So how bad am I at updating? Well...this was supposed to be out for Halloween, lol. It was inspired by my great joy upon finally getting the witch skin for Mercy (YAY!), which I absolutely still have on, because I honestly feel like her other legendary skins are more or less bad, so I'm so glad we got that skin. Anyways...I think you get where this is headed. It is definitely unlike most additions to this collection will be, so there's your fair warning. (But honestly, I want diversity here, so I think it's a fun addition)
Thanks for all the great reviews I've gotten, and all the support in general. It helps a lot, so please keep it up. Enjoy!
By the time the moon was flowing into an upwards arc, Mercy had called it a night. From her bedroom window she saw the open sea spread before her, the reflection of the many illustrious stars dancing over the water in a spectacle for her to enjoy. Tonight's enjoyments would be cut short, however, when she was roused from her thoughts be her worst fears.
An unceremonious sniffling caught her ear and she moved her hand to her mouth. She tried again. While the pleasantly cool air flowed through her left nostril, the right was cut off. She put more effort into it, and the dreaded sniffling happened again. It was undeniable now: She was getting sick.
Her head plopped onto the pillows and she groaned as she pulled the covers tight. It was always a cruel irony when the medic was subject to illness. She wanted to lose it in the fluffy joy of her mattress, escape its symptoms in the bliss of good dreams...but germs did not cater nor pander to the wants of human beings.
She had taken preventative measures as soon as she could, but the damage had been done with the young private Kaplan.
"He needs immediate attention!" She had called to the orderlies, "Bring him to me quickly!"
The miraculous restoration was ignited by the end of her caduceus staff, and the soldier began coughing blood and heaving deep breaths. As she crouched down next to him, she kept her focus divided between him and the rush of oncoming wounded from the trenches just a hundred yards away.
"Move him to Donnovan!" She ordered, and her assistants compiled in fashion.
The private was still breathing deep, but he would be done in less than twenty seconds, assuming her aide could retrieve the bullets in time, otherwise he would be taped up and sent to await surgery. There was no time to delay the regrowth of his cells with damage so bad.
"She needs to see Martinez. Probable fracture in the knee too, don't overlook it!" She barked on, turning her eye once more briefly to the soldier under her care.
"No, not him. We've got a patient waiting with a collapsed lung with Rogers!"
It had finally occurred to her that Private Kaplan was trying to say something. She leaned in.
"Speak louder if you can," She urged with a gentleness she had learned to flip on and off by this time in her career.
She nodded to the questioning look the next aide gave her, and smiled at the assistant beside her who had retrieved the last of the bullets.
"I didn't catch that, say it one more-"
ACHOO!
His bloody spittle landed all over her face and she wiped it away with her wrist at once, but it left a foul stench and she was coughing deeply at once. She never did learn what he had to say, for she stood to full height and moved with a sway where she was needed most next. By the time she cleaned her face well and took a couple pills the seed had already been planted. And now here she was, doomed to be sick by morning.
Now she was subject to the precursor of illness: the dread of waiting to see how sick and in what forms she would find herself. Maybe it was just a bad cold. Maybe it was something he picked up in Egypt over the past few days. Perhaps it was something she couldn't begin to anticipate.
She moaned again, getting out of bed to grab all the essentials. Tissues, an inhalant to clear her nostrils, an empty bowl, a full glass of water, a rag, detergent wipes, and the fluffiest robe she had. Her plain t-shirt and pajama bottoms weren't going to hold up to the cold Gibraltar mornings.
Now there was only one more thing to accomplish before she could take a shot at getting some rest. Tomorrow morning there was a staff meeting, and she refused with every fiber in her being to wake up at 4:45 AM to be there right at 5 AM.
So she stepped up to the computer and started recording.
"Good morning," She put a collected and lukewarm voice on, but all she heard was a shaky throat, "As you may be able to tell, I've come down with something. I understand more than you can imagine how important it is that I be there for everyone, but I'm sure you can survive a day without me. Unless the sky starts falling down or we're going to be blown into orbit by the enemy, I'd advise any and everyone to stay away….don't find me, I'll find you."
She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts and giving the camera a hard stare for better effect.
"...Thank you," She finished.
She stopped the camera and sent a copy to all her aides, to the terminal at her door so that it would play before anyone had the chance to disturb her, and right to the officers' personal notification centers.
As she crawled back into bed she noted the oddity of a doctor being unable to stop a sickness once it had taken hold; they had done incredible things in the last few decades, especially in the fields of science and medicine, and yet this was something they had been unable, or perhaps simply neglected to, work at.
She needed to look at beautiful pictures, read her book, and gain her spirits back. She needed rest and a good night's sleep, a frail hope at best. She needed most especially to be left alone tomorrow. Now...how would it all play out?
