Sorry that this has taken so long, I've been a bit busy recently. I'm going to try to switch to a monthly upload schedule, however, although as ever we'll see how that goes.
As always, I hope you enjoy.
"The thing with torture," Luna said, "Is that you have to be careful."
She ran her fingers over the bare chest of her Fallen captive and he trembled, a quavering sob leaving his shaking lips. She sighed, tapping her knife against his collarbone.
"Shh, sweetheart. Shh. Don't cry yet."
She trailed her fingers up his chest, over his neck and to his jaw, the battered leather of her new gloves rasping softly against his stubble. The man whimpered again, but she didn't shush him this time.
"There's a delicate balance," she continued, "Between hurting someone enough that they tell you all their secrets, and hurting them so much that they tell you whatever you want to know. One is useful: one is worthless. And everybody has a different tolerance! It's more art than skill, really, but I like to think that I'm alright at it."
Luna paused, looking down at her captive. He was a handsome enough man, she supposed, with defined cheekbones and a sharp jaw. His dark blonde hair was darkened further with sweat and a trickle of blood from being beaten to the ground when he had been captured, and the way it hung around his head was almost artful. Luna sighed.
"But now that I've told you all that, before we get started, I might as well ask. Where is your leader at? What's his name- Father and the True Sons? Tell me where they are and I'll let you go."
There was a faint snort from her left, where Cynthia was tending- for a given value of 'tending'- to their other prisoner.
"You'd really let him go?" Cynthia asked. Luna shrugged.
"I've got no use for him, might as well. So what do you say, uh, Donny? Why don't you spare yourself the pain and just talk?"
Donny- Luna was fairly sure that was his name- looked up and made a visible effort to stiffen his trembling lip. Luna raised an eyebrow at him and he set his jaw in weak defiance.
"Go to hell," he hissed, spitting in her general direction. Luna shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
She spun the knife in her hand, twirling it into an ice-pick grip, and slammed it down onto the table that Donny's hands were tied to. He shrieked in pain as the blade went through skin and bone and muscle, slicing the littlest finger off his left hand and burying itself into the wood. Blood sprayed and Luna watched it paint pale, cheap wood red for a heartbeat before she reached over, plucking a heated poker from a tiny, home-made forge and pressing it to the minor wound. Fresh howls filled the air, mixing with the sizzle of meat and the stench of burned flesh and Luna rolled her eyes, replacing the hot iron. She gave him a minute to scream and sob before she brought her hand up and cracked it across the side of his face.
"Quiet! For crying out loud, man, we've barely even begun!"
Donny choked off a cry, sniffling, and Luna shook her head in disgust.
"Obviously you're not one of those strong and silent types, are you? Well, that's fine too."
Luna walked around the table, pulling her knife out of the wood with a quick heave.
"See, Donny, I'm a simple girl at heart. I can't run this city with you Fallen here, causing all sorts of trouble. I just…need you gone. But to do that I need to get my hands on your Father, whatever he's called. And to do that, I need you to tell me where he is. Do you see my predicament here, Donny?"
Donny didn't answer, too busy sobbing and slobbering snot and tears everywhere. Luna felt her lips twist in disgust and shoved her knife under his chin, levering his face up with the blade.
"I said, do you see my predicament, Donny?"
"Yes!" he cried, "Yes, yes, I see it!"
"There we go," Luna said gently, retracting the knife and gently patting his head, "That was easy, wasn't it? It's so much easier when you co-operate, Donny."
At least the tears had mostly stopped, although Donny was still sniffling. Luna patted his head again.
"Now. In the interests of clear communication, I think we're going to have to address what I'm going to do from now on. Assuming, Donny, that you don't tell me where I can find your Father- and I'll be able to find out if it's true, I assure you- then I'm going to proceed like this. Firstly, Donny, I'm going to break and amputate every one of those little fingers of yours."
As she spoke Luna tapped her knife against each finger in turn, hearing Donny squeak with fear. She chuckled, drawing the knife away before continuing.
"And then, if you still haven't spoken, I'm going to do the same to your toes. And if that doesn't work- well, if that doesn't work I'm going to take one of the many, many insects that are close by- I can control insects, did you know? It's not the strongest power, but it has it's uses. Just like now…when I'm going to take an ant, or a beetle, or an earwig and I'm going to have it crawl into your ear canal…"
Luna trailed her hand up the side of Donny's face, smiling so he could see her, walking her fingertips across his flesh.
"And then I'm going to let it chew until it's chewed through your eardrum. The pain will be…exquisite. And if that still doesn't work then, well, I'm going to get creative."
She smiled at him again and she was fairly sure that if he hadn't pissed himself already he would have done so now.
"So, Donny," she said, "Why don't you tell me where I can find your boss and make it so much easier on all of us?"
He looked up at her, snuffling, and blinked.
"You'll- if I tell you, you'll let me go?"
Luna shrugged.
"Sure. Once I know you're telling the truth you can go your merry way. I'll even give you some cash to keep you on the road. But before any of that, tell me."
He told her.
Luna glanced at Cynthia and jerked her head towards the door. The woman followed her out, her lips pursed.
"You're really going to let him go?" she asked. Luna shrugged.
"His life means nothing to me."
"A little less cryptic?"
Luna shrugged.
"I don't care if he lives or dies. If he lives fine, it makes me look good because I keep my promises. But if you really want him, feel free."
Cynthia considered it. Luna wondered if she would take the offer- Cynthia was, of all her rescued and recruited members, the one with the most fury burning in her soul. She'd proven implacably hostile to the Fallen, avenging every injury done to her at their hands with a zeal that would have been almost frightening if Luna hadn't been…well, herself. As it was, Luna was more than happy to indulge Cynthia's violent streak in exchange for her loyalty and surprising shrewdness. She was an excellent second in command and Luna was willing to sacrifice every member of the Fallen if that was needed.
