1.5
Allfather strode across the warehouse. Sleeping Merchants groaned with pain as he trod on them, but he ignored them. One man woke as Allfather's heavy boots ground into his chest. The man wheezed out a litany of curses, clutching feebly at Allfather's boot. Allfather would have put him to the sword, but he knew Taylor was watching.
Outside the warehouse, the sun was just peeking over the horizon, and the night's chill was leaving the air. The area had changed significantly since he was alive. Gang signs- an 'M' with two vertical lines through it like a dollar sign, were everywhere. Judging by the collage of gray-white squares on most of the buildings, the residents had just gotten tired of covering them up after a while.
And then there were the people. He'd seen dozens of homeless on his way in with Taylor. Huddled in doorframes or alleyways, almost indistinguishable from their own filth. That Kaiser would tolerate their existence- that he would allow members of his own race to fall so low was an atrocity.
An engine roared, and he came back to the situation. The Merchant capes. Squealer had hauled herself into the cab of her vehicular monstrosity. Smoke belched thickly out of the machine's multiple exhausts as she revved it into life. The other two capes were running down the street, trying to get away.
More gutter trash. The three capes were white, but the some of the most utterly degenerate forms of it he'd ever seen. Whether they were a product of breeding with lesser races, or symptoms of a society in freefall were unimportant. What mattered was that they hadn't been dealt with.
Parahumans were an integral asset to running the Empire. And yet here were three white capes- maybe they were filth, but they were white, and they were capes. Three white capes that hadn't joined the Empire.
Utterly unacceptable.
Another one of Kaiser's failings to maintain order.
Allfather's grip tightened around his sword hilt. There would be a reckoning. That was for certain.
He moved toward the Merchant capes with strong, confident strides. With a thought, swords bloomed from nothing. The air rippled as blades pierced through it, until an armory's worth of swords hovered behind him like wings.
The reckoning would come.
A short time later, Allfather stood with his boot planted on the back of Mush's skull. The Merchant moaned quietly into the tarmac. Allfather considered that a good sign. It meant that the man could actually breathe under the mountain of trash and dirt that currently covered him.
While he wouldn't choose trash-golem creation or whatever Mush's power was, he couldn't deny that the Merchant cape had put up one hell of a fight. He'd lifted- actually lifted Squealer's tinker truck. The damn thing had to weigh as much as a tank, and Mush had thrown it at him.
He'd speculate on why Mush hadn't been pressganged into the Empire, but it irked him that his thoughts were becoming a broken record. Another thing Kaiser had failed at. One more error in judgment by his worthless son. Yet again, Max drops the ball. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
He decided just to chalk the entire sorry state of Brockton Bay up to Kaiser and be done with it. It was short-sighted and childish to do, but it tempered his rage slightly.
Beating down Mush had helped also.
He checked the remaining Merchant capes one final time. Moist had escaped early in the fight. The man had just walked into a puddle and vanished. It still galled Allfather. How disgustingly cowardly would the man have to be to leave his comrades behind? Moist would find himself on the end of a sword when Allfather next saw him.
The other two were as he'd left them. Mush was staked to the ground, enough swords through his trash body that he looked like a pin-cushion. Squealer was nailed to the side of her truck in the same fashion. She was barely injured. He'd struck her lightly- with his open fist and she'd whined for the rest of the fight about how he'd 'broke her fucking face.'
He'd pulled his punches for both of them. He'd avoided stabbing Mush anywhere he thought the man's physical body would be, and Squealer was only held in place by swords through her clothes. No sense wasting valuable resources by killing them.
And they were valuable. Not just in the way that all capes were valuable, but in that they were strong. Mush's armor was tough and durable, and the trash-man had been loyal enough to back up Squealer even when she'd previously tried to kill him.
Squealer was… well, Allfather had an idea of where she'd gotten her name. And she was obviously a junkie. It didn't change the fact that the woman had built a working battle vehicle out of junk parts. One with enough gun turrets to reduce a good part of the street to smoking slag during the fight.
They could be brought around with some effort, or they could leave the city.
