilante for more time than she did as a Ward, and she had recognized the trap before she could be held with the electricity-imbued manacles.
She had fled and sought vengeance. And since Armsmaster had foolishly introduced his questions with the reasons behind them, she knew who she had to target. Gallant. Glory Girl. Taylor Hebert.
Not being suicidal herself, she sought Taylor first. And it was easy to find her, since the girl was indefectibly… going to school.
Rising the ire of people using identity politics was easy, and she used this to aim a vengeful crowd towards someone they would always find at fault for their own problems. Sophia didn't care about philosophy, but still recognized that tools like that had their uses. So, with Taylor's address already committed to memory, she waited for her to turn the key on her way in, and slammed into her, followed by a dozen "young men".
Taylor started with a smile at both the initial pain and at seeing Sophia, correctly identifying the moment as one that heralded pain. However, the mad glint in the girl's eyes disturbed her pleasure at being manhandled. Especially when the home invaders started tearing through her home. She might not like what her daddy was becoming, but he was still her dad. And her photos of her mother were priceless recollections. And… was that gasoline? Were they going to burn her in her own home?
No. Sophia was worse: they made her watch. And then they threw her on the floor of a nearby van, and left. Sophia was still there, and she had a slim box with her. "This is Tinker-tech drugs confiscated from the Merchants." she said. "Equal to heroin, with additions from all the known drugs – and some unknowns. Merchants sell them by the syringe, because getting more is deadly. Thankfully, by the time they take one, most people are too out of it to get more." And then she opened the box and showed, not one syringe, but three.
Taylor understood what was going on: Sophia was on a death-dealing revenge spree, and doing everything she could to destroy her. She would succeed, too.
"Before you have that chance, though, my boys here will take care of you. A really good care."
"Yeah, bitch." the largest and meanest one said, leaning forwards. "Good… care." And he pulled at her shirt, ripping it open.
"Another good point about this drug." Sophia continued, as if Taylor wasn't already getting beaten black and blue in front of her. "Is that their users stay conscious during everything. They can't fall unconscious… until they die. No escaping what's going to happen."
And she then injected the first syringe in Taylor's bloodstream.
Now, rape is painful, don't get me wrong. Even in Taylor's deranged state, she knew that she wouldn't get pleasure from the happenstance. But she also knew that, at the end of it, she would die. And since the boys were quick to get done, despite their numbers, she felt her time slipping away and started to panic. Broken bones, she knew, could mean death if untreated. Especially if they pierced internal organs. She was dying.
She blinked as Sophia entered her field of vision – even with the boys gone, she couldn't move. And said field of vision was greatly reduced because of the blows to the head. The vigilante cape had her two remaining needles in her two hands, ready to pounce with a savage grin.
However, right as she pressed the plunger, Taylor shook. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then everything went black. And then white.
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When You Stand"I told you, Skids." the young woman said. "I didn't know your cousin was there. Or I'd have driven somewhere else."
Skidmark held his hand up, his eyes surveying the carnage. Once again, Squealer had made good use of her creations to escape the PRT. And once again, there had been collateral damage – people not able to get out of the invisible tank's path. Except that, this time, it was personal.
"Next tank you make." he said, his finger held high. "You put shit to recognize people, and goddamn brakes for when they do recognize people. Alright?"
"But it's not my spec- urk!"
"Did I ask for excuses?" the man asked the young woman he was now strangling one-handed. "No. Now, get out of here."
Squealer squealed when she was let free, falling on her ass. And Skidmark inspected the shit storm ahead of him: twelve males, two females. All of them black (and one of them his cousin, as indicated). And mostly dead because the tank rolled over their little get-together.
Because they seemed to have had some good time together: one of the females had clearly been beaten, and raped, and further inspection showed that she had received two doses of his latest cocktail.
But she wasn't dead. Instead, she moaned as her bones moved under her skin, setting themselves in places with horrible sounds. A cape, then. And it was probably even a new trigger. A Brute with some resiliency.
"I dub thee… Shitstorm." he intoned. He had always wanted one of his underlings to have that name. Hell, Whirlygig had been the perfect fit for it. He hoped that this one wouldn't object.
"Ah ah ah… shit, that hurts… good." a raspy voice came from the un-flattened corpse. "And nope. Not answering to that."
"You know who I am?" he asked in anger.
"I should?" she asked mockingly. And then she returned to seriousness. "Skidmark. Purveyor of whatever shit I have been injected with. Three times."
"Three?"
"Three."
"That's a waste of good stuff!" he exclaimed.
She stopped for a second, and then chuckled – a sound that changed as each rib was popped into place, one after the other. When the bones settled, the voice was higher. And the apparently self-healing Brute's skin healed too, becoming whiter. A white teen girl raped by black thugs from his gang. Damn.
Still, times have changed from his youth, and he could turn this anyway he wanted. "Join us?"