"Nah," Cynthia said with a shrug, "I guess you're right. I'll ask the others if they want him, but otherwise…I don't know him. He didn't do anything to me."
"You're building up to something," Luna said. Cynthia smiled, slow and dangerous.
"I want Father. I want to kill him, Luna. I want to peel his skin off inch by inch and salt the raw flesh! I. Want. Him."
"If we can take him alive, he's all yours," Luna promised, "Can't offer more than that."
Cynthia nodded.
"And the other one?"
Luna just raised an eyebrow at her and Cynthia nodded again.
"Right, right," she said, the words coming out as a breath, "His life means nothing to you. I think I know him, though. Matilda knows him, I think."
"Knows him, or knows him?"
Cynthia wrinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes.
"The second."
Luna tossed her knife in the air, watching it rotate twice before it slapped back into her palm.
"You know what we do with rapists."
She tossed the knife again, watching it circle, and Cynthia snatched it out of the air.
"You're going to check the information that Donny gave?" she asked. Luna nodded distractedly, hearing the faintest whisper taint the air behind her.
"Yes," she said, "Keep the other one unharmed until I get back, won't you? If Donny was lying to me I want to…demonstrate my displeasure."
She called on her Swarm and they moved as one, shuffling and skittering in the shadows to drown out the whispers of the Warp. It was getting louder, she thought as she left Cynthia to menace their captives and made her way out into a rainy night, more insistent. She still couldn't reach out to it, it shied away whenever she tried, but the whispering. It was maddening, and her Swarm was getting worse and worse at drowning out the noise. Worse, she didn't know what she could do about it. Luna patted through her pockets for some change and took a bus, sliding into a seat at the back and resting her head against the cool glass of the window. The city was nervous, she thought, looking out through rain-smeared glass into the darkness. Not that they could be blamed, entirely: Luna's as-yet unnamed band had struck several heavy blows to the Fallen and the Fallen were coming out in force. Other, smaller groups had been emboldened, there were frequent clashes in the streets between Fallen enforcers and the braver criminal gangs and anyone with sense had to know that Luna was just waiting for her moment to strike. They were probably expecting some kind of big event, a showdown between all the heaviest hitters.
Luna was most of the way towards building a bomb.
The fact was that the Wards she'd rescued from the Fallen were…well, they weren't powerful. Cynthia had one of the strongest powers, and it was very, very basic pyrokinesis, just generated from her feet. Her whole fighting style as a Ward had to be built around it, and Luna hadn't been surprised to see her shift to knives and guns without batting an eye. And this was her stop.
Luna slid past a group of young men who were trying far too hard to look unconcerned and stepped back into the night, her boots splashing in a puddle. She grimaced faintly, but she'd made the decision to go and steal some actual good quality boots a week ago and it paid off now. Wet socks would have been the worst. Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her pocket, tucking it against her head. She called her Swarm a little stronger, to avoid being taken by surprise while talking.
"Yeah?" she asked, softly enough that she wouldn't draw attention. She didn't fear anyone in this city but killing her way through a bunch of muggers would just be a waste of time.
"I've got some news," Cynthia said, "But most of it can wait. Where are you at?"
"Close to the meeting point," Luna said, "About fifteen minutes walk. Why?"
"Apparently, the Mathers Fallen have sent someone in to talk to Father," Cynthia said, "So be very, very careful. Last I heard some of the most dangerous members have gone rogue, but I don't trust rumours."
"Most dangerous members, huh? Who are you thinking of?"
"One of the Mathers has mind control. Maybe more than one, but supposedly this guy just needs to look at you. His name is- well, he calls himself Valefor. Apparently he's one of the ones who've gone rogue, along with his bodyguard Eligos."
"Eligos. That sounds familiar."
"Yeah, it should do. He was traded to the Mathers in exchange for Matilda and Claire, he's an aerokinetic I think. Either way, keep your eyes open. These bastards could pop out of nowhere."
"Will do, chief. I'll see you once I'm done with this."
Yes, Cynthia was an excellent lieutenant. Finding her first had been a real boon. Luna tucked her phone away and continued, still trying to work out what was bothering her about the names Valefor and Eligos. It took her another few minutes before some memory that wasn't technically hers triggered and she snorted.
"They really named themselves after Biblical demons? What is it with the Cape cults and stupid names?"
Nearly as bad as some of the Astartes that she remembered, but at least the Astartes had a cultural excuse. What reason did the Fallen have to name themselves like that, other than teenage edginess? It was sad enough on teenagers, never mind cultists who were fully adults. In fact, in some cases they were retirement age. It was fairly desperate behaviour, in her opinion. But enough of that for now. If she was going to properly try to explore with her Swarm she would need to find a safe place, quiet and empty enough that she could sit down and concentrate. She had found a way to see through her Swarm, for a given value of seeing, but it was difficult. Needed a lot of attention. And…though she didn't like to admit it, it was getting harder and harder to control her Swarm. She'd almost lost control of them a week ago, all of her grip on them failing. It had been pure luck that she hadn't been in combat at the time.
Luna was starting to suspect that there was something wrong with the powers the Shard of the Parasite granted her, but she couldn't afford the time to properly investigate. Once she had the Fallen properly on the run, she could take the time to get it looked at. Well, she'd probably need to do some planning around that- the chances of being able to stroll into a hospital and get an MRI scan were probably fairly low. But still…why would the Shard be weakening? And why would that be causing increasingly frequent migraines? The Warp chuckled and hummed in her ears and Luna closed her eyes for a few steps, concentrating on shutting it out. She understood now, better than ever, what had driven the lesser clones mad. Without her advantage of the Swarm, unable to drown out the Warp and unable to touch it, shape it, use it they had been driven insane in mere moments. And that was what had killed them, wasn't it? The madness. She'd heard that one had even tried to confront Taylor, alone, and lasted all of five seconds. So, no. She needed to deal with that before she went raving insane: when Taylor came to hunt her down Luna wanted to give her the fight of her life, not be put down like a rabid animal. But for the moment, all that had to wait.