Simple as that. Just like the good ole days.
Granted, the 'good ole days' felt like yesterday to him, but he had a sense of how much time had passed. The city had changed. The city had decayed. Normally, that'd lead him into a spiel about Kaiser's failings, but he was really just dismayed at the whole thing.
Twelve years. Twelve years and Brockton Bay had stagnated all the while. Taylor understood in her own way, but she was a child. There was no way she'd comprehend what it was like to see the ruination of your life's work. That he'd return to find everything he'd worked so hard for had come to nothing.
For the second time that day, the sound of an engine roused him from his thoughts.
"Oh shit. We're so fucked now. It's the PRT!" Squealer moaned.
The sound grew closer; loud and powerful. A motorcycle, he thought. A moment later, his guess was confirmed as the bike roared around a corner. The machine rolled smoothly to a stop a safe distance away from them. Allfather shielded his eye from the blinding headlights, trying to see who the rider was.
The rider dismounted and walked forward slowly, silhouetted by the lights. That was a clever tactic; it was basically fighting with the sun to your back. This was someone used to controlling the field of battle.
Allfather walked to the side, out of the headlights' path. The rider came into focus, and Allfather stared.
The man wore a full suit of power armor, dark blue and silver, and more intricate than Allfather had ever seen. The only bit of skin he could see was the lower half of the man's face; he appeared Caucasian. With a flick of his wrist, the rider deployed a… it was a halberd. It looked like something out of a space opera, but it was essentially a halberd. His stance was neutral, but Allfather could sense a readiness in the man.
He couldn't stop himself from smiling. Here was a warrior. That he could just look at the newcomer and know that was promising. Perhaps not all the contemporary capes were degenerates after all.
"Identify yourself!" The man barked.
Allfather pulled one of the loose swords embedded in the ground and saluted the man. It was not the salute he'd given Taylor, but the salute one knight gave another.
"Allfather. To whom do I owe this honor?"
The man started slightly, but hid his surprise well. "Allfather died years ago."
"I know. And yet here I am. Will you introduce yourself, hero?" Allfather said.
"Is this supposed to be a joke? Something to stir up Kaiser?"
Allfather remained silent. The man stared at him for a long moment.
"Really?" He sighed exasperatedly. "… Armsmaster. Leader of the Protectorate East-North-East division."
Allfather nodded his acknowledgement. Not just any hero, but the head of Brockton's branch of the PRT. Very promising indeed.
"No. I'm not here to agitate Kaiser." He said. "I'm here to take his head and take back my throne."
Armsmaster's grip tightened around his halberd. "I don't know who you really are, but I'm not going to let that happen." He glanced at the two Merchant capes. "What about them?"
"I would hope they would join my Empire. The struggle for the white race is the duty of all whites after all. And if not, they are free to leave my city unharmed. Just as I've always done."
"I don't think so. They're under arrest, and you're coming in for questioning." Armsmaster said.
Armsmaster widened his stance and lowered his halberd. Allfather raised his sword in response. If his heart was beating, he knew it'd be pounding with excitement. Squealer and Mush had been exhilarating, but to face this Armsmaster in single combat was truly perfect.
"Don't disappoint me, Armsmaster."
Their blades met in a clash of metal. They deadlocked there, testing the other's strength and skill. Armsmaster shifted, putting his weight behind his halberd. Allfather's blade held for only a moment after that. With Armsmaster's full force on the halberd, it sliced cleanly through Allfather's sword. Allfather stumbled backward, laughing all the way.
"Impressive!"
He tossed the ruined sword aside, summoning a new one to hand. Armsmaster paused.
"That's Allfather's ability." Armsmaster said. His mouth quirked into a frown. "Attention Console. Possible Trump Scenario. Requesting immediate backup at my location."
Allfather laughed again. "A Doubting Thomas, I see. Is it so unlikely that I'm the real Allfather?"
"Yes."
Allfather's attack was slower this time; more deliberate. He probed Armsmaster's defenses, getting a feel for how the other man moved. His downward stroke was met with a parry off the angled haft of the halberd, leaving him open to a counter. Armsmaster swung his blade in a tight arc and cut a long gash in Allfather's pauldron.