The night was dark and cold and drizzling when she woke. Nothing seemed familiar to her, even her own hands as they graced her face. Slowly, it seemed the mists in her mind and the veil behind her eyes were lifting, and knew by instinct more than anything to look out into the darkness.
She saw much more than shadows through the falling rain. Far away she knew she was needed to work her talents, at a great reward to herself. Something was wrong, and only she could fix things.
The rain was torrential, unrelenting and bone chilling, but it hardly dazed her as she sped up into the night atop her broom. The large castle was not so big from this height and distance, but she could, see rather, that it would soon fall under siege. What had that bumbling idiot Junkenstein done now?
She flew in close and saw lines of the good doctor's mechanical slaves coming together behind the great fortress, but she landed on a balcony in the rear of the stronghold. She clutched her broom tightly in her right hand, and with her left she flung the barred doors open with ease. Her rage was coming out, and she needed to redirect it to more useful channels.
Junkenstein's minions attempted to hold her in place and apprehend her, quick fire spells made short work of them. She sighed frustratedly as she worked her way down the halls and soon into the throneroom. Junkenstein was muttering to himself in the high throne, at his feet gold and brown armor from a large knight lay dusty and disrespected. 'Balderich' was engraved on a plaque beside the empty space on the side of the throne room.
"What is going on!?" She demanded.
The doctor jumped out of the chair and stumbled onto all fours.
"What? Oh...the Wicked Witch of the Wild, what brings you here? You know what, nevermind, I'm glad you're here"
"I haven't been getting what you promised me, doctor, and I see the gift I've given you has been squandered."
"It's not what it looks like! I can explain! I...err.."
"Well?"
"I ran into complications. I didn't think they'd be a problem...but they've vanquished the Reaper, and my beautiful creation was almost obliterated."
"I see…"
"But they're almost dead, I'm wearing them down...maybe you could have your servant join with mine, and the four of us can squash this pathetic attempt to retake the castle. Eh?"
"You are pathetic, Jameson Junkenstein...but I have made an investment in you. I will see it through."
"Thank goodness, I think-"
"But if you fail again," The witch said with a delightful but somehow odious smile, drawing close to the doctor and grabbing his human hand with her own, "I will send the Reaper to vanquish you."
"I-I understand...of course, but-"
He screeched when her hand dashed to his crotch and squoze tightly, "And your monstrosity and all your metal contraptions will burn before you as I take your soul into my collection."
She released him and he fell to his knees, openly sobbing.
"I have preparations to make, keep the guests entertained until I am ready," She instructed, walking away.
She found a dark place, with a few candles she light with the swipe of her broom and a mirror she copied three times, so that one was on each wall.
"Rise," She spoke in her own language, often heard as something unnatural by the mortals she lived around, "rise with the heart of unholy vengeance, rise with the fires of my wrath, rise because I am your master and I command it."
She repeated the incantation thricefold, each time a mirror burned with a reddish-orange marking, and the last time the candle fire grew immensely. Her eyes had been closed at the first mutterings, but now she opened them and they glowed yellow with mystic power. And for a split second, she saw through the eyes of her tortured servant, and felt his pain. It was exquisitely dark, as she chose to keep it.
And she glimpsed the heroes who defied her servants, by spell or by word of mouth, interfering with her plans for this realm. It would not do, she decided, and saw them all in her mind's eye: the soldier, old and gray, experienced and tactful, along with the alchemist, an amateur magician with only basic insights into the mystic arts, in other words, a child compared to her; the yellow man with quiver full of arrows, perhaps slightly versed in the mystic ways of his homelands, but certainly not as powerful as the alchemist, and thus less of a threat. Lastly was the wanderer from the far west, cocky and sure handed, suited for a gun like the soldier. But guns were useless as paper to a witch of her caliber.
She spoke again in her native tongue, and her reflection dimmed in the mirrors as the candles once more glowed brightly, and the next instant she was gone along with her reflection.
Junkenstein was fiddling with a crude invention outside the walkway on the third story, below the archer positions on the top of the wall, but still above the castle portcullis. He once more jumped when she appeared.
"Gah! Don't do that!" He scolded, quickly finding a more appropriate tone, "please…"
"I am ready, play your part well, doctor."
He grinned and clutched a trigger in his hand, and the next instant his creature burst through the main gates, throwing his hook against the attackers.
The archer was caught, and pulled with superhuman strength towards the beast, but his bow and hands were quick, and the monster was blinded by arrows before his prey was within reach. The archer leaped atop the monster's head and saw the army of robotic minions marching towards him.
He backflipped away and showed his true worth: "Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!"
Mystic energy rushed from the arrow, wiping the army to bits and pieces, and further stunning the doctor's monster. It would have been a perfect opportunity for the small party to get into the castle, had the witch not sent her own pawn into play.
