by Louis IX
Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings.
Hexing Cauldron"Please." she whined. Nearby, her dad was lying face down, with a bloody gash on his temple. She thought him dead, and his aggressors were converging on her, knives drawn and leers prominent. Especially upon looking her body. "Please."
"So, little white girl, what will it be?" asked the one holding her by the hair. "Do I cut your nose, first, or your ears?"
She closed her eyes and, in the scream of panic that followed, something answered. Feeling the man besides her losing his grip, she fell and crouched into a ball of misery. She heard things, and the sound of battle, but she didn't dare open her eyes.
Until a rough hand shook her. "It's over." a new voice said. "They're gone." The hand was small, and the voice feminine.
Emma looked up, her face streaked with tears causing the newcomer to grimace – although she couldn't see behind the sneering mask, the step back was an evident in itself. Still, the vigilante better known as Shadow Stalker straightened up and crossed her arms. "What happened?" she asked, designating the alley with a negligent shake of the head.
"We… were back from my photo shoot. They… ambushed us. Oh my god, dad!" She hurried next to her father, and noticed that he breathed, still.
He was even trying to open his eyes. "Emma? What happened?"
"Shadow Stalker saved us, dad. She's a hero."
Behind her mask, Sophia Hess winced. She was no one's hero. Still, the words impacted her, and she stayed with the Barnes even as they drove home.
Hidden in her memories was the scene where the gangster holding the redhead became bloated out of proportions and started to attack his own friends, following them as they fled the alleyway.
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The WitchHanging out with Emma Barnes had its advantages, Sophia mused internally as the two of them ate on the Boardwalk. She was kind of rich, and, in her shocked state from earlier, she bought Sophia's words as gospel. Not that Sophia was a good conversationalist, no, but she still delivered words detailing her life philosophy: "there are only predators and preys", and "predators eat preys".
And the girl heading their way with a wide smile was certainly a prey. Nobody with such a happy smile could be an ever-vigilant predator anyways. "Hi Ems!" she called cheerfully. And then her gaze fell on Sophia. "Hello! I'm Taylor!"
"Go away." Sophia growled. She hadn't finished convincing Emma, and didn't need a reminder of how carefree they all were before.
"Emma? What happened?" Taylor asked when Emma didn't say anything.
"I can't… no. Taylor, leave. Pl-"
"You heard her." Sophia interrupted. Emma had been ready to say one of her forbidden words: "Please" doesn't belong to the vocabulary of a predator, because predators didn't ask permission or excuses. They did as they wanted, without a care for what others thought.
Taylor didn't have a degree in psychology or philosophy, and couldn't parse what happened except as a rough rejection from her former (and formerly best) friend. Tears started to appear and she asked only one question before running away. "Why?"
Emma had no answer. Sophia only sneered. And that set the pace for the year that followed. When Taylor entered Winslow High school, she was audibly designated as a pariah, and various circles rejected her as a reflexive move.
Despite her earlier tears, though, she didn't crumble, and Sophia started to wonder if, perhaps, there were people that she couldn't sort in her categories. She pushed Emma further along, to see whether she could make her erstwhile friend break, even recruiting the help of some people to keep annoying Taylor despite them not sharing classes – such as one sycophantic Madison.
And they finally succeeded: after pushing Taylor into her locker, previously filled with all kinds of trash, they could hear the girl cry and scream… and have that psychotic break they so desired. Only it didn't end in an asylum as they had imagined.
The first thing that made them realize something was wrong was when Taylor stopped crying, and moving. The second was when they approached to check on her, and a heavy banging sound resonated from inside the locker, as if a bell tolled. And the third was the mocking cackle as they fell on their bum from the surprise.
Metal banged against metal for a while, and Taylor's mad laughter didn't stop. When the metal sounds stopped, it was only because something else happened: through the lower vents of the door, they could see a flickering orange light, and through the upper ones, smoke started pouring out. A thick and oily smoke that already smelled like sulphur and brimstone.
"FIRE!" one particularly clever (or not) student yelled, before pushing the emergency buttons… which didn't work – this being Winslow, the things had worked several days long, right after being installed, as people kept "bumping" into them. And the exhausted staff had simply cut the wires at one point. Still, someone yelling "Fire" is sure to garner attention, creating a stampede. Again, Winslow being built before the appearance of some regulations, they didn't respect those: some doors leading outside opened inwards, and a throng of students pressing upon them wasn't going to open anything, only cause those at the front (or those unfortunate ones who fell at the bottom) pressing wounds.
In the meantime, Sophia peered cautiously inside the locker, from behind (that is, through the wall, from the bathroom behind said wall). It was dark, inside, and she couldn't see much. But one thing jumped at her. Literally, at that.
It was an eye. A translucent eye, with a frowning brow. And as she retreated through the wall, the evil eye followed her, making her stumble and fall on her back. And it continued too, heading for her face. And then merging with her. She could feel it interacting with her brain without her being able to defend herself, and panicked, and fled.