"Good." Allfather said. "Very good."
He up-ed the intensity of his attacks, flicking his sword with all the speed and force he could muster. Armsmaster began to get pushed backward, shifting into the defensive under the onslaught. The only thing keeping Allfather from totally overwhelming the hero was his halberd. It ruined anything that hit the blade. At the end of each combo, Allfather had to throw his weapon aside and call a new one.
Armsmaster caught an attack under the hook of his halberd and drove both weapons into the ground. Allfather's sword was pinned there. Armsmaster took advantage of the opening and seized the front of Allfather's armor. Instantly, a powerful electrical current blasted through him, rocking him backward.
It did not hurt, Allfather realized. He understood that he was injured, but the sensation of pain was completely absent. That was… disappointing. He'd have to see if Taylor could turn his pain back on. A warrior ought to be able to feel his battle wounds.
"Built-in taser?" He asked.
Armsmaster grinned wolfishly. "Yep."
The hero's expression of triumph turned into shock when Allfather grabbed his wrist. He was stronger than Armsmaster, and they both knew it. He lifted him off the ground and threw him against Squealer's truck. Armsmaster hit hard, but caught himself on one of the embedded swords.
Armsmaster's halberd was behind Allfather now. He stepped aside, holding out a hand to the fallen weapon.
"Go on. Pick up it up and face me."
"Why?" Armsmaster didn't move. He had his armored fists raised.
"Because that is how I choose to fight. Man to man."
Armsmaster pulled something from a compartment on his armor. With a twist, it sprouted into a long rod, deploying a heavy blade on the end. A second halberd. Allfather wanted to laugh. This Armsmaster was a delight.
He drew a new sword, preparing to meet Armsmaster in combat again, when there was a noise from behind him. He dodged to the side on instinct, and was sent flying as something hit him like a speeding bus. He tumbled 20 feet down the street before he caught himself.
That odd, alien feeling of not-pain told him that his arm was likely broken. The bones grated together as he stood. Not painful, but very, very uncomfortable. Definitely something to talk to Taylor about.
There were people standing by Armsmaster now. On one side, a young woman. Her suit glowed like there was a current running through it. On the other, a well-built man in a visor.
Disappointing. Very disappointing. His fight with Armsmaster was being interrupted.
"…imitates other parahumans, possibly. Let's go with Stranger protocols. If he's not acting, he's taking on their personality. He might be able to copy one of us." Armsmaster was saying something to the duo.
The man spoke. "Battery hit him pretty hard and he didn't show it. You think he's a Brute?"
Armsmaster nodded. "Almost certainly. That's not power armor, and he's too fast and strong to be a baseline."
"Will you introduce your associates?" Allfather called.
Armsmaster ignored him. He turned to the duo. "Formation Delta, Battery leads. Use that truck if you can. Hit him hard before he copies someone else. We don't need another Alexandria."
The trio of heroes fanned out, and Allfather summoned swords. Not the single weapons he'd used in his duel with Armsmaster, but the orbiting swarm of weapons he'd beaten Mush and Squealer with. Swords grew from nothing, pushing free from the air and whirling around him in a cloud.
Armsmaster hurled something at him. He shot a sword at it, but missed. It landed at his feet and the world went white. Not-pain lanced through his eye and he tried in vain to shield himself from the flashbomb's glaring rays. He staggered, too disoriented to keep his balance.
Only by planting a sword in the ground did he stay upright. He blinked away spots, his vision clearing rapidly, just in time to see Battery lift Squealer's truck over her head. Armsmaster was pulling Mush and Squealer away, zip-tying them further down the street. Allfather fired his batch of swords. His aim was clumsy at range. They pierced into the truck's armored hide, but missed Battery.
He called another batch of blades, just as the man positioned himself behind Battery. He made the new batch as big as he could. The swords that grew were gigantic, too big even for him to lift. They were still inside his range though, so he could control them. They picked up speed, spinning faster and faster around him like a propeller.