She paused. Having noticed the other girl, she had approached her and almost caressed her face. "I won't have my revenge on you." she muttered darkly. "But I will have it on Winslow."
"You'll unleash the shitstorm? Why won't you be called that?"
"I'm not an uneducated moron." she replied, and it hit home. Skidmark was all bluster, but he had a deeply hidden core of academic insecurity. It could have backfired to Taylor's face, but she softened the blow. "I could educate you, if you want."
"I won't call you Teacher." he said. "The name is taken."
"Here's not caring about that. No, call me Marchioness." And she extended her hand, as if to shake his, only for a bone structure to form in her palm. Apparently, she could control her own bones in order to not die when she should have… and extend those out of her body.
Skidmark blanched. That power was well-known in the Bay. "Marquis…" he breathed. "Had a daughter?" came afterwards.
"I wouldn't know." she replied, thinking about it. And then things clicked in her mind, as data fell into place. She remembered things she had read from her cape geek days. How Marquis fell. How New Wave was formed. How the unmasked movement stopped dead. And how Carol Dallon had only one six-years old daughter before vanquishing Marquis, and two afterwards. Carol and Mark were blonde. "I would know." she countered herself as her reasoning ended… and she smiled. "I would even know her."
"But it's not you."
She shook her head. "You know what? All that cape stuff is interesting, but don't we have somewhere else to be? Somewhere with drugs?"
"Now you're talking a fucking good talk, girl. Even if you're a skinny white thing not even fit for my shit."
Taylor looked down at herself and eeped. But after frowning for a second, bone appeared over her body. And then she frowned again, grabbed pants and vest from one of those who had assaulted her, and put them on. "Better?" she asked, and her voice box had changed too, giving her a deeper tone, fit for a male.
"Not bad, not bad. You could even call yourself Marquis, now."
"Eh… this one is taken. I wouldn't want those still loyal to him to kill me out of misguided spite. As a point of fact, I won't use the other one either."
"So… Shitstorm?" he asked with a wide smile – with horrible teeth.
"Only if you do something for your teeth, shit-for-breath." she replied with a perfect smile. And, as they shook hands, new teeth popped into place in Skidmark's mouth – they weren't bones, not exactly, but she could alter the jaw shape and increase the density of the new "teeth".
"What?"
"Brush them."
They moved together to one of the vans, Shitstorm was introduced to everyone there, and then to the gang at the next exhibition. In the meantime, Shitstorm did as everyone expected of her: drugs in the night, selling them in Winslow during the day. And, because of her new powers, she didn't get any of the drawbacks of whatever she used, whether it was sniffed, injected, inhaled, drunk, or eaten.
She was suspected, of course, but nobody could find anything on her or in her bag. And when left alone again, hidden bone boxes opened under her ribs, and she had her stuff again. She knew that X-rays could see her improved bone structures, but by the time they could be used to detect thinks like this, she could move them behind larger bone structures, such as her hips or shoulder blades – she had to do it, once, because the cops were sure she had some up her ass. And they were wary to use the old manual inspection themselves: whether they were right or wrong, she was still a teenage girl.
Speaking of cops and teenage girls without legal representation, the topic of her dead father came up, once, and she was declared Ward of the State, assigned a foster family, and promptly escaped to return to the Merchants. Not that she liked it much there, but she felt that teaching the poor sods basic life skills wasn't lost for everyone.
Another foster family went the same way. And then her headquarters were flattened by a Collateral Damage Blondie. She did whatever she could to save her "students", using bone structures as pillars to lift the debris up. But when she had pushed the last one out, the whole thing crumbled as well, under the unrelenting pounding of the flying brick above.
Taylor didn't die. But the pain was such that she almost blacked out… from pleasure. Still, the sharp cry was an indication of her presence, and Glory Girl quickly excavated her out – she wasn't even given enough time to sigh in displeasure at having to live through a long wait (she was resilient and could form shapes with bones, but she didn't have super-strength or anything like that).
"Hey! I recognize you!" mini-Alexandria said. "You're that girl… Taylor, right?"
In response, Taylor grinned and grabbed her intimately. And was promptly thrown to the ground.
"Oh God I'm sorry!" yelled Glory Girl as she landed next to her crumpled form. "You have to stop doing that! Are you still alive? Wait here, I'm calling Amy."
"No need." Taylor said, sitting up and righting herself one bone at a time… with a series of unnatural pops that made Glory Girl pale.
"So you were a cape?"
"Only recently. Triggered a bit that way." Taylor indicated another street.
"Are you a Merchant cape, then?" Glory Girl asked, fists to her hips. "Rumour has it that they have one with a ridiculous name… Shitdrain, or Stormfaeces."