Emma saw her friend running as if the hounds of hell were at her heels, and wondered. But she fled, too, when the locker opened: its door eaten away by both fire and acid, the latter coming from a cauldron that had inexplicably appeared there, with Taylor behind it, her mouth wide in a smile that couldn't be called that – it was a rictus of madness.
She was also floating above the trash, which had allowed some space for her cauldron, and her long hair was floating as well… but not like hair in water: it was in a more decided fashion, as if it was a whole new limb, exploring the lockers as if discovering the world through a brand new sense of touch.
It is said that the eyes are a window to the soul, and when Taylor's eyes met Emma's, the redhead started to step away, trembling at the insanity she could already perceive. And when Taylor floated out, cackling, Emma fled too. And, much like Sophia, she missed a few steps in the stairs and ended up sprawled at the bottom. Exactly like Taylor, several days before.
The fact that the two of them weren't trampled to death was solely because they were among the last to escape the school.
And, in her mind, Emma could only repeat one sentence, in a loop: "I made my best friend trigger."
Strangely, that sentence appeased another part of her mind, too. As if she had wanted, at some point, even needed, to make someone trigger.
Since she had worked hard to forget that the alley incident happened, she couldn't remember ever feeling that way. But it was only the first.
Meanwhile, the Bay seemed to acquire a new villain… or at least another vigilante. People became wary as grandmother tales became reality once more: you could be given the Evil Eye, and suffer great misfortune; some saw a stick-thin woman pouring draughts into a cauldron, cackling all the while; others swore having seen the same woman flying on a broom, her pointy hat only holding on her head thanks to her hair acting as another pair of hands.
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The SkaldTaylor wasn't the only one Emma and Sophia considered as being lower than them – most of the school was, with a gradient that depended whether the person held interest in the duo's eyes. However, Taylor had been Emma's main target, because she refused to break for so long. Now that she had left school, they had much more time to harass the others.
Such as Greg Veder, a clumsy boy with glasses and mismatched clothes, the very caricature of geeks everywhere. As if to confirm this, the first time Sophia tripped him, his satchel let loose dice, collectible cards, and books that had nothing to do with school: games, comics, astrophysics, and music.
"What a loser." they sneered at him as he hurried to pick everything up. Sophia took pleasure in walking on his music sheets right as he was picking them up, ending up ripping them.
"Why?" he asked softly, before standing up, his eyes alight with rage. "WHY?"
"Because we can, that's why." came Emma's flippant answer. However, Sophia knew how to fight, and she could feel that the boy's anger was different. She could even see his clothes strain to contain a suddenly increased muscle mass. That's why she pushed Emma inside their classroom – not to flee, but because she didn't want to out herself while fighting someone who, according to all appearances, had just triggered into a Brute.
Greg didn't come back, that day. Or the next. And the Bay learned about the appearance of yet another vigilante. They had no idea about what he looked like, except that it was a male, and a Brute. He appeared without warning, already enraged, and yelled while attacking gang members… and then he moved away and got lost in the crowd.
The next Monday, Greg came back to school. Taylor, too. Both held themselves differently. Taylor wore a dark dress, and looked dishevelled, but she kept smiling at all times. It unnerved the teachers, and none dared ask questions. Greg's hair was cut in a Mohawk and dyed blood-red, and he wore eyeliner and a leather outfit over a ripped tee-shirt. He had a guitar, too – an electric model, with a strange shape… as if he had cut through the sides, diagonally. The reason became evident at lunch, when Emma and Sophia came to the table where the two were eating.
Or something: Greg was strumming chords absently, the unplugged instrument not making much noise, while Taylor was drinking from an old-fashioned goblet, some viscous soup that steamed with unholy green fumes. Seen from closer, Emma also noticed that something moved, under her robe – she could even swear that, at one time, two antennas appeared from Taylor's collar.
"Nice to see the rejects banding together." she still said mockingly, her voice reaching far and pulling attention. "When's the wedding?"
"Leave." Greg replied, his eyes closed, a vein pulsating on his temple.
"Or what? You'll bore us to death with bad music?"
"I said LEAVE!" he yelled, and swelled in size too. Apparently, the fact that his leather vest had no button was not a mistake, as it adapted to a suddenly larger morphology. And he grabbed his guitar by the handle and swung it at them. It was mainly Sophia's reflexes that allowed her (and Emma) from being bisected by what now looked more like a two-handed axe than a music instrument. As a proof of concept, at the end of that first swing, it ended up cutting deep into the wall next to where they had been. A concrete one.
They fled. And no one bothered Greg Veder anymore, in school. Or Taylor.
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The AlchemistTheir current targets being unreachable, it didn't take long for Emma and Sophia to find another. Having fled from the cafeteria with their sycophantic follower in tow, they took their anger on the only person there with them: Madison.
"Why didn't you do anything, Madison?"
"Yeah, you have no use at all, really."
"Worse than trash."
"You're crying? Is that because you're mad, Mad?"
You'd think that, having spent some time with the two bullies, Madison had an inkling on how they worked, and how to resist their "banter", but no: she had always been a passive follower, only interacting when it was scripted for her. And now that she found herself a target instead, she took a couple steps backwards, before fleeing too.
