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Multiverse Unlimited: Heirs of Ouroboros

Chapter 2 – Ending Serenity

Written by Collin Davis

"When Multiverse Unlimited returns, it shall need champions who are so willing and eager to protect those who cannot protect themselves." – Emilius Hearth

The head of the axe hammered down swiftly and precisely, hitting its mark as it easily split the log in twain, which fell into two clean halves. He placed another piece of wood from his nearby pile upon the stump, which made a fantastic foundation for chopping wood, and repeated the process, wielding the same result. Standing upright, he lowered his axe and stretched, popping his back as he flexed his posture. Resting the splitting axe blade in the grass and resting his hand atop the haft as though it were a cane, his gaze looked out into the distance, where his world was painted in the oranges of a setting sun. The countryside was covered in a thick blanket of lush, green grass, marked by the occasional oak or olive tree. Where he stood was at the top of a hill, the valley ever-so gradually sinking off in every given direction before eventually meeting with the distant mountains, giving way to woodlands, or continuing on to the humble town which existed nearby. The land was nearly untouched, save for the rustic, two story house perched upon the hill he occupied, and the dirt road beside it which led to and from town, were one to follow it. The area was serene and instilled a feeling of peace. Serenity and peace were luxuries he had all but forgotten until recent years, but were aspects he was slowly growing reacquainted with.

At full height he reached 5' 11", making him a touch on the short side for an adult male. His slender physique was athletically fit, which lent itself well to his mobility. Though humanoid, being an anthropomorphic fox he naturally bore attributes of a more beast-like nature. He was covered in soft, short fur which was primarily a light gray coloration, though a band of pure white started from under the chin of his muzzle and continued along the front of his neck and chest, where it disappeared beneath the collar of his green plaid shirt, whose normally medium-length sleeves were rolled up to midway up his upper arms. The white stripe featured a thin, black border which stood between the gray and white fur. His slender muzzle featured a black, forward-curving mark on either side, just behind his canine nose. Short, black whiskers protruded from the front sides of his muzzle. His short, neatly-trimmed fingernails were black, and appeared like those of a fox rather than the flat, thin nails of a human. From two inches below the elbows down, the fur of his forearms was solid black and, if they weren't concealed by his faded blue work pants and black, lace-up work boots, one would see that his legs from the calf to his toes were much the same. Sprouting from his rear was a long, luxuriously fluffy tail with a white tip separated from the gray by a thin band of black, not unlike the theme his front stripe adhered to. His ears were unsurprisingly fox-like, appearing as prominently-sized triangles set into his skull. All visible skin was onyx black, including his inner ears, nose, and the paw pads upon his five-digit, human-like hands. His eyes were forest green and, like those of a man, had visible whites and circular pupils. Crowning his head his fur grew out further than usual, and was straighter, acting like the head of hair a human would grow. It was medium-short in length and slightly raised at the bangs before descending to frame either side of his face.

The last birds of the day chirped here and there, finishing whatever tasks they could before darkness fell. Far off in the distance a cicada's incessant buzzing established a continuous droning. But as he ended his brief repose and prepared another log upon the stump, a sound more alien caught his attention. His right ear pivoted toward the intruding audio sensation as it reacted on impulse to the somewhat distant sound of creaking, dragging, sputtering, and an occasional pop. He perked an inquisitive brow as he looked off down the dirt road which led into town, though the source of the unusual sounds was not visible over the nearest knoll. All his eyes could catch were the small clouds of gray smoke which rose toward the heavens. Given the bizarre nature of the sounds, as well as the puffs of smoke, he was confident he knew the identity of the approaching individual... though he could only wonder just what they were approaching in. Burying the axe blade into the stump beside the log with a well-placed swing, he looked back toward the road just as the approaching sounds gave way to a loud, concentrated rumbling, a thick pillar of dark smoke billowing into the air. Evidently something had gone awry, and he sprinted toward the road with impressive speed to make sure the would-be visitor was safe.

Before long he reached an individual, covered in black soot, standing a short distance away from what appeared to be a chair rigged up to some sort of coal furnace, four wheels, and some mechanical apparatus he couldn't begin to describe or understand. The furnace, still glowing hot from within as evidenced through the gaps in the iron grate, was churning out smoke at an alarming rate. The operator of the strange horseless carriage was stooped over with one hand placed firmly upon his knee, and the other balled into a fist before his face as he coughed vigorously into it, loose soot sprinkling down with each jerk his body made in response to his ghastly hacks.
"Dec, are you alright?" he asked the black-drenched figure, whose identity was certain to him without needing to see his face. No one save for Declan Mustarin would be operating such a contraption en route to the very place he resided.