In the background, the soldier cried out warning to his allies as the Reaper reappeared. Junkenstein attacked with his contraption of primitive fire bursts, allowing his monster to regain itself. The archer scattered around the explosions, rejoining his party as the Reaper began to wear down and crumble away again.
She flew to him and gave him the flow of magical rejuvenation that made him hers, and revealed herself to the enemy.
"My servant never dies!" She warned, keeping the flow through her broom funneled into the Reaper's rotted skull.
"Die witch!" The alchemist shouted, sending a draught-laced dart towards her, which was easily stopped by the handle of her broom. The soldier let loose wild fire on her, all of which was absorbed and shot back at the group.
"Witch!? I'd use a different word myself, but it still rhymes," the gunslinger grumbled from behind his cover, Junkenstein and his monster racing towards the engagement, now a purely four on four.
"Ha ha! I told you, I told you all! Attacking me was a mistake! It was your last, in fact!" the deranged doctor shouted, spewing more bursts of fire chaotically.
"This is for the Lord you murdered!" the soldier shouted back, jumping from behind cover and sending explosions of his own at the doctor, who shrunk away in fear, but did not move. The witch did not need him alive, and did nothing.
The monster, however, was quite protective of his father, and bore the attack on his large chest. He roared angrily as the Reaper phased through the archer's arrows and advanced.
"Ha ha! I am the master of this realm! Me! Jameson - what!?"
Another of the alchemist's darts found the monster's throat and his roar turned into a gurgled moan, and he fell onto his face.
"How dare you!? I'll blow you all to-"
The gunslinger was quick, and his aim was true. Altogether a false victory for them, and less work for the witch. So the doctor fell with a cry of shock, his proud contraptions bursting all around him and consuming his cold body in fire.
"Oh, doctor," The witch whispered as she faced his burning corpse, "you never did see the truth of things, did you?"
"Now then, bitch," the gunslinger said, "you're next!"
He unleashed many bullets, but she broke the connection to her servant and spun the broom around, gathering the energy around her and moving it into the way. There was a bright yellow burst, and the bullets scattered onto the ground, while the gunslinger was shoved onto his back.
A fast fire spell shoved him back down and burned out his cloak and shirt as he attempted to jump back up. The next time, however, she did not expect the flash of light he threw in her face, and he got back to his feet and raised his firearm again.
She mounted her broom and flew up into the night, drawing his fire while his friends worked down the Reaper and the Monster stirred in his rest. The Alchemist attended to his burn wounds as he took his aim; a few shots came shockingly close, and she revised her strategy. She swiped in low and took the archer from behind, nailing him with her broom handle and sending a spell down on him to be sure.
The alchemist rushed over as the witch moved straight, giving the gunslinger what he thought was a good shot, until she dropped off the broom and floated down quickly. Her spell flew fast, but his bullet was already in the air.
They miraculously collided and the fire burst like an egg in a hand, incinerating everything it came in contact with, including the witch's upper garment. Her spells protected her body, but the cloth sizzled away into ash, exposing her breasts.
Like most men, the gunslinger was addicted to women, whether he acknowledged it or not. His aim and resolve wavered for half a second, if that, but it was enough. His shot flew and she simply grabbed the alchemist with her magic and flung her in the path. She just barely made it in time.
She was dead as she hit the ground, and the gunslinger cried out in disbelief.
Then it was his turn to cry out as the awakened monster's hand grabbed him by the head and pulled. The Reaper was felled, but the soldier's triumph was short lived as he surveyed the landscape.
The witch moved her hand upwards and a yellow glow consumed the Reaper's body, bringing it back up and cleansing the damage. The monster charged the soldier wildly, but the witch stopped it with her broom.
The yellow spell slowed him, and then stopped him, and the rage that it felt over his father's death was taken and turned into the witch's tool. And now that she had two beside her, the soldier knelt down to one knee, and began muttering something to himself.
"Like these two, you show promise. Surrender yourself to me, and I will spare you the pain," The witch enticed, shoving her exposed chest forward on the chance the soldier was like most men.
"Go to hell…" He said bitterly, refusing to look upon her.
"Very well…" She said, with some small genuine sadness, raising her hand again as her servants, old and new alike, stood blankly and watched.
"Angela!"
Mercy shot up like she'd sat on a tack. Jack was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"What?" She asked, suddenly realizing she was still sick. Then realizing the nature of her dream.
He did not look happy. If only he knew what she'd thought of him just a few moments ago.
"You get one day. Rest well, but not so much that you neglect the paperwork I left for you."
She sank back into the mattress, warm from her body heat, and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the redness on her cheeks was not there.
"Yes, boss," She answered drolly.
He stood up and moved to exit, but stopped in the doorway.
"I...want you know that you deserve more days off. You do a great job here."
"Thank you…" She answered, eyes now open and looking to the man in the doorway.
"Rest well. See you tomorrow."
He exited like that, and she was alone again. What a pity it was.
"Thank you…"