Because she had been "recruited" to follow (and harass) Taylor when she was in classes the demonic duo behind her weren't following, she took refuge in one of them: advanced chemistry.
Sadly, she was still crying, and hyperventilating, and in her crisis of panic due to her crumbling social status (and she feared, quite viscerally, what her mother had told her boys did to those girls at the bottom of the totem pole). She took refuge in a closet and slammed the door shut… which caused one of the higher shelves to fall on the one below it.
Several containers were broken, and chemical products started to mix and drip around the girl, and then on her. Her desperate kicks at the door did nothing, because by slamming it shut forcefully, she had engaged the locks.
She still escaped. By herself, even. If one could call a seven-foot tall muscled and misshapen amazon as "herself". Grunting, the monstrous humanoid that she became, due to the chemical concoctions, escaped the room through the door.
Of course, she caused quite a panic among the students… except a few boys who could only gape at the barely clothed woman – she may be monstrous, but males having those strange hormones coursing through their veins (it's called testosterone, apparently), they can't help being attracted by round orbs of flesh.
Like when someone yelled "Fire" before, several ended up trampled. The difference was the absent gaze and smile.
Once again, the city gained another vigilante. Once again, the descriptions weren't coming forward, as it appeared that said vigilante could take the place of a young girl pulled into an alleyway for dastardly deeds. Gang members became wary of pulling random girls in dark alleys… which was always a positive note, in anyone's book.
The other vigilantes took notice, too.
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The GunslingerMadison's monstrous shape may have been wearing ripped clothes, on her way out of school, but Emma had an eye for clothes, and noticed that they had been her erstwhile follower's. She rounded on Sophia. "We can't continue."
"Continue what?" was the flippant answer.
"Antagonizing people." Emma complained, unheeding of Sophia not understanding words with that many syllables. "They trigger, each time. And… I believe it's my fault."
"Your fault? How can that be?"
"Tell me what happened in the alley. What the man holding me did. Did you shoot him? Did you make him flee?"
"No, he fled before I arrived. He was quite monstrous, too. Like Madison. Like Greg. Like Taylor too, in a way. But I don't think they triggered. I think you did, perhaps, with the ability to change your enemies into monsters."
"No, it's not that."
Sophia wasn't used to being contradicted. Especially by Emma. "What is it, then, oh grand know-it-all?"
"Hey! I'm not! I mean…"
"What? You fear something?"
"No, but… I'm sure I made them trigger."
"As if. You'd be a Trump granting people more power? Or some Shaker transforming your enemies into caricatures of themselves? What's more probable?"
"Sophia, please. Try to understand."
"No, you don't understand. Trumps are rare, it's a fact. But more importantly… you can't transform preys into predators, you can't! You don't give powers, you just make their ugliness more visible, that's all!"
"No!"
"What is it, then?" Sophia argued hotly, before trying to rein her anger in – for some strange reason, she was more argumentative than usual. But, in her mind, it was because she thought Emma rebelled against the worldview she had instilled in her – the prey-predator dichotomy. "You know what? Fuck this! You can take your doubts and shove them where the sun doesn't shine. I don't care anymore!"
And she left Emma there, both of them angry. However, instead of abating, her anger continued to grow on her trip home, and spiked when she saw her meek mother being verbally assaulted by her boyfriend-du-jour. Seeing red, she went to her room and returned to the kitchen with one of her crossbows.
"What are you doing?" her mother asked.
The man laughed mockingly. "A crossbow? You threaten me with this? It's not even loaded!"
True, it wasn't. But she grabbed something on the table, without looking, put it in the groove, and pulled the trigger. And the spoon she shot struck his eye and continued through the hole behind. After that quick lobotomy, he fell forward, brain dead.
Shadow Stalker fled her own home, that day, and started being a vigilant full-time. And she never needed to buy ammunition anymore, as she seemed to be able to use anything.
At some point, even, merely miming the gesture of loading her crossbow, she could see a spectral bolt appearing, which would do real damage once shot.
Later, after training herself and defeating several enemies, she could even consider her two hand crossbows self-loading and always ready to shoot. In any position, too – she had tried, once, before, to shoot someone while hanging from the rafters. She only escaped the shame of mishandling the ammunition because she fled before it landed.
Now, using her crossbows was much more akin to using a gun. And much more satisfying.
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The Oracle"I tire of these vigilantes." the man said to himself, eating his cold noodle soup above his computer keyboard. "They always force me to shuffle my operations around. Having two timelines is good, but with four of them patrolling the area, my mercenaries will have to engage them one day or another. Now, what can I do?" A pause. "And why are they here, anyways? How can that many people trigger at the same time? What is the common denominator?"
Standing suddenly, and then swearing as he had to wipe the soup off his keyboard (again), he pulled his phone and called a number. After pacing back and forth for a few seconds, the call connected. "Tattletale. Why do I have four vigilantes hanging around my base?"
"…they're a group trigger, perhaps?"
"They appeared at different moments."