Battery glowed like the sun as she hefted the truck, and then threw it. The man leapt up behind her and drove his foot into the vehicle. Allfather had only an instant to angle his swords into a shield. The tinker truck moved at speeds no vehicle was meant to move. Not so much thrown as fired at him like a bullet.
It felt like the sky fell on him.
Distantly, he felt his body shatter, his armor rent in too many places to count. There was still no pain, but the sheer force of the impact was mind-numbing. There was heat as well. A furious, molten heat. That did not hurt either, but it was all too much.
Too much.
Overwhelming…
He grasped blindly for anything to hold onto.
His link with Taylor shone like a star in a void.
His store of energy was depleted. All but empty.
The link pulsed once, and life flowed along it.
Her energy trickled into his ruined body.
She was giving him another chance.
He opened his eye.
The world was on fire. He lay in the middle of a crater. The flaming hulk of Squealer's truck was all around him. His armor was red hot; parts of it were literally melting into his skin. He rolled over, and slowly pushed himself to his feet.
His skin pulled away from the meat where his armor pulled on it. His body was in an immense amount of not-pain. That did not bother him.
What bothered him was the connection. His link to Taylor was gone. In its place was a small reservoir of energy. Just pushing himself to his feet chipped off little bits of the energy.
He did not have long before he ran out.
Tentatively, he pulled on the store of power, and his head cleared.
Allfather stretched, and drew a sword to support himself. Using the weapon like a cane, he staggered out of the crater.
The trio of heroes stood down the street from him. The two Merchants were next to them, still tied up. He could hear sirens in the distance.
Armsmaster was speaking into a phone. "… a cleanup crew. … the tinker truck reacted adversely… don't know if he's alive."
Battery turned, and said something to the man next to her. All three of them were looking at him now.
"Ho-lee shit." The man said.
Allfather took a moment to catch his breath, metaphorically speaking- he didn't breathe. But he still stopped to gather his thoughts and energy before he acted. There was no way he could take all three of the heroes in a fight, especially if the woman was as powerful as she appeared. He needed to get Taylor and leave.
He began walking toward the warehouse. His steps grew smoother as he went. Whether that meant his body was repairing itself, or he was just getting the hang of being mangled, he wasn't sure.
The heroes didn't move, looking unsure of what to do.
"Are you sure he's not dead?" Battery said.
"I can't tell. He didn't have life signs to begin with." Armsmaster replied. "I'm wondering if he's a projection of some kind."
Allfather made it almost to the door of the warehouse before something else went wrong. The door swung open wildly, rebounding off the wall. A black man stepped out; he was carrying someone over one shoulder. He stared around the street at the bizarre scene.
"The fuck is all this?!" The man shouted.
"Skidmark!? Skiddy, you're alive!" Squealer shrieked.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" Skidmark roared. "I'm dead thirty goddamn seconds and everything goes to shit! First this ghost bitch shows up-" Skidmark dropped the person he was carrying to the street.
Allfather didn't hear the rest. The person Skidmark had dropped was Taylor. She was limp, her eyes closed. The nigger had done something to Taylor. Allfather snarled behind his visor. The fucking ape had hurt Taylor!
"-and you're fighting some Kaiser looking motherfucker and-" Skidmark's sentence ended abruptly as Allfather took his head off. The severed head rolled into the warehouse. Skidmark's body swayed for a second, before toppling over.
"I'm not Kaiser." Allfather said, smirking.
As he watched, the body dissolved, fading away like smoke in the wind. Convenient. If only all niggers were that considerate…
Allfather reached for Taylor. He needed to get her out of here. If the nigger could hurt her, other people might be able to as well, and he was in no condition to protect her.
His fingertips had barely brushed her when he realized something critical. He was out of energy. The small store Taylor had sent him was gone. His movements slowed, and he felt himself fading away. Just like Skidmark had.
Bit by bit, pieces of him vanished. His extremities went first. The change accelerated as it went, until it swept across his body in a terrible wave.
The effect spread up his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his neck, his-
He thought of Caroline.