"Nice ones." Taylor nodded. "But no, I am not a Merchant cape." It was true, if only slightly misleading: when she was with the Merchant, she didn't use her powers much (except to stay alive when shit-faced). The most she was "Merchant" was at school, and still without using powers… unless you counted her body cache of drugs.
"What were you doing here, then? And what's your cape name?"
Taylor took a breath. Tell a New Wave member of her Marchioness identity would be quite difficult, and Carol Dallon would flip. And perhaps turn on Amy. Instead, she used another name, one she had been thinking about recently. "Promethea." she replied. "I'm teaching basic education to the homeless people around the town." And it was the truth, too.
"Is that your power? Teaching?"
From Glory Girl's disgusted expression, Taylor realized that the girl wasn't keen on higher education. But she shook her head. "As you saw, my power helps with my… other problem. It just keeps me alive." She didn't mention that it was only thanks to adjustable bones, and that her whole body was suffused with bone matter, able to solidify on a hit, with a thicker layer around her most sensible organs.
Sadly, or not, she would have to explain all this to Panacea. And she would do so only by extracting a promise from the Healer not to jump to conclusions and to hear her until the end of her explanation. And said explanation included her reflections on Amy's own status as Marquis' natural daughter.
"I guess I always knew, deep inside." the distraught but resigned girl said, leaning back and looking at the stars – it was a few days later, at night, in the park above the city. "How Carol was, around me. How she still is. How she looks at my hair. How my power is different from the others in New Wave."
"Amy…"
"And you, Taylor! Coming to me with this? And a copy of my dad's power? Are you a lost sister, or something?"
Taylor chuckled but sobered. "I wish I had a sister. I won't have any, now. Mum and dad are dead."
"I'm sorry." Amy said, hugging her. "I can be your sister, if you want."
"You already have one." Taylor pointed out, deadpan.
"Adopted." they both said at the same time.
"THERE YOU ARE!" the screeching voice came from above, where Brandish… well… brandished… her weapon.
"Mum? What are you-"
"Leave her and come, Amy!" the authoritarian mother exclaimed. "So that I can put that other spawn of Marquis to death before she contaminates you."
"To death? Have you gone mad?"
"Mum!" another flying cape came afterwards, plaster dust coming from her clothes.
"Victoria Dallon! I locked you out for a reason!"
"How can you lock me out when you go out like that, mum? Are you aware that you are unreasonable?"
"I'm completely reasonable! I ordered Amelia around before that spawn of the devil could ingratiate herself to her and turn her to villainy!"
"Without stopping to actually talk to either of them?"
"Marquis had a way with words! I didn't want to take the chance she could Master her."
"You are completely unreasonable." Vicky concluded.
"And I agree with Glory Girl." Photon Mom said, from her other side. "Did you hear yourself talk, Carol?"
"Good to see you here, Sarah." Carol said, forgetting everything else. "Let's put the spawns of the devil in the unnamed grave they deserve."
"They?"
"Yes!" Carol was almost frothing at the mouth, not caring about her misnamed daughter anymore. And she rushed down before Victoria or Sarah could move.
"Oof." was the sound Taylor made when Brandish's attack impacted her. Only for Amy (Amelia, now, apparently) to take her hand and heal her instantly. "Wow. Thanks."
"That's your proof! She healed her! Get her!"
"That's your daughter!" Sarah yelled, even as she accelerated to stop her sister from succeeding.
Another one accelerated as well, and since she could go faster, she positioned herself in front of the two biological shapers. She got hit by her own mother, who was so blinded by hatred that she immediately hit again, bypassing the forcefield.
"Aaaah!" Vicky exclaimed, falling back with blood spreading on her belly.
"You even subverted my true daughter, you demon!" Brandish screamed, striking at Panacea. Only for the healer's bone structure to harden, and the blow that would have gone through her face stopped right there. "What…"
"Thank you, Carol." Panacea said. "And congratulations. With your actions, you have proven to me that everything you ever told me was false. You are not my mother. Victoria is not my sister. And I won't heal people for free anymore."
"And still, even if she won't heal me anymore, even if she won't consider me her sister anymore… I will stop you from hurting her!" Glory Girl claimed, flying again.
"Stop this nonsense!" Sarah cried, trying to stop Carol from rushing her own daughter again – and possibly kill her. But Vicky knew how to fight, even wounded (it was rare, but it happened). And she circled around her mother's off-hand and held her arms from behind, her super-strength stopping her mother from retaliating. "Amy… or Amelia, if you prefer, can you please do something to immobilize her? And heal Victoria, too? I know that you denounced her, but she protected you."
"I wasn't in danger." Amelia said, lifting the hand that had grasped Taylor's. "But you're right. And I will then do something that's long overdue."
"What?"
"Touch the woman who claimed to be my mother for ten years, before betraying me. And you all."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you know that Carol never hugged me? And that, after my trigger, when she understood a bit of my power, she never let herself be in my arms' range?"