"…a delayed group trigger? With a cause that's not a cause but a person? Who is themselves a parahuman, with the power to make others trigger? Ow, my head…"
"Last question: who is it, and where can I find them?"
"That's two questions, boss."
"That's awfully snarky, for someone with a headache. And ballsy, too, for someone in my employ. Do I have to rescind your contract?"
"I'm good, boss. The name eludes me, but given the patrolled areas, I'd guess you can find them at Winslow."
"…that's a lead." He cut the call without thanking her. After all, he paid her, so that was all she needed, in his mind.
A few days later, Emma was writhing on the floor, at his feet. As usual, kidnapping operations can't go anything but smoothly, with his power. Even the operation to get the mayor's niece had been a piece of cake – given the arson and the bodies left in place, the police concluded to a burglary gone horribly wrong. Nobody did a DNA test on the girl left on site to see if she was her dead parents' daughter or a homeless kid snatched in Merchant territory.
"It seems that you can make people trigger, little girl." He said in one reality, while he did nothing in another – he wanted to do something there too, but his power "only" granted him one timeline to test things, and he couldn't do anything but wait, in the other. After all, powers could be bullshit, but there was no power in existence able to create realities, or the Entities would have no need to fear the heat death of the universe. Coil was a precog, pure and simple. One that could vividly infer the answer to questions such as "what happens if I do that?" several times in a row. And his choosing of a timeline to keep or abort is simply him committing to a course of action… or not.
Such as now: apparently, the girl can grant second triggers, and the Coil who spoke to her started to change, his power slipping out of control-
The Coil in the other reality discarded that "reality" quickly, before it got out of hand, and got a mercenary to interrogate the girl instead. And, sure, he triggered, and gained parahuman powers.
Powers want to be used, it seems like a constant in that universe. Even Emma's power wanted to be used, to make people trigger, even while she'd rather appear as a normal girl, and head home. Once Coil was sure that her power worked, though, she became a valued asset, which he couldn't free. Like Dinah Alcott. And like the other girl, Emma was soon drugged to the gills and kept in a cell.
During her stay, the mercenaries took turn with her, on their boss' orders. Not to fool around, mind you, but "just" to shake her up a little, each time. Enough for her power to kick in, allowing them to gain powers, one after the other. Some got seemingly useless ones, such as one for gardening, and another to become a housecat. But the others became good little parahuman soldiers.
Coil got several Brutes, that way, and a few Blasters too. A couple Shakers and Strikers as well. With that many parahumans with him, he rescinded his request to Accord for the team of travelling ones (he didn't remember the name right now, but it wasn't important) and upped his planning for the next step.
Unfortunately, while he had been doing that, he hadn't taken into account what happened outside. He was normally warned by Tattletale or other people when such things happen, but it wasn't any ordinary threat: it was the Slaughterhouse Nine. And with Shatterbird shattering most phones and injuring most of those holding them, there was no one to call him.
Not that it mattered, apparently, because the vigilantes currently patrolling around Winslow took upon themselves to group against the invaders. Without Emma to snark left and right, Sophia didn't kill Taylor on sight, and after Taylor fought alongside Shadow Stalker, she didn't kill her on sight once they unmasked. It was a close thing, though.
They got Shatterbird first, the Witch granting the Gunslinger flight so that Sophia could aim and shoot her spirit ammunition through the enemy's armour of hardened glass. They got Mannequin next, with roughly the same trick.
They got Crawler afterwards, the Alchemist's own monstrous shape holding him while the Skald opened wide wounds with his vibrating axe and the Witch poured magic concoctions into the mutated body, killing it from inside. The Gunslinger helped too, sending incorporeal arrows through each of the beast's neuron clusters – arrows that solidified upon finding their target, which made the creature lose more Intelligence points than it had. It ended unable to think, and move, and even use reflex actions like breathing.
Having their a priori invulnerable partner dead, along with the two others, should have made the others sit back and think. Instead, the Nine (now Six) dug their heels and regrouped. It allowed the non-cape inhabitants of the town to get out of their houses, and surround their location, unheeding of the heavy rain having started to fall.
With firemen and policemen bringing patrol cars and trucks, that started to take a bit of space, and an unmarked van parked nearby started to move away. It barely avoided a couple cops, almost crushed a fireman attaching a hose on a nearby hydrant, only to plough into the crowd. They took offence, and, armed with crowbars, they opened the thing and pulled the man inside out. The sudden appearance of the Siberian shocked them, and killed a good number of them as she whirled around. But as she pushed forward, someone who had aimed at her, from behind, hit the man in the head instead. She got a surprised look on her face before popping away. And the man died. Given what happened afterwards, there was not much to identify William Manton.
Why firemen? Because it was a known fact that one of the Slaughterhouse members was an arsonist. In fact, Burnscar was so in touch with fire that she could teleport through them… and was allergic to water. Her power allowed her to survive without it, but it could do nothing when she was completely surrounded by water. Such as when the firemen aimed at her broken window, filling her room with the thing.