She had a meeting to spy on, of course. As she walked Luna mused- she'd all but promised Cynthia that she would get to carve Father piece by piece, inch by inch. And that presented a problem, didn't it? If the bomb worked- if it killed Father- was Cynthia likely to be satisfied with his pulverised corpse? Before Luna might have said that she would have to be. But now- maybe it was something to do with her death and resurrection. Maybe it was the madness of her birth wearing off- but now, Luna would at least try to take Father alive. Cynthia's loyalty deserved recompense, after all. And It wasn't as though Luna cared if Cynthia wanted to torture a man to death- from what she could tell the McVeay leader who called himself Father- she was fairly sure that his name was Stephen- had been a rapist and failed cult leader before joining the Fallen. There were also rumours that he'd had a child with the Mathers family head, but Luna wasn't sure how much stock she'd put into those.
Either way, he needed to die. If she was going to solidify her grip on the city the leadership of the McVeay clan needed to be wiped out and a new structure put into place, an actual line of command rather than a cult. Fanatics were all well and good, but they were a blunt instrument. She slipped into an alleyway and climbed onto a roof, taking advantage of her height and enhanced athleticism to make a jump from a dumpster and haul herself up. Her dark clothing blended well into the night and she ignored the damp that sank into her clothes as she crawled over the tiles, sinking down in the centre of the roof where she would be hidden. Luna pressed her forehead against the cool roof, feeling it gritty against her skin, and called on her Swarm. They came, scuttling and wriggling, and she let her breaths slow to something gentle, meditative as she reached out to them. She closed her eyes, reached out to them, and…saw.
Luna crept through a hundred dark spaces, heard the thumping of music in her shell and the stinging of light on multitudinous eyes. Nausea clawed at her stomach and she briefly came back to herself, the Warp scraping fleshless fingers against the inside of her spine, running blunt and skinless digits along her spine. A faint pulse of pain throbbed in her head but her Swarm drowned it out and she returned, directing her slithering host through pipes and dark corners until she heard a voice that she thought she recognised. She'd only seen Stephen McVeay once, as she'd dragged one of his 'children' away and left him bellowing in impotent fury, but she remembered his rumbling voice and the snarl in his tone. The eight eyes of a spider weren't the best at seeing, but Luna could make out the form of her target. Her foe. Her soon to be victim.
Stephen McVeay, Father, was a big man. Not huge- Luna guessed that he was maybe six foot three, six foot four- but he was hulking, with wide shoulders and a broad belly, the build of a strongman rather than a weightlifter. He'd shaved his hair down to nothing, but his beard spilled over his chest in a tide of grey-streaked black. He chewed tobacco: Luna saw him spit a jet of juice into a battered tin beaker on the table before he took a swig from a hip flask. She carefully turned her chosen avatar, surveying the room as well as she could, and found one more man present. Colour was an educated guess in the eyes of an invertebrate, but Luna could guess that the man wore a red leather jacket. He was as tall as Father but with a leaner, lither build, shoulders broad but waist slim. His hair was slicked up into spikes and his goatee was neatly trimmed. If Luna had to guess she'd say that this was Alastor McVeay, Stephen's third son and Heir Presumptive. A fairly powerful parahuman, Cynthia had told Luna that Alastor was possibly the cleverest of the McVeay clan and therefore the most dangerous. Luna fully intended to kill him as soon as she had the chance. Torture was cathartic, but not letting a dangerous enemy escape was better for peace of mind.
"Who the fuck does she think she's sending?" Stephen demanded, slamming a meaty fist onto the table in front of him, "Some fuckin' whelp who can't wipe his ass on his own?"
Alastor shifted- Luna imagined the creak of his jacket, imagined peeling it from his bloody corpse and smiled. It was a nice jacket, she had to admit, and he wore it well. Handsome and smiling and Luna ached to see the smile twisted into a grimace, the skin marred with blood, white bone peeking through tattooed skin. She swallowed, reining herself in for the moment.
"At least she's helping," he said, "The Crowley's haven't even attempted that."
Stephen spat another stream of tobacco juice: he missed the beaker, the vile substance splattering wetly onto the floorboards, but neither of them seemed concerned.
"The Crowleys! Fuck 'em! They ain't some of us, they never were, and once I've dealt with this slut-bitch I'm going to face-fuck every one of 'em!"
Luna saw Alastor roll his eyes, though his father almost certainly missed it.
"That might be a mistake, Father," he said, "They've helped us in the past. We can make better use of them alive than dead. They'll owe us, after all."
Stephen wrinkled his face in disgust.
"Maybe," he growled, "But they ain't getting off easy. Now where is this Mather's fuck? I ain't got time to pussy about!"
A real charmer, this one. Luna wondered how sweetly he would scream under her knife. Would he cry, beg, plead? Would be bargain, submit to her? Or would he fight every step of the way, snarl and spit until the knife came down and blood flowed? Luna bet on the third, defiance until the wicked steel began to peel him apart. People like this were…predictable, in her opinion.
A jolt of pain startled her out of her musings and she gritted her teeth against it, vision flickering as her grip on the Swarm faltered. She reasserted control, the spiders already poor vision flickering and shaking before it stabilised- as much as it ever stabilised, anyway. She'd missed something- Alastor had unfolded from the wall and was standing with fists clenched- but he visibly made the effort to relax as she tuned back in, returning to his slouched position. They were waiting for someone, she knew. She was admittedly curious as to who it was, and it looked like she wouldn't need to wait much longer. The door swung open and Luna breathed out a soft sigh as a man walked in. He looked small next to Alastor, dwarfed by Stephen, but he moved with a sort of confidence that was seemingly unshakeable. His costume was probably modelled after the Simurgh- the suit was coloured in a way that might have suggested wings, and the ruffled shirt he wore definitely indicated feathers. Luna licked her lips, interested- although it seemed like the Fallen liked to dress like Endbringers anyway. It was sort of cute, in a kindergarten cult kind of way.