At the mention of his name the figure stood up straight to his full height, which was a tad taller than the gray-furred fox, and turned around to face the speaker, his duck-like beak and dirtied feathers poking out in a disarray about his head and neck being the only evident factors, given both layers of clothing and soot, that he was an anthropomorphic duck. He pulled up a pair of goggles, whose lenses were as effectively obscured as the rest of him, and looked at the man addressing him with wide, chestnut brown eyes which were encircled by the then only visible layer of feathers whose color could be distinguished; glossy, bottle-green, like those of a male mallard.
"Yes, yes! Better than okay... dandy, I'd go so far as to say!" He replied rather enthusiastically. He then started to try and dust himself off with his gloved hands, though his efforts held little noticeable effect. He continued to brush himself off as he spoke regardless, blissfully unaware of how futile the action was. "I thought I'd worked through the whole overheating problem, hm. Maybe a piston came loose? No, no... anyhow, regardless! It's so fantastic to see you, Eric! You've been away for far too long!" Few individuals called him by his given name, as most either referred to him as his nickname, Mercury, or by some form of his surname, Russo. Mustarin eagerly approached his old friend then, his arms outstretched and unmistakably preparing for an embrace. He could have rebuked his soot-covered friend's advance until he was cleaned off, but he decided that sparing his work clothes, which he would need to change out of soon anyway, was hardly worth turning down an old friend's affection for. The two hugged briefly, and when the mallard pulled away he had left a perfect, black imprint of himself upon the other man's shirt. This, too, seemed to escape his notice.

"It's great to see you too, Dec." And though Eric was pleased to see his friend, he also had a feeling in his gut that he wouldn't wind up liking the reasoning for the tinkerer's sudden and unexpected visit. Mustarin wasn't the type of man who would break away from his research in the capital and journey all the way out into the sticks, unannounced, for a spontaneous visit. Starting up the dirt road toward the house, Mustarin wasted little time in getting to the point of his visit.
"Big news! Big, big news in the scientific world! I–" He stooped abruptly of his own accord, both in speech and in movement, before spinning around 180 degrees to face the still-smoking automobile. He rushed over to it then, popping open a compartment on the side and retrieving a cylindrical carry tote, with rolled documents of some sort poking out of the opening, before slamming the hatch closed again. He then scrambled back to his previous position before resuming his former walking pace. Eric followed beside as they walked.
"I believe it could even change the entire foundation of what we know about time, space, and our universe! A complete paradigm shift concerning our knowledge of the other side, and the mystical properties we couldn't previously explain! After all, what is a mystical property if not an unidentified element whose science is unknown..." The impassioned mallard went on as they strolled, though it didn't take them long to reach the house, at which point Eric had to pause the scientific speculation with a more sobering, first-world priority.
"Lavena will be far from pleased if we barge in as dirty as this."
"...and that which, uh... eh–Hm?" Mustarin stopped in his tracks and looked himself over. "Well, I say... I am positively filthy! And you as well! I suppose I had a hand in that, no less. I do apologize!"
Eric donned a crooked smile and lightly shook his head. He had missed his old friend, eccentricities and all. "It's not a problem."

The gray-furred fox had led them around the East side of the house, where they had washed themselves off with water from a weathered water pump. A number of articles of clothing had been hanging upon a clothes line not far from said pump, and so Eric not only changed his own clothes but also lent out a set of his clean clothes for his pal to borrow. Once cleaned, Mustarin looked far more presentable. At an even 6' in height he stood taller than his vulpine comrade, though not by a significant amount. Being an anthropomorphic mallard, his most distinguishing feature was undoubtedly his flat, yellow beak with two nostrils positioned high upon the trademark protrusion, near the base. There was a black, triangle mark pointing toward his eyes on the very end of his beak. The feathers adorning his head from the neck up were a vibrant green coloration, and held a distinctive sheen. The green feathers grew out significantly longer upon his crown, like a head of long, glowing hair, and was tied back into a ponytail via a black thong. A white collar effectively demarcated his green head and neck from the muddy brown plumage of his chest and lower body. The feathers adorning his arms were primarily gray, with brown, white, and dark brown markings. He looked remarkably silly to Eric in his borrowed white, v-cut, sleeveless tunic and green work pants, though only because it was far from how the waterfowl would normally dress. That and the fact that the duck's small, white tail feathers poking through the slit made in a seat designed to accommodate a large, bushy fox tail were mismatched, and looked decidedly awkward. It would prove to be of little surprise that Eric possessed no shoes which would fit him, as the two had wildly different anatomy when it came to their feet. However, Mustarin had managed to dislodge most of the soot from his dark brown boots, and was in the process of pulling them over his webbed, orange feet.