Jack Slash was next. The impossibly charismatic leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine used his knife to devastating purpose, only to be shot by several elite police snipers. Gunslinger had tried to, but he had avoided her shots with such an ease that people thought he had some precognitive talent. Not at all: he simply knew what parahumans did around him. But not mundane people. High-performance bullets shot through his reinforced skin and bones (courtesy of Bonesaw) and a couple insanely talented (or just plain lucky) ones got his brain through the eyes.
With their leader gone, its smoothing influence evaporated, and the Three remaining members got at each other's throat and killed each other – Hatchet Face denied the girls powers, while his axe denied their life, and Bonesaw's dead-girl-switch saw him covered in fast-acting acid. Cherish didn't even have the time to get to use her powers.
All this was happening above Coil's bunker, insulated through enough fail-safe measure that he hadn't even known that the infamous Nine were in town. And when his various mercenaries triggered… one got a bud out of Jack Slash's shard. Even with past obedience from the host, powers demanded to be used. Jack's power immediately started whispering thoughts of mutiny to the powers around him.
Exactly the contrary of Jack's actions, in fact, where his power smoothed the edges of eight other overpowered porcupines to make a deadly team. Here, it pushed the powers against each other. And, much like the Nine's ending, Coil and his mercenaries ended up killing each other.
Sophia and Taylor might tolerate each other, when acting as vigilantes, but they had one point of severe disagreement, which was Emma. Learning that she had disappeared from the school made the Witch cackle madly (again) while Sophia was more concerned. With the Alchemist asking her policeman of a father about it, he got them a rough itinerary gotten from pings from her cell phone… before she entered Coil's base.
Making their way inside, they found the many corpses, as well as two dehydrated girls, whom they tried to heal quickly, as they couldn't move them in their delirious state (and their powers going haywire). The Witch got her cauldron out of its "hammerspace" and brewed several of her healing concoctions, which they gave the two of them to repair the damage the drugs (and their withdrawal) did to her mind and body.
Unfortunately (or not, it depends on your perceptions), Emma's power acting by itself pushed everyone around her to trigger again – except Sophia, who was already on her second dose. The Gunslinger realized this and pulled Emma up, on her shoulders, and carried her home.
Meanwhile, Taylor woke up and took care of Dinah. She might have been younger, but that didn't prevent her from getting that second trigger, too. Not losing her ability to predict the future, she also got mysterious abilities… which classified her as an Oracle.
"I knew you would come." said Oracle said weakly – which would have annoyed Sophia, had she been there at that moment.
"Shh. Drink this." the Witch said, her manners more smooth around children. And she gave Dinah enough to have the girl up and about, soon.
Soon… but not immediately. While she rested, Taylor realized that something had changed in her powerset. While she could still use her Hexes as before, she could summon hexes now, too. As in hexagons. In fact, she needed one use of her Hex ability to make them appear, and another to make them disappear. And while they were there, she couldn't use her Hex ability for anything else.
Still, they were useful, and versatile: she manipulated them mentally, making them move however she wished in a sphere around her. Being hexagons, they could join at the edges to form larger shapes, too. Such as a hovering shield. Or a lifting platform. Much better than a broomstick, to fly with passengers.
That's how they got out of Coil's base, right before the PRT came to claim its contents – to Tattletale's dismay (even if she had plundered her boss' electronic assets right after he died).
Taylor ended up adopting Dinah, informally, and the Oracle ability to see the future (despite her being cursed with blindness) got their team out of many a pickle. Including death-by-Endbringer.
But that's for later. And much later, as well, is the revelation about the link between her mysterious powers and Scion's aberrant nature. "Dark tapestry" was such a misleading term, you know…
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The InvestigatorMeanwhile, Emma was alone, and after such a long time pushing everyone away from her close circle of friends, she had quite a bit of difficulty joining another. And lead them, of course, because she didn't want to simply join as a hanger-on. As a consequence, circles closed ranks when she came forwards.
Her social needs being what they were, she decided to find her previous friends, even if it meant (gasp) apologizing.
Since Sophia's mom sent her away without an explanation, she headed to where she knew Madison lived… only to find an equally irate parent. Except that Madison's dad didn't push her: he invited her inside. And then he questioned her. Like the detective he was. Like the Investigator he was becoming, under her scorn.
At one moment, angry at the teen's flippant answers as to where Madison was disappearing to (because his daughter wouldn't tell him, of course… and Emma truly didn't know), he pulled her up the stairs and to his daughter's bedroom.
"What's all this, then?" he asked, his arm designating the room. And, to be frank, it had nothing to do with a bedroom anymore. It looked like a chemistry lab, instead, with the same noxious fumes.
But instead of continuing his questioning, the father looked at the lab in sudden wonder. "I understand, now." he muttered, stepping forward.
Emma was surprised to see him play a bit with the various solutions, but shook herself awake quickly and left even faster. He didn't notice.
It's not like he was replicating his daughter's extracts, but he seemed to at least understand how they worked. He had other talents too, including the ability to find hidden things and disarm traps, allowing him to find his daughter's diary. And enough inspiration to decipher the code she used to take notes.