Personally Luna thought it was a little weird to essentially cosplay mindless engines of destruction, but she was pretty sure people had done weirder in the past. The Mathers Fallen- Luna knew that he'd have some pretentious fake name, if past experience held, something like Beezlebub or Daegon or whatever else they came up with when they were reading the Bible in their bedrooms like the nerds they were, but maybe it wouldn't get used. They all seemed to know each other, after all.
"Mathers," Stephen said, scowling, "Got a lot of fuckin' nerve coming here. Unless you're coming to help us out with the crazy bitch who's been putting my boys on spikes."
Luna thought that that was a very crude way of describing her little crusade. Yes there had been spikes- usually with heads on them, because full impaling just took an abominable amount of time and effort and there were easier ways to inflict agonies on someone before killing them. Still, she had put a lot of effort into killing, kidnapping and torturing members of the Fallen. A lot of time and effort spent making a point. Having it dismissed like that hurt a little, she wasn't going to lie. The Mathers Fallen chuckled, smiling a genteel smile that stretched the tattoos on his lips. They were blurry to Luna's shared vision, but she knew they were there. Honestly, she understood the vague point of them- they made the Fallen a group, a shared identity, something that made them different from outsiders, but…when you were part of a cult who would probably be arrested for being part of a cult, did you really want blatant identifying marks that you couldn't get rid of? Bit of a mistake, as far as she was concerned.
The Mathers Fallen straightened his collar and stiffened his back. His face was blurred in the spider's vision, but she had the impression that he was smiling.
"Ah," he said, "Yes. That issue. Mama Mathers has given it a great deal of thought, and sent me as her messenger."
Stephen slammed a fist on the table again and Luna imagined the spray of tobacco-stained spittle that must have flown from his mouth.
"Don't talk to me like a fuckin' rich boy! You're no better 'n me and we both know it! So when's Mather's going to send some more fuckin' help, 'cause…"
Stephen sneered at the boy, Luna could hear it in his voice.
"I can't see you lasting more than five minutes before that bitch Luna cuts you open and bleeds you dry, boy."
He said the sweetest things. But the boy was moving, adjusting his sleeves before he sighed.
"Sir, my name is Ezekiel. Ezekiel Mathers, in full. I'm sorry to tell you this, but no help is coming."
Luna blinked in surprise and heard Stephen cough, choking on air. Alastor stepped forwards, hands sliding out of his pockets and clenching into fists. The Mathers, Ezekiel, raised his hands in a placating manner.
"The fuck do you mean no help's coming?" Alastor snarled and Luna finally saw the resemblance to his father that was otherwise missing. Ezekiel took a slow step back, away from the door. Not that it would make much of a difference- Luna had spread her Swarm through the house and there were at least five other people in there. Luna was betting on the other True Sons- there were six of them from what she knew, and Stephen didn't strike her as being smart enough to keep them spread apart. Depended on how many guards Ezekiel had. But he was almost certainly outnumbered. Ezekiel waved his hands, trying to calm the two angry McVeays.
"Now now, my friends, there's no need for violence."
Stephen started to rise, seemed to think better of it and slumped back down, growling. Luna wondered if there might be a power in effect there, something to prevent violence. Wouldn't be the weirdest Parahuman she'd heard of, although it could just be Stephen using his brain for once. He was a cult leader, he had to have one somewhere.
"We're being abandoned," Alastor demanded, "After all we've done for the Mathers? We built this, we've Fallen together! As the Endbringers are one we are one and now the Crowleys and Mathers are going to leave us to the wolves?"
"Mama has no intention of abandoning you," Ezekiel said, his tone carefully soothing, "But she is aware that a war with Luna is not in the best interests of the Families. She is dangerous, and the longer we fight her the larger the chance that the PRT will take notice. We cannot afford that."
"We can't afford to just let her have the city!" Stephen barked, "Who knows what she'll do with it, what she's got planned! Fuck, she killed two of your people when she first arrived, you're just gonna let that go?"
Ezekiel dropped his hands to his sides and his voice dropped a few octaves, tight with sudden anger.
"No," he said harshly, "We're not going to just let it go. Noah was my brother, I loved him and if I ever have the chance- but Mama has spoken. Luna is a heretic, an offence to our cause and to our Lords- but now is not the time. We cannot fight her here. If our Lords wish her dead then they will do so themselves."
That was very fucking convenient, wasn't it? "If our Lords wish her dead"- classic fanatic bullshit to absolve them of having to actually do anything. After all, if she didn't abruptly drop down dead it must have been part of Gods plan or whatever other stupid thing they'd come up with. This bastards brother was dead, beaten to death in a back alley, and he wasn't trying to take revenge because his Momma said it wasn't the will of some fake deity. It sickened her.
"And until then," Ezekiel continued, "We, the Mathers, will continue the Work of God, as given to Mama Mathers. It is not the will of God or Mama that we fight for this city, though we feel for your plight."
"My plight?" Stephen asked, his voice rising, "My fucking plight? My plight is that there's a maniac killing my fuckin' family you weasel-dick shit-fuck! And you're just gonna abandon us, no matter what you say!"