"Carol? Is that true?"
Victoria removed the hand that she had snaked around so that she could hold her mother's mouth closed. What came out was pure vitriol, and the strong hand came up again.
"What do you intend to do, then?" Sarah asked Amelia.
"Learn why she hates me." was the simple answer. And she got the answer, too, because while she wasn't yet self-confident enough to touch brains, she could read them. Carol's eyes couldn't summon fire, or Amy would have burned. But for all she was, Carol was only human in the end. "She's in love with Marquis."
"What?" came from the two other New Wave members. "How is it even possible?"
"His banter, she took it for seduction. She liked his body, his refined manners. She was already married, though, and buried her feelings so deep that she could only feel hate for him. Hate for what his presence did to her. A hate that contaminated everything he had even done, bad… or good." She spread her arms, indicating herself. "Everything that I did wasn't enough, for her. I had to heal everyone for free, and if someone died, it was my fault. How do you tell a child this? How could she want me dead?"
"She will have to go into therapy." Sarah said. "I will make sure she goes, with Victoria's help, if you will, Vicky?"
Glory Girl nodded, and looked at Amelia with a familiar grin. "It would be better for me to help you if I was healthy, though."
Amy approached. Carol tried to kick her. Amy's hand, which intended to touch Victoria, ended up on Carol's neck instead. "I could kill you, right now." she said, with a sad expression. "It would mean that I'd be free of your machinations. But I won't. I won't have people tell that you were right all along, while it's the opposite. So, instead, I will do something I have never done before: I will lock your powers away."
"What?" Sarah asked as Carol flopped into unconsciousness, leaving Amelia free to heal her Dallon sister. "You can do that? You always said you couldn't do brains… and you can?"
"I can shape anything in any living body." Amelia said gravely, and those hearing this knew that it would have to stay a secret. "It's even easier. But what's to stop me going overboard? Lost memories will be lost forever. There's no going back if I miss, unlike the rest of the body – and, if you remember, when I started, it was quite the mess.
Vicky and Sarah nodded, a bit pale. "But…"
"I have trained, though. Using small animals, first, and then more complex ones. I helped old people who didn't want healing as much as a painless death. I cured a few bad habits progressively from some medical people I could see everyday, under their oath of silence. I think I can do this."
"And undo it after the therapy? Could you do the therapy, too?"
"I will undo it afterwards." Panacea said (and the distinction was easy to catch, as she was as self-assured as when she was in her costume). "But I won't do the therapy. Not if it involves me. The temptation will be too great for me to change her into a perfect mother for me… someone that wouldn't be herself anymore."
"Thank you." Sarah said, nodding, before falling silent when Amelia leaned forward and pressed her forehead on Carol's.
Five minutes later, she stepped back. "It's done. I've also muted her for a day. I've got a feeling that nothing good will be said from her part while I'm nearby."
"Where will you go?"
"Apparently, I have a new "sister". I'll be with her for a while. And I'll see you afterwards, Vicky. There are some things about your Aura that I want to check. Namely: if constant exposure over my teenage years has impacted my love life as much as I fear… or not."
"But…" Vicky didn't like learning, but she was far from stupid. "You're my sister?"
"Adopted." was an answer that made her smile, and then blush, and then pale. "We'll be in touch."
The flying brick nodded before changing her way of holding her mother. It made her think of something else. "Dad?"
Amelia nodded. "We will join you soon. I have stuff to collect. I will see to him then. But "healing" him is one of the things I have been doing in secret already. He just needs that big push, now."
Sarah nodded. "Yes, I noticed that Mark was more… aware these last months. That was you?"
"I only tried to help, while avoiding Carol."
"Not an easy decision, for anyone." she concluded. "If you're sure…" she trailed off, looking between Amelia and Taylor.
"We're sure." they both said.
"Then I'll leave you be. Stay in touch."
"Of course, Auntie. See you."
"Bye, Photon Mom." Taylor added with a smile.
When the two were alone, Panacea looked up at her new sister. "You know, if I make you smaller, it would be easier for me."
"If I make you bigger, it would be easier for the two of us." Taylor countered.
Amelia giggled. "I keep forgetting you can do that too. Only bones?"
"Not all of us can do everything, even brains." Taylor replied, looking into her eyes in askance.
Amelia nodded. "I will get that urge to get hurt out of your system, Taylor. This I promise."
"Good!" was the cheeky response. "I wouldn't want to come between Assault and Battery and separate them."
Amelia blushed at the imagery, and said nothing.
"As for my side of the bargain… I promise I will get you a proper home, too."
"What proper home? You don't have a home? Taylor? Come here and explain yourself!"
The night saw the two girls running in the park, one chasing the other, both laughing.
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To be continued… yes, pleaseAuthor's Notes: Sometimes, the most efficient way of learning a lesson is through pain. Some people do thrive on that.