"So then is Lavena holding up alright?" Mustarin inquired as he tugged and adjusted his borrowed clothing, trying to get an adequate feel for them. Eric had changed into a simple black, sleeveless tunic and casual black pants. He had decided against putting on any shoes, as he much preferred to be barefoot. As far as he was concerned, shoes hampered his overall mobility, and he only wore them under specific circumstances.
"Some days are better than others, but you know her. She's strong."
Mustarin nodded and seemed to smile, the subtle facial expressions he was afforded due to the limitations of having a beak not lost upon the fox, whom had long ago learned to read them with ease. He seemed satisfied with the answer given.
"Let's head inside. I'm sure she's wondering by now why it's taking me so long just to chop firewood."

The living room was cozy and had an inviting atmosphere. It carried the smell of herbs, spices, old wood, and that particular scent which was more often than not difficult to place, though which many had come to associate with old, welcoming houses. Smooth, finished beams of wood comprised the flooring, walls, and the roof which supported the second floor. The carpentry was quite impressive, and held up even many years after the house had been constructed, thanks in no small part to continued maintenance. A large, circular green rug with white embroidered patterns was strewn out across the center of the room, and upon it rested a small, circular, dark oak table situated atop a stalk and three legs. Behind stood a fireplace, then unlit, and brick mantle, to the right a sofa made to seat two, covered in worn, though not torn or stained, material of forest green and white, and to the left a wooden rocking chair, which was occupied. A staircase adorned the northeast corner of the room, and an archway leading into the kitchen was situated to the west. The whole room had a peaceful glow to it provided by the last light of day.

"Bless my soul, is that you, Declan? Oh, how wonderful to see you!" A soothing, matriarchal voice called out when the mallard entered into her aging line of sight. Situated in the rocking chair was an elderly, anthropomorphic red panda. She carried a broad, plump frame and a kind face, her short muzzle, cheeks, and area around her dark brown eyes being adorned with snow white fur with black, vertical tear stripes of fur running down from under either optical orb, which looked out from behind a pair of small spectacles with round lenses and silver frames. Her ears were rounded, with white interior fur and black lining. The bulk of her fur otherwise appeared to be a reddish coloration, save for two more exceptions, one being her limbs, in which the fur was black, and her long, fluffy tail which poked out of the back of her rocker (though through years of practice and muscle memory she learned the importance of not accidentally rocking upon it), which consisted of alternating bands of reddish and cream colored bands. She wore a simple, comfortable-fitting green loose dress and a pair of green slippers. Feeling for a cane to her left, she slowly and carefully hoisted herself out of the rocking chair and opened her arms wide, a sweet smile spreading across her aged face. Declan accepted the invitation, embracing her firmly yet gently. While they greeted, Eric placed the firewood he had managed to chop prior to his friend's arrival beside the fireplace. Within a couple of hours the sun would be down, and it would be chilly enough to warrant their use.

"The very same! Delightful, as always, to see you as well!" the duck enthusiastically greeted her in turn. After a moment they pulled apart, and Lavena properly situated her cane for support.
"You have yourself a seat now and I'll make us up some tea."
Eric turned toward her then, having finished unloading the pile. "Nana, I can get that star–"
"Don't fret over it, now, Eric. I've still got more than enough leeway in these old bones to boil a kettle. You spend time with your friend."
He didn't argue, as it was futile. When she set her mind to something, that was the end of it. Furthermore, she knew her limits better than he.

The sounds of busywork from the kitchen could be heard as Mustarin took a seat, placing his bag between his legs and rummaging through it as he pulled out rolled-up graphs, charts, and a folded wooden stand for the presentation of such parchments. Eric, still standing beside the fireplace, looked to his friend with a troubled expression.
"Dec, I appreciate that you–"
"Don't say no just yet, old boy! Hear me out, at least!" the busied ave interrupted him, correctly deducing just where the sentence was headed. That was two consecutive times the fox had been interrupted mid-sentence since entering the house. Almost everyone who knew him so well, of which there were few enough to count on one hand, were assembled there. Only one of the three he allowed into his inner circle was absent. Mustarin rose from his seat and began setting up near the table and across from the fireplace, where his presentation could be seen clearly by those who would occupy the rocking chair and the sofa. He did so with speed, grace, and professionalism, as though he were preparing to request funding from some official organization, despite being amongst friends. But such was the duck's way; he was always passionate and always gave one-hundred percent. Eric took the time to go around and light the oil lamps scattered about the room. It wasn't quite dark enough to warrant them yet, but it was apparent that whatever was going to be discussed would take some time, and it would be dark before he finished.