This allowed him to follow and confront her. Faced with the prospect of returning to her normal life, she countered with an offer to join. Reflecting that, at least, that would keep the team in the straight-and-narrow (mostly), he agreed.
In combat, his ability to find his enemies' vulnerabilities proved invaluable, even if it was only to designate them so that the more sturdy members of their team could hack at them. Including, to his everlasting surprise, his Alchemist of a daughter, Madison… in her Miss Hyde mutagenic appearance, of course.
And, after comparing notes with her, he also made sure to share his extract recipes with her, so that the two of them could always prepare those extracts for the other.
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The ShifterSchool continued, for those who had to go there. Thankfully, for those unwilling to learn in a proper environment, the schools had some funds geared to vary their environment. Some classes went on trips Southwards, visiting museums and mints and the Liberty Bell, for instance. Others got the local version. Winslow students got the bare minimum.
After the whole morning spent inside what was, for them, a stuffy museum, the students were quite happy to share lunch in the nearby park. Especially the chain smokers (including at least two teachers) and those adding herbs in their cigarettes – and I'm not talking about oregano, here.
And when slow but loud footsteps resonated, making everything vibrate, everyone turned their head to watch. And they all groaned at yet another new parahuman appearance – because what else could it be? The man who walked through the park was eight feet tall, and clad in a Samurai full armour. It clinked loudly at each step he made.
Some students sighed before fleeing in a languid manner, slowly lifting their arms and moaning "Oh no! Another monster!"
Others, like Emma, stayed as they were, with their sandwiches half-way to their open mouth, bacon and lettuce falling and littering the park.
True, the oversized samurai was slow, but they should have paid attention. Or a bit of respect. I know I'm asking much, because they are just high school students. Still… reasoning? Pattern recognition? No?
Ah! The samurai unsheathed his katana! Made to his measurements, the blade was longer than some students were tall – the smallest ones, but still. That increased the level of panic, as people finally realized they were in danger. Some didn't, though, including a rather shifty student smoking pot with his back turned, not seeing anything of the action behind him. And passing the joint to his girlfriend, too… when he didn't forget about it.
That student, nick-named Sparky by his sometimes-best-friend Greg, was rudely pushed when Emma fled the samurai – especially as the big man seemed to walk in her direction. "Get away, you freaks!" she yelled as she tried to pass him. And Julia. Her eyes widened when she noticed with whom one of her best followers had ended up with.
Sparky couldn't think properly, at that moment, because in her violent action, Emma had made him swallow his joint, and he had his throat on fire, literally. His arms flapping around helplessly, he almost struck her, and she reacted by kicking him at the place girls learn to kick boys.
Sparky ended up on all fours, his eyes watering for two distinct reasons, and wondering what was that rhythmic thumping sound approaching.
When he finally noticed the approaching threat, he responded by instinct. A new and quite animalistic instinct, at that: angry at seeing his territory invaded, he grew as well, gained fur and claws (it was a good thing that he was already on all fours), and pounced.
The samurai's grip on his sword was slightly off, which was the only reason he didn't react by cutting the opposition in half. After a couple rounds of merely reacting, he was still able to get a grip and plunge his sword in his opponent's chest. And get it out and clean in the same ritualistic move – Iaido, the one good art to learn so that your sword stays clean. And sheathed.
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The SamuraiThe crowd was corralled against the park's enclosure, right then, but the armoured man dropped to his knees, facing Emma. He deposited his katana on the ground, before putting both hands beside it and bowing low. "Watashi wa anata no shimo bedesu." he intoned.
"…what?" she asked after a while. "I don't speak Chinese!"
It was Japanese, of course, and the man trembled in anger at the girl's insensitiveness – as did several Asian-looking students, either Japanese or Chinese, because they didn't like being compared. Still, he was a master of his body, and settled into a supplicant's pose again before speaking again. "I'm at your service." he repeated, in English.
"Okay, I'll bite." she replied after a few seconds. "Why?"
"You made me. So I'm yours to command. As a samurai, I need a Lord… or a Lady, in your case. I can't stay a Ronin, so I sought you."
"I made you? When?"
"I'm sorry to say I threatened you, when you crossed Lord Lung's territory."
"YOU! How did you find me?"
"As your creation, I have a sixth sense linking me to you. I'm sorry you had to leave, when we met, because I had finished dealing with your other aggressors. Now, in order to ask for your forgiveness, I brought a present."
The man removed a round bag from his belt, and threw it at Emma's feet. She thought it was gold coins, like in those games and movies, and eagerly opened it… only to recoil in shock, literally red-handed. It was a head. And not anyone's.
"Oh my god, he killed Lung!" someone exclaimed behind her.
"Lord Lung didn't want my services, so I killed him." the Ronin pronounced. "Now, do you want my services, my Lady?"
"No! You disgusting piece of-"
"That's too bad, then. I'll have to kill you. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure it's not the real way." someone said next to him. "The Bushido doesn't ask you to kill a prospective employer who can't recruit you. Otherwise, there would be quite a low number of employers."