"You're free to leave the city and join us in our homes-" Ezekiel began, but it was obviously the wrong answer. Stephen surged to his feet and trapped the smaller man against the wall, his bulk massive compared to the slim, short Mathers. Ezekiel raised his hands again and Stephen leaned forwards. Luna could imagine the reek of his unwashed body, the foul gust of tobacco stinking breath leaking from his mouth, the spittle in every sentence. Revolting. And yet he hadn't inflicted any violence yet- interesting. More proof, in Luna's mind, that there was a power at work. Alastor laid a hand on his father's shoulder and Stephen glanced at him for a moment before turning back to Ezekiel.
"Listen, boy," Stephen said, "You Mathers might run and fuckin' hide, but McVeays won't. You can go back to your Mama and tell her that we'll win here, or we'll die! You got that?"
Stephen stepped back, letting Ezekiel straighten his cuffs. The boy nodded stiffly, his face set.
"I'll take your message to her, Father," he said, "And if you change your mind you'll be welcome. I wish you good luck in dealing with the heretic."
That said, Ezekiel left the room at a quick pace and Stephen collapsed into a chair with a grating sigh. Several of the Fallen in the house left with Ezekiel, a pair following him, and Luna grunted with interest. All of the True Sons weren't present at Stephen's location, then. That was interesting.
"What are we going to do, then?" Stephen asked, his voice low and grumbling, "Can't get help from the Crowleys or the fuckin' Mathers, PRT would shit on us rather than help us. We've gotta deal with this Luna bitch already, longer we wait the more it goes to shit."
"If I may," Alastor said, returning to his position, leant against the wall. Stephen waved at him.
"Come on then, boy. You're the smartest of my brats, show it off."
Alastor rubbed his hands together before studying his nails for a moment.
"Luna isn't completely unpredictable," he said, "She's been going after the Wards that were liberated from the Protectorate a few years ago. Whether it was coincidence or not, the first time she killed our brethren she took Cynthia June, and she's been taking others since then and making a lot of it."
"Fuckin'- what of it?"
Alastor shook his head.
"We need to draw her out. And if she's so committed to kidnapping the former Wards and looking like a Hero, then…"
"You reckon we can use them to lure her out?" Stephen asked, perking up. Alastor nodded.
"There's still three of them available to us. I've sent them away with Isiah and Jedediah, but you can call them back. After that it's just a matter of leaking our location and…dealing with her."
It wasn't that bad a plan, Luna mused. It would probably have lured her out, even if she suspected that it was a trap. She had confidence in her abilities to turn a trap back on itself. But now, knowing about it, she had an even better chance. And the bomb- well, three hostages would make it a little trickier. But a gas bomb, filled with tranquilisers? That might be a better choice, and it would allow her to take the Fallen alive. Alastor, in particular…. Luna yearned to pull his clever tongue from his mouth and hear him sob, and what better way to claim that prize?
Stephen began to chuckle, his voice rising until he was bellowing his mirth, the sound echoing from the cold concrete walls of his lair, and Luna smiled in turn.
"Yeah. Yes! We'll take the bitch and her followers alive and we'll treat them like they've treated us, flay 'em and string 'em from the roofs! We'll teach them, and show everyone else what it means to cross the McVeays!"
Oh, there would be a lesson taught soon. But Luna…Luna intended to be the one teaching it.
To Luna's mild surprise the second captured Fallen was still alive when she returned. Given that she'd called Cynthia to let her know that Donny's information had been good she'd expected to return to a corpse.
"She's soft," Cynthia said of Matilda, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Luna shrugged.
"It takes all sorts to make a world," she replied, her mood buoyed by the prospect of mayhem to be inflicted upon the McVeays, "People like her too."
"She's weak."
"Maybe," Luna conceded, "But plenty of people are. You aren't. Why is he still alive?"
Cynthia shrugged.
"Thought you might want him for something," she said, matching Luna's stride, "So I left him. Not like he's going anywhere- so, what are the True Sons doing?"
"The Mathers have hung them out to dry. Some guy- Ezekiel- told Father and Alastor McVeay that the Mather's will take them in if they run, but if they want to stay here and fight us they're on their own. Father wasn't exactly thrilled."
"Is he running, then?" Cynthia demanded, her tone snapping with anger. Luna smiled faintly, her face turned enough that Cynthia couldn't see it and take offence.
"Oh, no. No, they're not going to run. They want to draw us in and ambush us. Well, ambush me specifically, but they probably wouldn't object to getting you as well. They're going to use the Wards that they've still got, apparently, bring them all to one place and put all the True Sons around them to try and trap us."
Cynthia made a noise of disgust and aggravation, a sort of grumbling snarl. Luna nodded.
"Yes, it's a bit distasteful. Not a bad plan, though. Lucky we know about it, isn't it? So we can turn it back onto them."
"And how are you going to do that?" Cynthia asked, "I know we've been doing well, but we don't have the numbers or the power to take on all of the True Sons and Father at the same time. Even the criminals we've been contacting, they're nothing but the dregs of the old gangs. We'll get slaughtered in an actual battle, so tell me you've got some sort of plan."
"I do, actually," Luna said, smiling slightly more widely, "And it's almost the same as the one I was going to use before! Before, I was going to bomb them. It's got an elegance to it, hasn't it? But now that they've got hostages that isn't going to work. A bomb filled with airborne sedatives, though…"
She could feel Cynthia's gaze burning into the side of her head.
"You can do that? You know what you're doing?" Cynthia asked. Luna grinned, ceasing her stride and turning to face her second in command.
"Oh, absolutely. And even better it'll take them alive, so that we can…make examples."
Something deep and ugly glittered in Cynthia's eyes and Luna felt a flicker of exultation at the sight. She'd already convinced Cynthia, she could tell from that gleam of murderous hate, and Cynthia would convince all the others. The dominoes had already fallen, she just needed to step back and watch her masterpiece.