Lavena returned as the two men were finishing up, skillfully balancing a tray of three steaming hot teacups and an assortment of biscuits. She moved slowly and methodically, but carried an air of dignity about her. She gently placed the tray upon the small table then returned to her rocking chair, placing her cane beside her and eying Mustarin inquisitively as he finished setting up.
"Ah! Thank you, Lavena. Your hospitality is always appreciated!" the duck thanked her before he reached for a butter biscuit cookie, dipping it gingerly into the cup closest to him before shoving the entire thing into his beak. Eric took a seat on the sofa and offered a warm smile and nod to the woman before directing his attention back to Mustarin.
"For cent–Ahem, hm..." and then a cough, a few lingering biscuit crumbs flying forth from his beak in an unbecoming manner. He cleared his throat, drummed lightly upon his chest, then continued. "For centuries–No, no. Too cliché. Let me start over! No lead-in, it's just too exciting to hold off! Alright, well... maybe a brief lead-in..."

The last of the sun set and the invigorated scientist's explanation continued on, using his various graphs and charts to illustrate his points. Eric and Lavena did their best to keep up, though not being active participants within the same scientific studies and circles as Mustarin kept himself to, large chunks of his ramblings were lost upon them both. Something had appeared in the outskirts of the capital six days prior; something nobody was quite qualified to identify with certainty. He discussed arcane realms, which was something Eric was familiar with, but also discussed matters of astrology, time, space, and the implications of them, which went over his head quite effectively. But from what his friend was saying, it sounded an awful lot as though what he was referring to was...
"A door?" Lavena's voice chimed in, interrupting the lecture.
"Exactly! A gate! A door! A passageway!" Mustarin's reply was so enthusiastic that one couldn't help but feel excited as well. Though there was deep apprehension to accompany it, especially given past incidents.
"A door leading to what, exactly?" Eric inquired, his concern evident in his tone.
"I'm... not certain! Given the circumstances, it could potentially be anything! There's really only one way to find out!"
And there it was, as clear as day.
"Dec, you know why I left the royal military to begin with."
"The council wants you on the investigation team, given your unique prior experience. And more importantly, I want you on the team! They've even agreed to commission one of the best medical caretakers in the capital to attend to matters here in your absence as part of the compensation package. We need only pass through the gate, collect some data, retrieve some samples, and roughly determine the nature of what's over there. Then we can head back and report our findings to the council."
Eric cradled his muzzle in a hand thoughtfully, his expression stern. He then shook his head and locked eyes with his friend.
"My place is here."
Mustarin sighed as his shoulders visibly slumped in defeat, the passion he had earnestly clasped just moments early suddenly siphoned from him. The red panda's eyes glanced to Eric for a moment, then over to Mustarin.
"Declan, will you excuse us for a moment, please?"
"Oh my, but of course! I think I'll step outside and get some air." he agreed before turning, taking a few steps toward the front door, then stopping abruptly. He then walked back toward the table, leaned over, and clasped the tiny ring handle of his teacup, which had been left untouched and was ice cold by that point. He raised it to his beak and chugged it back, letting out a contented sigh before he placed it down, grabbed one more biscuit, then headed to and out the front door, gently closing it behind him.

Eric could feel her eyes upon him, and he turned to meet them. Her face was as loving as ever, though there was a sadness there. Was it disappointment? He felt a pit form in his stomach under her gaze.
"I know that you want to go."
She was right. He did want to go. Not only did he want to help his friend, but he was concerned that the door, the gate, the whatever-it-was, could house something potentially harmful on the other side. He and his comrades had fought hard, and endured much loss and sadness, to free Evergreen from the stranglehold of tyranny and oppression, and he wouldn't allow anything to disrupt the peace they had enjoyed thanks to the sacrifices of many. And there was also a third pull; and a strong one, at that, beyond friendship or his sense of duty. He wanted to undertake such a mission on the merit of taking on a mission. The simple, base urge to get out there and act; to dust himself off and put his skills to use. His ears went limp, and he looked away from her, feeling guilty over the realization.
"Eric, you know I love you, and I appreciate all you've done for me. But you're a soldier, like your parents, not a caretaker. I allowed you to linger here because it was what you needed as well; some peace and quiet after all of the bloodshed and bad things you'd seen and experienced, and a chance to let old emotional wounds scab over. But you have a lot of good in you to offer the world, and it would be selfish of me, and selfish of you, for that matter, not to deliver.
Idle here no longer. Go and help your friend."