"How dare you question my ancestor's customs!" the man replied angrily. "I'll kill you too, for that!" He was still kneeling, his sword out of his hands, but he seemed ready to jump at the interloper.
"How?" the voice, female, continued. "Because they're not. You're not even Japanese, despite having learnt the language (and some customs) to better fit in the top brass of Lung's gang. Your great-grandfather was an immigrant from Korea, and your other ancestors are all Americans. Even your real name has nothing Asian, isn't it, Samuel?"
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The InquisitorThe aforementioned Samuel-the-wannabe-Samurai turned his head very slowly, as if he could convey his supreme annoyance at the newcomer. It was a girl. It was Julia. And she held herself differently than before, her stern gaze pinning the samurai in place while she judged him, measured him… and found him wanting.
Growling, the big man started to stand up, but the preaching truth-seeker had another thing to say… verbosely. "I have another thing to say: Emma… thank you. And, of course… Sparky! ATTACK!" she ended, putting a knee down on the ground.
And, from behind her, where he wasn't hidden at all due to the difference in bulk, an even bigger (and completely healed, thanks to her) Sparky jumped in the air… and landed heavily on the armoured man. And, from there, he started raking. And raking again. And again.
Apparently, those impressive claws can pierce through regular metal quite easily. And rend the one behind to ribbons. Several students turned their gaze away at the sight, but all of them still breathed a bit better afterwards – with the would-be murderer dead, they were, in fact, quite relieved. And in a truly universal fashion, they all started to discuss what had just happened.
That's when a square portal opened under Emma's feet, and she fell through.
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The End"Who are you?" Emma demanded when the disorientation ended – she had fallen down, only for the arrival portal to face a bed, making her fall onto it. There, strong hands brought her limbs down and bound her to the bed frame. Given the surroundings, it was even a hospital bed, where two bottles of strange liquids were already waiting to be linked to her veins. "What are you doing?"
"We are preparing to dissect you." A black woman in a white blouse entered the room, followed by another woman with a suit and a fedora hat. "You grant powers to others, we want to see how. If we can't understand, at least we'll have removed unwanted competition for our business."
"But… isn't competition good for business and innovation? At least that's what it has always been, here in America." Emma tried to say, regrouping and finding what she thought were valid and well-thought arguments. Despite being chained to a bed and threatened with dismemberment. "Besides, someone told me that my creations can find me, and I think I have made many heroes already."
"Capes, perhaps. Last I heard, most of them are vigilantes." the Doctor said, before she smiled nastily. "As to find you… silly girl, do you think you're still in America? Do you think you are on your planet, even?"
"What? But…"
Emma quieted immediately when the younger woman under the fedora approached and pulled the curtain. Outside the admittedly thick window was a completely desolate landscape, which continued without interruption up to the horizon. And the Sun was of a wrong colour, too, bathing everything in a reddish tint.
Seeing the eyes moving back and forth, the pupil growing, the fedora wearer nodded. "She's ready."
"Let's cut her up, then!" the Doctor replied joyfully, before chuckling. "I always liked that part!"
Emma's mounting panic made her remember the alleyway where she had felt the same, with the same trigger. She really really didn't want to be cut up. "AAAaaarrrggh!"
A pause. A long pause. And then she looked at the two women, who had retreated behind a wall of soldiers. "You're not going to cut me?"
"Depends." the Doctor replied. "You triggered again?"
Emma shook herself before frowning. And shaking her head. "You're evil."
"Thank you." the Doctor replied with a smile, right as she started removing Emma's bounds. "Can we test your abilities, now? What restrictions were lifted? Can you give powers to any of these cannon fod- I mean, men?"
Emma smirked even as she sat up, massaging her wrists: what the Doctor had implied was exactly what she thought, and had learnt by watching movies and ads, and had learnt in school, and had learnt in the many small ways her mother shut down her father. "Sure." And then she frowned. "What do you want? I have those little tags in my mind. They say "Fighter", "Thief", "Cleric", "Wizard", and many others. I don't know what they do exactly."
"One of which, to start with, provided you tell us what they are. We'll gauge afterwards which ones are the best for our tasks, and we'll ask for encores then."
"There's also a little number besides those tags. It's at eight, right now, but I think I can push it higher. Something like… sixteen, I believe."
"Same here, we'll try a high, low, and intermediate value, to see what changes."
"Alright, then." Emma exclaimed, rubbing her hands greedily. "Now… how much?"
"How much what?"
"I'm going to give powers to people, and you said yourselves that it was a business I was encroaching upon – unknowingly, mind you. If you want me to work for you, I'll need compensation."
"Alright. A hundred thousand."
"Dollars? A year? Let's see… it's not much, I think. Dad makes more. And I don't know about taxes, and such."
"Per person. And it's tax-free. We have a colleague who manages anonymous bank accounts, you'll have one, with that amount added each time you grant powers to one of our vol… vol-unt-eers. That's the word."
"Oh." Gulp. "Alright, then."
For Emma, it was like the start of a golden age, as Cauldron, the business for which she was now working, was paying her handsomely. They only called for her on Sundays, during which she could trigger a dozen volunteers in barely an hour, and come back a million dollars richer.