And what a masterpiece it would be. All of the McVeay Fallen leaders, dead in a single stroke. Well- maybe not dead, because there were some uses for live bodies- but defeated. Bested. Leaving her and her alone Mistress of this city, ripe for the birth of the new Cult Imperial. The threat after that would be Taylor, of course. She would be furious at the rise of an Imperial Cult, enraged at the prospect of being trapped into godhood regardless of the necessity of it and she would almost certainly descend upon Luna and the city with the fury of a deity. Luna would need to be strong enough to at the very least hold her off, if she was going to try and convince Taylor that it would be needed.
Lovely though her Swarm were, they wouldn't suffice against Taylor. She would need to find something stronger if she was to face her progenitor. She had some…ideas on that, but they would have to wait for the moment. Ahead of them a door swung open and a thin man came out, adjusting his spectacles and with a laptop tucked under one arm. He jolted to a stop when he saw them, swinging around to take a place on Luna's left just as Cynthia was on her right. Andrew, his name was, another of the Wards kidnapped by the Fallen- he hadn't told her his second name.
"Oh, um, Luna," he said, "Good to see you! I've got some interesting news."
"Right," Cynthia said, "That."
"That?" Luna asked, currently content to play the pronoun game. Cynthia gave her a side-eyed glance as though she knew exactly what Luna was doing before elaborating.
"There's some news going around, thought you might want to look at it. You have it on there, Andrew?"
The man- Luna called him a man but at her best guess he was a year or two younger than Cynthia, around seventeen at most- nodded quickly. Andrew was…a funny one. He seemed nervous, quiet, easily startled, but when pressed into combat he was viciously unrelenting. There was a spark of cruelty in his soul, Luna thought, nurtured by the Fallen. He hadn't spoken much of his time with the Fallen. None of them had, but Luna had gathered that it had mostly been brainwashing. The Fallen weren't dying out fast enough that they'd needed to have their prisoners, well, breed too quickly. Better to brainwash them, convince them to join the cult, and make things less difficult. Pragmatic, but abhorrent. Frankly Luna was of the opinion that if you needed to kidnap people and brainwash them into sex-slaves in order to maintain your organisation then your organisation probably deserved to go extinct and you along with it- and that was what she was helping to cause, wasn't it? Really it had been a wonderful coincidence that her midnight train had brought her here, to where she could indulge herself and do the right thing at the same time. If she was religious she might thank a deity.
Well, thank the Empress, she supposed.
"What's this news, then?" she asked as they ducked into a side room and Andrew set up his laptop on a table, quickly connecting it to a projector. Cynthia gestured, slipping a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket in her jacket and tucking one between her teeth.
"Just watch."
Luna settled against a wall, watching Andrew quickly navigate to a webpage and a familiar forum.
"Parahumans Online, really?"
"Surprising how good it is for news," Andrew said. Luna looked at him.
"Can't you just…tell me? Give me the brief?"
Andrew sighed and knuckled at his eyes.
"Yeah, alright. There's been an Endbringer attack on Brockton Bay."
Luna didn't stiffen or drop her jaw, but her fingers, hidden by her folded arms, clenched bruisingly hard onto her arms. She worked her jaw, answering after a few seconds when she knew her voice wouldn't betray her.
"Yeah?"
Andrew nodded but it was Cynthia who spoke.
"Yeah," she said, breathing out a cloud of fragrant smoke, "Leviathan. You know the drill, he turned up and wrecked a bunch of buildings and people. Only, this time, he didn't have it all his own way."
Luna felt her heart beat just a little harder. Leviathan hadn't had things all his own way- and sure, Lung lived in Brockton, but was it really likely that Lung had caused much trouble for Leviathan? No, there was one obvious option. One very obvious answer. Andrew tapped and a picture spread itself over the screen, a figure with wide-spread crimson wings in matte-grey power armour. Luna sucked in a breath.
"Circaetus," Cynthia said, "Aka Taylor Hebert. Apparently she put an attack into Leviathan that knocked him ass over tit and almost took his arm off, right before Armsmaster finished the job. So we had to look into Circaetus, right? Everyone had to. And it turns out that her identity is out in the open because she's got a murderous clone running about."
The projected image wavered and changed to a picture of Mother, smiling, and Luna clenched her fingers a fraction tighter before forcing herself to relax. She briefly considered a denial, but…it was all there. Sure, Luna had different hair and eye colours, her teeth razor sharp and predatory, but the shape of the face…no, no point in denying it.
"You're a clone," Cynthia said, her head wreathed in smoke. Luna reached out to her Swarm just in case, ignoring the sharp spike of pain that it provoked in her skull, and unfolded from the wall.
"Suppose I am," she said calmly, "Is that a problem?"
Cynthia laughed.
"Is it a problem?" she asked, "Is it a problem? You've been talking about a Messiah, a champion rising from humanity, and it's the person you're a clone of!"
Luna shrugged.
"Guess that means I'd know better than anyone else, then. Is it a problem?"
Cynthia shook her head, as though amazed.
"You know," she said, "When you were talking about someone greater, someone we could all follow…I thought you were mad. But I've looked up Circaetus. She's gone from being another street cape to punching out Leviathan in a couple of months, if the people on PHO can be believed. You've- Jesus Christ, I'm almost convinced. But that's not my problem."
Luna tilted her head, inviting a question, and Cynthia took her cigarette from her lips to rub at her brow.
"Is it going to be a problem? Is someone going to be hunting you down as a murderer?"
"Oh," Luna said, "That. Well, I can't tell you that it isn't going to happen. Once Mother learns where I am, I doubt she'll just leave me be. Wouldn't make sense."
Cynthia choked on her cigarette and Luna patted her companionably on the back until she'd caught her breath.
"Mother," Cynthia demanded, "As in Circaetus?"
Luna shrugged.