There was a silence then, though it was disrupted by two quick knocks, followed by the door slowly opening. Mustarin entered, his eyes wide with excitement and surprise. He took a few steps in, stepped to one side, then motioned toward the door. Another figure appeared then, and Eric's face also turned to one of surprise, though the old red panda's facial expression remained controlled and polite, despite her own internal shock over the sight. In the doorway stood a man whose identity and affiliation were unknown to any present. What had all three surprised then wasn't who he was, or who he potentially represented, but rather what he was. Human beings held no presence on their world, and so the sight of the Caucasian male was as alien to them as their animalistic appearances could potentially seem to others outside of the world they knew. He was 6' even with a broad frame of average weight, his skin a light coloration and relatively smooth, save for worn lines beneath his eyes. He had a squared jaw and a prominent, slanted nose. A brown, immaculately groomed Van Dyke formed a level oval from beneath his nose to his chin. He wore a serene, almost tired, facial expression, his light gray eyes looking between those present as he removed his black fedora hat, which featured a gray band and a sprig of some dried plant matter beneath said band. Removing his headwear fully revealed a head of short, brown hair which was neatly groomed and combed to either side, yet curled back upward at the tips, his bangs swept to the right of his face in three distinct locks all overlapping one another. He wore a white, long-sleeved shirt with a black, button-front vest over it. Overlaying both he sported a short, black cape, which covered his shoulders, upper arms and his collarbone by a clasp which resembled a silver broach with a smooth, round black gem set into it. The cape reached to his hips, and ended in a serrated pattern of alternating triangular shapes. He wore professional black slacks, white socks, and a pair of glossy, black shoes polished to a high shine. He held an air of both prestigiousness and mystery.

"Forgive me for appearing unannounced. My name is Emilius Hearth, and I've come to speak with one Eric "Mercury" Russo." His voice was as smooth as silk, and every bit as dignified as his outward appearance suggested. As he spoke his gaze moved from the host, Lavena, to Eric himself, signifying that he was aware that he was the individual he sought.
Eric gave Mustarin a quick glance, noting that he looked as though he were about to burst at the seams with scientific fascination, before his eyes again reunited with the man who had introduced himself as Emilius Hearth. Whoever the uncanny individual was, or whatever he was, Eric was almost positive that his sudden appearance was somehow related to the gate Mustarin had been discussing. And that made the fact that he sought him, personally, and knew him by name all the more intriguing.

The high humidity that the area offered of its own accord had already made everything feel hot and sticky, though the fires which ran wild throughout the small camp raised the temperature to even more uncomfortable degrees. Smoke billowed from the flaming wreckage of a nearby vehicle, and that one was her doing. The other miscellaneous fires, however, were the result of some incompetent schmuck whom had found himself in the possession of a flamethrower. Though she wagered whomsoever had tasked said schmuck to wield such a weapon, despite his utter lack of skill in using it, was far more the fool than even the wielder himself. Fortunately his firebug shenanigans were thwarted as she encouraged him to take a break, to which he obliged, if not begrudgingly, as he lay unconscious in a heap, his jaw most assuredly broken.

In fact there were numerous unconscious bodies strewn throughout the modest camp, which was little more than a few tents, sheds, barracks, and heaps of mining equipment positioned haphazardly in the jungle clearing. There had been a wooden guard tower prior to her visit, but the flamethrower enthusiast saw fit to modify it with scorching fire while attempting to take a shot at her, so by that point it was less of a guard tower and more of a giant torch; a beacon and testament of foolishness. Unpleasantly enough, there were a still a plethora of conscious bodies remaining; confused, aggravated, and clamoring for blood.

"Fuckin' bitch!" a burly, bronzed man with a full black beard and dark sunglasses shouted from behind as he swung a machete at her in a downward swipe. She skillfully dodged the sloppy, rage-fueled strike with the grace and technique of a dancer before delivering a counterattack to the side of his skull with her fist, breaking the rim of his sunglasses along with his connection to the waking world in one fell blow as he went down for the count. Another attack came from in front of her as a slender, thin-faced man with auburn hair lunged forward with a combat knife. Again she avoided the incoming blade with ease and finesse before she swept out his legs from under him with a low-sweeping kick, causing him to fall forward, his eyes wide in surprise as his mind struggled to register just what exactly was happening. And in that split second he never even made contact with the ground from his forward momentum, as her palm met the underside of his chin, altering his trajectory as the force of the impact corrected his forward fall before evolving it into a backward fall, one of his teeth unceremoniously flying free from his jaw with an accompanying spurt of blood. Like his larger friend with the machete, he didn't get back up once he united with the earth.