Cauldron spent the intervening time testing the soldiers' new abilities, and listing their preferences for the "end product". And, contrarily to what happened with Coil's mercenaries, they were ready should someone's power get to the recipient's head – they had had to deal with Case 53s, after all. And the numerous other cases, 53 not being the last number in the type of strangeness they had had to deal with.
They chose the "classic" (not that they knew about it, the Doctor and Contessa being from another world) setup with the four first classes Emma had listed: Fighter, Thief, Cleric, and Wizard. Or, as some would indicate through another jargon: Tank/Melee DPS, Debuffer/Utility, Healer/Buffer, and Ranged DPS – the ones "playing" the wizard weren't necessarily creative enough to imagine doing anything else when presented with the ubiquitous Fireball.
Once trained enough, with Contessa confirming their Path, the many volunteers got to work. Some flew and harassed Scion, and died. Others used scrying magic with Clairvoyant, and teleportation magic in association with Doormaker, so that they could find the planet around which Scion's real body was coiled. And the third group followed the signs and laid waste to the wasteland.
Scion (or Zion, or whatever) died.
Everyone rejoiced… for about three seconds. It took that much time for the decay to start, and Scion's dead-Entity switch to activate. Programmed a long time ago, it activated the end of cycle immediately, and detonated the planet it was on. That propelled shards everywhere in the nearby space, shards which also died by the thousands each milliseconds when they found themselves lacking the basic support of an overarching Entity.
And in those fateful milliseconds, people who had gotten power through triggering… lost their power. Or worse, because some of the dying shards were cognizant enough to try to survive, sucking energy from everywhere it was connected to. Many parahumans were burned from the inside out. Others became mad. Those who were flying plummeted. Those who were running found themselves unable to brake and slammed into walls or other people. Those who were lifting cars found themselves crushed. Those who… you get the idea.
It left very few parahumans in the world, after that sort-of purge. The whole Triumvirate escaped without a scratch. In Brockton Bay, Triumph was one of the rare survivors in the Protectorate. It took no time for Cauldron to assert that the survivors were those who had gotten their powers from Eden, and they continued selling powers, with even higher prices than before.
This was done without Emma, though, because their partnership ended when the girl died. Or something. They hadn't really understood what had happened, bar the fact that the girl had felt the death of each and every parahuman she had been instrumental in triggering. She was now stuck in an immobile place in the universe (so immobile that her body had made an Emma-shaped hole in the wall as the planet continued its rotation), unable to feel anything else but pain for all of eternity.
Due to the increased requests for powers, Cauldron members were regularly asked to participate in the harvesting of Eden's corpse. The second Entity, source of the powers-in-a-vial, had many holes carved in her body, and only the knife lodged in the neck of its physical representation prevented "her" from doing anything. But she wasn't dead, as the still-bleeding forest of limbs attested. And she was far from being unable to hear everything that happened around her.
"I'm the strongest, now." David (Eidolon) bragged to Rebecca (Alexandria) as the two of them worked side-by-side.
She sneered and didn't reply. That saying had gotten old ages ago, when they had first discovered their powers. There had been a time, before the Endbringers were brought to an end, when Eidolon was considered the strongest after them, and after Scion. The Golden Man deceased, that left the self-proclaimed "strongest parahuman in the world" without competition for the title.
The forest of limbs stirred, and then stilled, and Alexandria noticed immediately. She immediately made the association and shot her co-worker a dark glance before running towards the communication device, out of the massive doors – given the fragile nature of their work, they had no cell phone and used no power while in the room.
Despite pushing herself to the maximum speed she could, she wasn't fast enough. Even when she started to fly over the suddenly spasming body, she wasn't fast enough.
Scion had a dead-Entity switch, and they hadn't realized that Eden knew about it? That, moreover, she had one too?
When the information that Scion was dead came to her senses, she stopped trying to escape her current situation, and redirected all her power into self-destruction. Through the same endgame scenario her partner used: she detonated the planet. And died, too.
Thankfully, the Cauldron building wasn't on Earth Bet.
The second batch of parahumans died as well, each of them suffering greatly: due to the way Cauldron filled their vials, each of them had links to several shards. And thus died several deaths.
In the end, the situation stabilized, and Earth Bet returned to a timeline more akin to its Aleph counterpart… to many people's chagrin.
And Taylor, in the privacy of her new bedroom, continued to feed salad to her giant cockroach familiar, still trying to coax her spells out of it. Of course, her bedroom had padded walls, bars on her window, and a lock outside her door. Of course, it was located in the local mental hospital. And, of course, the cockroach was completely imaginary. She was mad, after all, the only thing that didn't change from before. And the only "power" that still worked was the fact that her mad cackle unnerved those hearing it.
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To be continued… conceivablyAuthor's Notes: Sigh. Would you believe that this one was inspired by Implacable, as well? Or, rather, a comment mentioning that Pisces' shields could be hexes. Hexes. I couldn't avoid making this about a Witch, after that. And then it derailed. I blame my Pathfinder group.