(A/N: Hello! This is a story idea that's had my muse at gunpoint these last few days and I need to get something done about it lest it ruin my productivity. Enjoy!)
The rhythmic crash of the ocean was a sound familiar to most in Brockton Bay, yet still refreshing to hear whenever I passed alongside the grey tides. I trailed a long gaze over the water, the PRT ENE headquarters shining like a bastion upon the waves as dusk neared, unbothered by the choppy winter waters below. With a gentle pat on my back I turned to Sam, wheeling alongside the linebacker with concern riddling his features.
"Bones aching? We can go home if it's too much," Sam asked.
"No, I'm good. It's… not bad today," I told him, ignoring the flare of pain at shooing his hand away. Pain was an old friend, one I intended on ghosting as often as I could. "Besides, when else will I get to see Mads the Magician? Cape clowns are awesome!"
"Yeah, like heroes are awesome, and villains are awesome, and parahumans in general are-"
"Alright, alright, I get it, I'm a cape nerd!" I joked, bumping my fist on his arm. We continued our verbal joust as we weaved through the sparse crowd on the Boardwalk's storefront. Most of the people who would be walking and dining at the boardwalk around this time were at the pier, watching grand displays of light visible from miles away.
Mads The Magician was part of a traveling troupe of circus rogues, and like most of his troupe members often avoided fights, opting to help in other ways. Any proceeds they earned were gifted to charity, in addition to whatever other donations made their way into the circus. The troupe was by far one of the strangest cape teams I'd ever read about, but I believed it was worth the trip out, even against Sam's and my parents' wishes.
"Imagine if I got powers, you could be my guy in the chair, telling me where to go and listening to police scanners. We'd be like those old comics my dad keeps around," Sam said, placing his hands behind his dark hair and leaning back.
"Yeah right, says the jock in a letterman. You'd sooner make the NFL than be a cape," I jested.
"Ouch, you wound me," he smirked.
"If anything, we'd both trigger, and you'd be the Ben to my Reed-" I began, cut off by something in the distance. It wasn't the lightshow at the pier, now only a small distance away before us. No, it was a sound, steadily growing louder.
I searched around, Sam bringing his hands to his sides and looking around with me, trying to find the sound as well. I noticed the Boarwalk's enforcers putting hands to their hips or in suit jackets, glancing for the growing sound. Soon enough, the low sound began to grow in volume, a low rumble growing to a choppy growl, accompanied by distant sirens and pops. I locked eyes with my friend as we realized the same thing. Squealer.
I let Sam take the handles of my chair and wheel me towards a prize vending stall, the employee letting us inside and quickly closing the security screen. Sam helped me out of my wheelchair and set me on the ground, pulling myself over the edge and peering at the street, now bereft of civilians. I noted the enforcers taking cover in alleyways or behind other stalls, preparing for Squealer's assault. What came next surprised all parties.
Where Squealer went, she was usually accompanied by a small flotilla of Tinkertech junkers and several PRT and police vans. Anyone caught in a fight with squealer around often found it a very unhealthy place to be. Today, however, bore something different. A large, blocky multi-wheeled vehicle tore around the corner, a flaming figure clinging onto the front. The local security began to open fire, deafening me with the cacophony of gunshots. I ducked and covered my ears, looking back once the gunshots subsided somewhat. Peering over the edge of the stall's counter, I saw Squealer live up to her name and sharply turn her large vehicle to the side, throwing the flaming man off the elongated hood.
Now that I had a better look at the vehicle, it seemed to have several unnecessary lines and bulky parts, with four wheels on the front half and a rear trailer connected with a large tank cannon mounted on top. The tank swiveled its cannon toward the flaming man, quickly growing in size and now very recognizably Lung. I heard a quiet "Oh, shit," to my right, the vendor employee cowering in a corner under some plushes and Sam wide-eyed at the scene before us. I looked back, blood chilling as I saw a little blonde girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, standing on the sidewalk. She was petrified, and very much in the middle of the growing warzone.
I glanced at Sam, transfixed at the cape fight, then to my wheelchair, but neither option would make it in time. With a grunt of effort, I pushed myself to my legs, bones aching at the strain. I barely had time to consider my actions or why the girl had suddenly appeared from nowhere when I'd already unlocked the stall's door and hobbled out. I quickened my gait as I rushed for the girl, counting the distance as I hobbled forward. Thirty feet. Twenty. Then, ka-THUMPF!
The shock from the tank's cannon pushed me to the ground, my arms screaming as I caught myself. Dazed, I looked around, the sounds of the world replaced by a loud ringing.
I felt a tug at my shoulder, flipping over to Sam screaming something at me. Tears streaked down his face, a mixture of anger and fear. His words couldn't pierce that damned ringing, instead opting to carry me. Sam dragged me upwards and placed one of my arms around my shoulder, trying to get me back to the stall, to safety. I shook him off, turning around and seeing the girl beginning to back away, but it was too slow, she was too, slow, Lung, he was…
Lung was massive, his growth exploding as he regenerated half his torso, tendons, bones, scale-covered skin reforming a muscular arm, all in front of my eyes. Where before was a fiery, mishapen man now stood the Dragon, roaring in anger as he set his gaze on Squealer's tank, cannon smoking.
Where Lung stepped, asphalt melted, cooling as he stepped away and leaving the road uneven. Looking at the girl, I saw once again she was petrified, her arms splayed out in front of her. Lung reared back bringing his arms forward in a motion I recognized from recordings of his fights.
I bolted, stumbling at first and recoubering as a surge of adrenaline pumped into my system and dulled the pain the pain. For a moment, I thanked whatever gods were out there that I only had weakness of the bone. Ten feet. Five. Three. I wrapped my arms around the girl and twisted, catching her off guard. I got a glimpse of her face, surprise and… anger? I couldn't catch all of it as I released her, rolling several times on the ground when she landed. She'd be scraped, but she'd live. I placed a foot behind me as I finished the motion to steady myself, my stomach dropping to my knees when I felt it give.
Pain like I hadn't felt in a long time shot up my leg, a scream piercing my blasted eardrums. Mine, I realized, breathing heavily as I collapsed, a warm feeling emanating from more parts of my body. I groaned and turned myself over, the pain dulling as I put an arm under my torso to try and move, anywhere, somewhere. I pushed myself up just a few inches, screaming, but it was all I needed to see the rest of my life flash before me.
A wall of fire, searing white approached, emitted by the Dragon of Brockton Bay, encroaching in slow motion. So this is how I die. On the ground writhing in pain. At least I'd be a hero. At least…I did something.
As the wall of flame reached me, I felt a flash of pain. Then, there was nothing.
Far, far away, upon a realm of primordial essence, a Dragon stirred. He felt something amiss. He looked to one side, and another, and saw something, something that should not be yet…is.
Interesting.
(A/N: After some feedback, I should clarify a few things. The MC will be a Khajiit. To those of you who have an issue with that, hear me out. To those who won't, goodbye. I didn't choose Khajiit because of that reason. As a creative fiction writer, it's my job to create and resolve conflict. And considering the theme of the story and what I personally hope to achieve with it, hopefully you'll come to see it. I chose Khajiit because it would create the most personal and interpersonal conflict for the MC's character, and coincides with the theme I've chosen. To those of you who still have an issue with that, that's fine. Not all literature is for everyone. To those of you staying, let the journey begin.)