She assumed a readied stance as he gaze immediately darted to the next nearest target, a tall man with short, black hair, despite the fact that he was stealthily sneaking, unseen and unheard. Regardless, she knew exactly where he was coming from, which caught him off guard. Realizing that the stealth approach had gone awry, he changed his tactic and approached her more casually, likely feeling confident due to the shotgun he held aimed between her eyes. Perhaps he felt he had closed the distance enough to not miss the shot, despite the good fifteen foot distance still remaining between them.
"You got some fancy moves, hon, but I'd say even you couldn't pluck a bullet clean from the air." he mocked her as he steadied his aim, moving cautiously but with ever-increasing confidence as several more of his comrades appeared around her, totaling six. At least two of the other men held handguns, which were pointed squarely at her. She maintained her position, her eyes locked on the man with the shotgun.
"It'd be a shame to have to waste ya. With moves like that you'd be too dangerous to put to work in the mines, though I figure with the proper restraints we could find more... beneficial uses for ya." he continued with his taunting, his eyes looking her up and down to emphasize his suggestive comment. Indeed, she was quite an attractive specimen. She was relatively tall for a woman, standing at 5' 10". Her figure was athletically fit and muscular, though far from buff to any extreme degrees which would detract from her overarching femininity. Her curves and proportions were decidedly flattering, including a generously-sized bust. Her lightly bronzed skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, both from exertion and due in no small part to the heat. Her hazelnut eyes had an intensity to them; a resolve which could not be easily swayed. They were the sort of eyes which had seen and experienced terrible things, and survived to behold yet more; the eyes of a warrior. Her shoulder-length, black hair was glossy and healthy-looking, and while not styled into any noteworthy fashion or seemingly fussed with, only helped to promote her beauty. She wore a simple brown, sleeveless tunic with a black sports bra beneath, the straps made partially visible by the v-cut collar. Around her neck was a silver chain and locket. Dark green cargo pants and black, laced, heavy-duty boots adorned her lower body. One of the most notable features about her wasn't in her natural appearance, but in the ritualistic, rune-like tattoos adorning the visible portions of her arms, shoulders, and chest. Black inked lines and markings snaked their way all across her upper extremities, disappearing beneath the fabric of her tunic, though suggesting that they held presence upon her back and chest, despite not being visible due to her clothing obstructing them from view. All things considered she was strikingly gorgeous, though her highly trained fighting posture, tattoos, and the fierce look behind her eyes were elements one would hardly expect to associate with a beauty queen. She was definitely no pristine daisy.

"Those are some gnarly tattoos, doll face. Would you mind if I take a look at 'em without your top gettin' in the way? You roughed up some of my friends real good, and caused some considerable collateral damage. The way I see it, it's the least you could do to compensate, y'know?" he continued with a grin, revealing one of his canines to have a sizable chip missing. One of the ruffians closing in chuckled at the remark, or perhaps at the prospect of seeing her topless.
"McCallister, bind the bitch's hands." he commanded of one of the surrounding men, who hesitated, glancing between the shotgun-wielding man who had issued the order and the decidedly dangerous woman whose fists seemed to have been endowed by the Sandman himself. Mustering up his courage, the flunky moved in while slipping free some black cord from a compartment of his utility belt. He swallowed hard and kept his eyes glued to the back of her head, expecting her to turn around and knock his lights out at any moment, or worse, try something funny and wind up getting them both pumped full of shotgun pellets. He started licking his dry lips nervously when he got to within roughly three feet from her, sweat cascading down his sunburned forehead. In an instant she dropped to one knee, her left fist hammering down with tremendous speed and power before anyone could even understand what was happening, much less react. Her tattoos emitted a luminous, otherworldly glow, as though backlit by some mystical force, and when her fist collided with the solid ground which lay before her the earth gave way readily, without resistance, shattering inward as though struck by a meteor and instantly forming a crater from her touch, fissures snaking outward from the point of impact. The strike generated a localized earthquake powerful enough to knock not only every man present off of their feet, but to knock over barrels, boxes, posts, and other miscellaneous objects which were susceptible. The head scumbag managed to fire his shotgun, though he harmlessly shot it into the air as he fell backward.

Her opening established, she darted forward in a low sprint, reaching her intended target as he struggled to aim his gun at her from his sitting position to attempt a follow-up shot. Her right hand snatched the barrel of the gun, bent it, and snapped it clean off as he gasped. She then proceeded to plant her left fist squarely into his nose, splattering it like an overripe tomato as he fell back with a thud. Upon waking he would also find that her fist had matched his formerly intact canine to his chipped one. She quickly turned around toward the remaining goons. By then most of them had scrambled back to their feet, but rather than continuing their assault, they finally seemed to have pieced together how outgunned they truly were; and thus, they turned and fled: all save for the man whom had been tasked with binding her hands. He was sprawled on the ground, propped up upon an elbow, the black cord still in his hands as he looked up at her with an expression of mixed admiration and terror. Glaring down with a callous gaze, she strolled over to him. He made no effort to move, and was effectively transfixed like a deer caught in headlights. Kneeling beside him, she roughly overturned him, snatched the cord from his grasp, and tied his hands behind his back before he could snap back to reality. He didn't struggle, and merely stayed put, his face in the dirt. Quite a number of things were likely running through his mind, so she decided to leave him with his thoughts as she went about her business.