"Well, the Parahuman who cloned me is almost certainly dead, so…yes. Taylor. Mother. Destined Empress of all Mankind, whatever you want to call her. The PRT might not care about me, but she will."
Luna pushed off from the wall and walked into the centre of the room, glancing at the wall. The projector was slowly cycling through pictures of Taylor and Luna twitched for a moment as it caught a particularly good one of Taylor hovering in mid-air, wings and hands spread. An angel of war, angel of victory and a memory of Sanguinius touched the very edges of her consciousness before shredding away into mist and feelings.
The Warp giggled and dragged at her skull and Luna forced herself to ignore it.
"You knew she'd come after you," Andrew said quietly, "Are you using us as cannon fodder? To slow her down while you escape?"
There was just a trace of judgement in his voice, a flicker of condemnation. Cynthia dropped her cigarette and stamped on it, flame flaring around her foot, and Luna sighed.
"Do you think I'd do that?" she asked, turning to face Cynthia. She hoped that Cynthia wouldn't say yes. Luna knew she was a lot of things, some of them less than ideal, but she didn't think she'd come off as the sort of person to sacrifice useful allies.
The other clones didn't count, she told herself. They'd been no good for anything else regardless.
Cynthia folded her arms and sighed harshly.
"No. I don't think you would. But I need you to explain."
Luna turned away again, spreading her hands in a wide shrug.
"Alright. I wasn't exactly cloned on purpose, you know. The Parahuman who created me could absorb Parahumans and create clones of them. Did the thing to Mother and to a couple of others, and all the clones came out different. My guess, they were all psychopaths."
Luna glanced around, grinning slyly.
"Looks like Mother's unique powers helped with that, hmm? Anyway. Things happened, a couple of people died or nearly died, Mother almost killed me and left me for dead. I decided that I'd better get out of Brockton, but before I went there was something I wanted to do."
"That sounds ominous," Andrew muttered and Luna felt her smile slide from her face.
"Taylor's Trigger is very easy to pinpoint," she said, feeling the stares on her intensify, "And it starts with her friends. Emma. They were best friends until Emma found someone new, who happened to be a Ward, and they decided that Taylor wasn't good enough to just be ignored. No, they had to go for the high school bully cliché. Orange juice in the hair, shoving in the corridors, thumb-tacks on the seat, stolen homework, all the petty stuff. And then, after a couple of years, they filled Taylor's locker with all sorts of shit- used tampons and trash bin contents and whatever the fuck else they could find and they shoved her into it and locked the door."
Luna knew that it wasn't the worst Trigger story, particularly. It was sort of petty, in fact, compared to some. But the fact that it had gone on for so long- the unreasoning pettiness of it- made her blood boil. Probably because she could remember it.
Maybe because Taylor hadn't done anything about it. She had killed Oni Lee, hadn't she? Who would know or care if Emma and Madison had been knifed in some back alley, their guts spread over the concrete? Sophia would be harder, maybe, but she was a fucking criminal and the Protectorate knew it. If she'd been shot through the skull on patrol they'd have called it a legacy of her past of crippling people and leaving them and thought nothing more on it, but Taylor hadn't done it. Hadn't cared enough to do anything about it. It infuriated Luna. People like that were like wild dogs, they only understood the language of violence, and Taylor refused to admit that.
Well, maybe it wasn't so much that she refused to admit it and more like she thought she was above it. Interesting question, because Taylor had dropped some of her high ideals as time went by and Luna could well believe that if Taylor had triggered now she might not have been so lenient towards Emma, Madison and Sophia. But what did it matter? What was done was done.
"So yes," Luna continued aloud, "I went and found Emma and I killed her. Her and her Dad, because some people need to be taught a fucking lesson. Looking back, maybe it wasn't the best thought out plan- but Emma deserved to die. If Taylor comes here looking for me, I'll go and deal with her and only one of us will come back. And if we've gotten to the point where we're an actual organisation, where we've taken over half the city- if that happens, I expect you to work with whichever one of us survives."
Cynthia shook her head.
"You're insane."
Luna spread her hands wide, laughing harshly.
"I'm insane? The whole world is insane. The Endbringers kill more and more every month and gangs run around doing nothing. This thing I'm building here, this isn't a gang. It's not an organisation, or a criminal group. It's a foundation! Someone needs to do something, someone needs to make a stand and realise that this world cannot survive without being united! And if we have to do it by force then we will. If I have to lead, so be it. If Mother has to be forced into leading then so be it! I will save this world, whether it wants me to or not."
Cynthia let out a long sigh, shaking her head, but didn't say anything. Andrew leaned back, folding his hands behind his head, and nodded.
"For the record I agree with Cynthia," he said, "I think you're insane. But I also happen to think you're right, so what's the next step."
Luna flashed him a sharp, fanged grin before looking back at Cynthia.
"Cynthia? You with me, too?"
Cynthia scraped a boot along the ground and shrugged.
"Fuck it. Not like I was going to live long anyway, might as well try to make something of it. So, what's the answer? What are we going to do next?"
Well, Luna supposed that it was a fair question. She hadn't exactly started her little group on the promise of Taylor: she'd framed it as a need to protect each other, arguing that the PRT and Protectorate weren't up to the job and that they needed to form their own group. That the world was falling apart, nations were becoming less and less solid by the day, and the strong would need to create their own order, with just a hint that the strongest Parahuman she'd ever seen had been in Brockton Bay and only getting stronger. Being outed as Taylor's clone was a little annoying, but didn't change the overall trajectory.
"It doesn't change anything," Luna said aloud, "Regardless of whether Mother comes to hunt us down, for you to be safe we need to deal with the Fallen, or at least the McVeays. Once that's done we can look at everything else."
Cynthia threw up her hands briefly before shaking her head and leaning against the wall again.
"Alright, fine. So what, what's the plan?"