Turning on her heel she moved briskly toward one of the sheds which littered the camp. It was worn and rusted, the green paint which had once coated it almost entirely flaked off, though was at least solid enough to confine anything left inside and, with proper guarding, keep them from getting out. Given the weather, coupled with the metal frame, the interior was undoubtedly sweltering and miserable. An iron bar stretched across the closed entrance, a heavy padlock securely in place. Reaching for it, she ripped it free with little effort, casting it aside and proceeding to raise the bar before then throwing open the doors. The interior was dimly illuminated by light which managed to creep in through holes here and there in the roof, and among the dust which danced in the faint light she could see hay as well as old, rotten blankets strewn about. The smell of sweat and foul musk hung heavily in the stagnant air. Weak, malnourished looking boys, as young as six but no older than fourteen, looked out at her with wide eyes and gaping mouths. There were eleven of them stuffed in the tiny shed, their bodies worn and near the breaking point through relentless slave labor in the nearby mines. To them, her form illuminated in the doorway was that of a goddess, come to deliver their salvation. They were at least half right. She stepped aside from the doorway to grant them exit, beckoning them to leave with her arm extending in a a half inviting, half demanding fashion. The boys exchanged excited glances, then eagerly headed out into the daylight.

She started directing them toward the nearest town when a loud creaking rang through the area, and she turned to see the flaming guard tower had burned for long enough to have lost its stability, and was toppling over. A couple of the boys screamed, and she gasped and lunged forward to where one such boy would surely be in the way when the wreckage made impact. She anchored herself as best she could by driving her heels into the ground, then raised her arms as she caught an enormous pillar of flaming wood in her bare hands, preventing it from crushing the child, who had dropped to his posterior and looked up with terror-filled, glassy eyes. She grimaced as the heat seared her before she mustered enough strength to toss the pillar aside, where it collided harmlessly against unoccupied ground. She dropped to one knee and inspected her hands, panting more from relief than from the physical exertion. Thankfully the burns were superficial, and likely wouldn't even leave any scarring.

The boys had gathered around her, more awe-struck than ever. The boy she had saved from being crushed, the youngest of the batch, rose to a stand and approached her, crouching down on both of his knees as he looked at her, teary-eyed. She returned his gaze, and the ferocity behind her own gaze subsided and gave way to a softer, more caring appearance.

It would only take a couple of days on foot to reach the nearest town if they stuck to the road, less if a military or merchant vehicle chanced upon them, though that had yet to happen as the road was seldom used. However, she doubted any of the illegal slave-hoarding miners would chance going near the road, for the off-chance of a military vehicle passing was still a chance. She had no choice but to let the men she had incapacitated roam free, even cutting the bindings from the man she had tied up, so that he wouldn't succumb to dehydration in the time it took for them to reach town and report the shady operation. It was a shame to let them free, but she had no resources available to do otherwise. It boiled down to either letting them go or killing them, and she wasn't keen on murdering people, even if they were terrible people; which they were.

After walking for several hours they had stopped to rest, each drinking from the water they had taken before leaving camp. She, meanwhile, wrapped her hands with white bandages from the medical supplies she kept handy in her large, black haversack. The pain had already petered off into a dull throbbing, and over the next few days they would blister, then ultimately heal. It was inconvenient, though when facing multiple men armed with knives, flamethrowers, and guns, it was decidedly trivial damage, all things considered. The youngest of the group, the six-year-old she had saved from being crushed, approached the log on which she sat. He looked at her hands, then into her eyes, seemingly puzzled.
"Mommy used to tell me gods couldn't be hurt."
She smiled warmly. "Everyone hurts every now and again. But I'm no god."
He seemed further confused, as if her taking out an entire camp of armed men and catching huge, flaming pillars weighing more than a ton with her bare hands contradicted her statement considerably. "What are you then, Lucy?"
"I'm just that, Peter. I'm Lucy."
He mulled over her answer and ultimately seemed pleased by it after some consideration, and he offered her a smile in which one of his missing front baby teeth left a silly, gaping hole. His young mind seemed to grasp the concept that if 'just Lucy' could perform such amazing feats, then perhaps 'just Peter' could one day, as well. He sat beside her on the log and mimicked her sitting pose, smiling all the while. Reaching over, Lucy ruffled his hair with a hand. He flailed and giggled.

It had been several days since she had dropped the eleven wayward children off to the authorities, and it stung her heart to see them go. As she suspected, most of them had been orphans, though two of them had actually been abducted from their legal guardians, and one was a run away. The orphans would be found proper homes, and had an opportunity at a normal life. Without even realizing it, one of her hands, then healed without scarring, as she had predicted, rose to gently clasp the locket at her breast, her fingers lovingly gliding over the smooth, silver metal. Snapping her mind back to the then and there, she removed a map from her haversack, plotting a course in her journey to nowhere in particular. She was already days away from the town she had dropped the boys off at, and appeared to be quite a ways away from any other surroundings which could pass for civilization. In the lush jungle she was alone with her thoughts, save for the buzzing of insects and distinct calls of tropical birds. She looked at the worn map for only a moment before folding it back up and raising her head.
"It's not easy to sneak up on me." she casually stated.
"No, with your Chi Sensory I imagine one does not get the drop on you very often. Though it wasn't at all my intention to sneak up on you, young lady."

The dignified voice made itself known as the provider appeared from behind a nearby growth of trees, approaching her slowly. He removed his black fedora out of respect, a thin smile upon his face as his tired, gray eyes locked with hers. Once he was within a reasonable speaking distance he stayed his ground. The fact that he had managed to get so close without her being able to sense his life force was strange to her, though not strange enough for her to immediately label him as an enemy. He didn't seem threatening in the slightest, although nor did he seem fit for the humid jungle, given his formal-looking attire and dark cape. Then of course there was his mention of her Chi Sensory, suggesting he knew something about her. The entire situation was quite strange.
She cocked her head to the side, raising an eyebrow in suspicious curiosity. "You came all the way out here to see me, right?"
"Correct."
"Who are you?"
He re-positioned his fedora back upon his head then. "My name is Emilius Hearth, and I am the representative of a greater power, m'lady. You may think of me as wearing the mantle of a recruiter, for the current situation, though my position entitles me to numerous responsibilities.
Given your talents and, more importantly, nature, you have been selected as a candidate for a very special team my superiors are assembling. I am here to offer you an audience with my superiors to determine your interest."

She stared at him in silence for a moment, then sighed and began to walk away. "I'm not interested." She informed him flatly. Others had attempted to recruit her to harness her power, and she had no intention of becoming the muscle for some organization. She fought for her own reasons, and no other.
He turned to her as she walked past him. "You have a genuine desire to help others, without thought of personal advancement. My superiors recognize that, and it holds more importance to your overall consideration than even the deity power you harness. When Multiverse Unlimited returns, it shall need champions who are so willing and eager to protect those who cannot protect themselves."
She stopped in her tracks, though didn't turn to face him. He knew a lot. In fact, he seemed to know more than any person should know.
"How do you know all of this?"
"My superiors' knowledge is quite comprehensive."
She turned toward him then, her expression stern. "Who are your 'superiors?'"
"Unfortunately, that I cannot say just yet. There is but a limited amount of information I can rightfully bestow upon you until you meet with them to discuss matters further."
"And they just want to talk, to try to convince me to join whatever this mega mystery team is?"
"That would be correct. And I can guarantee you that once you meet with them, all with become crystal clear."
She looked away then, inhaling deeply as she considered. Under normal circumstances she would have walked away immediately after she had informed him of her disinterest, though something kept her there. Be it intuition, a gut feeling, or whatever else, she couldn't be certain, but something inside of her held her to the spot. There was something in the works that felt bigger than herself, and she could sense it.
"I'll meet with your superiors," she informed him after looking him square in the eyes. She then raised a finger. "but if I don't like what they have to say, I walk."
He nodded and offered a small smile. "Excellent."
He took a step toward her then, fishing something from his inner breast pocket and extending it to her in offering. She inspected the object in his hand, looked to his face, then hesitantly took it. It was a highly polished, black orb. It was cool the touch, and felt more weightless than it appeared.
She looked from the orb to his face. "What is this?"
"Think of it as a key. You cannot enter where we need to go without one." And with that he turned away from her and headed back into the thicket of trees he had initially appeared from. She contemplated how smart she was being, but her continued gut feeling urged her onward despite her better judgment, and she followed him.

They didn't get far when he stopped abruptly and looked on expectantly, as though they had reached their destination. She also stopped, though all around them was nothing more than expansive jungle. There was no building, no waiting vehicle which would chauffeur them to their destination, no nothing. Although any of those things would be ridiculous out in the middle of the tropics, which further made her wonder just where they were headed. She was about to make a remark when she noticed a change in the space directly in front of Hearth. There was a strange distortion there, like heat vapors which morphed and contorted what could be seen behind it. A circular portal then materialized from thin air, a black-and-purple space-time anomaly which rotated and drained inward. It reminded her of what a black hole might look like, though it wasn't producing any suction, nor drawing in her, Hearth, nor anything else around them. Adjusting his shirt and hat, as if preparing to appear presentable to whomever awaited on the other side, the gentlemanly vassal entered through the portal, vanishing from sight. Swallowing hard, Lucy noticed a tingling sensation in the hand which clasped the orb he had given her. She rose it to eye level and peered into it, noting that it had changed from being black to clear, the interior looking like the starry night sky, and at its center a swirling vortex, not unlike the one before her. Lowering it, she held her breath, stepped forward, and passed through the portal.

End Chapter 2

Closing Notes:

• Special thanks to: Joe and Shauni, who have been immensely supportive throughout my bout of writer's block, and believing that chapter 2 would eventually come into being.

• All characters and scenarios contained within this chapter are the intellectual property of Collin Davis.