Luna walked over to the table and pulled out a seat, sinking into it as a savage stab of pain ricocheted from her skull to her toes, the Warp behind it. Her vision blurred and a thousand whispers filled her mind, mumbling and hissing thoughts of the people around her before she drowned it out with the Swarm. Her to Lieutenants had noticed, though, leaning in and looking concerned.
"Headache again?" Cynthia asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Luna nodded and Andrew pushed his spectacles up with a single finger, eyes narrowed.
"Is it something to do with…the manner of your birth?" he asked, the delicate phrasing dragging a hoarse laugh out of Luna.
"You make it sound so sordid," she muttered, shading her eyes with a hand and bending over. A moment of nausea before it passed and she gritted her teeth, the buzzing and chittering of her Swam drowning out the Warp and pushing away the madness. It was a good question, though, and a flicker of memory- what was it Panacea had said? Atrophied Corona Genma, or whatever it was called? Taylor had assumed it was her regeneration destroying the unnatural additions to her body from the Parasite, but in that case…
Luna tucked the thought away and looked up, rising to her feet.
"I'm fine," she said, "Let's get this over with first. My problems can wait."
Neither of the two looked convinced but Cynthia shrugged and let it go.
"So, a gas bomb when the True Sons are all in one place. How far along is construction?"
Luna lifted a hand, holding it out flat and wobbling it from side to side.
"Fairly far along. Take a few more days, maybe a week, to get the gas ingredients and add them, but that's it. Bigger problem will be getting it into the house."
Cynthia nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Yeah, that'll be an issue. If they're smart they'll be screening mail, things like that. Maybe we can use one of the prisoners we've got? We could shove the bomb into the body once we're done with the other one."
"Interesting idea," Luna said, strolling towards the door, "Although it would mean keeping him for a while. Maybe Donny instead. It's not like we can just let him go before we've dealt with Stevie McVeay."
"I did wonder," Andrew commented, folding his laptop again and tucking it under his arm as he followed her, "You promised him freedom, right?"
Luna nodded, shrugged.
"Not like I much care about him. But we can't have him running to warn the McVeay's that he's told on them, can we? We could always cut his tongue out and slice his fingers off so he can't communicate, but that just seems like a waste of time. He can stay where he is for a few days more."
"And besides, live bait is more likely to get into the safehouse," Andrew said, gesturing with his free hand, "Maybe they'll be suspicious but if he pretends that he's escaped…"
"Could do it without telling him. Sedate him, cut him open and slip the bomb inside," Cynthia suggested. Luna smiled faintly.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she said, "We'll see when the time comes. But for now, I think we can deal with our other guest, yes? We need to act like nothing has changed if we're going to work the McVeays properly, so let's treat him as we would the others."
"Looking to indulge yourself, boss?" Andrew asked. Luna shrugged.
"I don't even know this guy. What's his story?"
Andrew adjusted his spectacles again, a thin smile twisting his lips and flashing teeth. Luna had been surprised when she first met him, assuming that the Fallen would have wanted only women for their little breeding program, but thinking about it kidnapping male Wards would also help in avoiding the genetic dead-end that their genetics would become. And it wasn't as though the Fallen had only been intent on using the Wards for their reproductive abilities: from what Luna could tell both the Mathers and for the most part the Crowley's had been more interested in getting the kidnapped Wards to join the cult before they did anything else. The McVeays hadn't been quite as forward thinking, though. There was a good reason that Cynthia wanted to slice Stephen McVeay apart, but Luna hadn't pried too hard. Some things, she understood, were personal.
"Clyde McVeay," Andrew droned, "Married into the family. Wasn't part of another family as far as I can tell. His wife, Tiffany McVeay, died in childbirth-"
"One of the problems in being a cult who won't go to fucking hospitals," Cynthia interrupted. Andrew ignored her to continue.
"He wasn't a True Son, but he was fairly favoured by Father and therefore got a…well, Stephen McVeay described it as an 'early taste of the merchandise' when I heard him talking about it. We can all guess what that means, can't we?"
"So he's a rapist," Luna said, "Same as the rest of his clan. And he'll get the same treatment as they all do. Either of you want him?"
Andrew shook his head and Cynthia snorted.
"Saving myself for Stephen," she said, her voice tinged with bloodlust, "Don't want to spoil it."
"Well," Luna said, "I suppose I can do the honours this time."
"You've done it plenty of times before," Cynthia said, the slightly teasing tone to her voice letting Luna know that she was forgiven for her deception. Luna grinned.
"Cynthia, what a thing to say."
"What a thing to do," Andrew murmured, "Deserved though it might be."
Luna shrugged.
"Hey, if he was a decent person he wouldn't be in this situation."
She kicked open the door to the cell and strode in, drawing her knife from its place, sheathed lengthways across the small of her back.
"Wakey wakey, darlings, mother's home."
Donny jerked his head up, his body jolting in his bindings. He didn't say anything, but Clyde made a series of muffled, strangled noises of anger that Luna ignored as she walked over to Donny. She saw his eyes widen as she leaned against him, the knife pressing delicately against the skin of his inner thigh.
"Donny," she crooned, "Donny, Donny, Donny. Today is your lucky day."
"It is?" he squeaked and she grinned, tracing the point of the knife further up.
"It is," she agreed, "Because the information was good. The information was good, you checked out on your backstory and your death would mean nothing to the Fallen. Once we're done and you can't go squalling to Father we'll give you your money and send you on your way."
She withdrew from him, lazily gesturing with her knife.
"Clyde here, though, isn't so lucky. Unfortunately for him I just have no time for rapists."
Cylde's eyes bulged and he struggled to speak around his gag. Luna sighed, shook her head.
"Clyde. Sweet-pea. Don't struggle, you'll only make it worse. Do you know what I do to rapists I catch, Clyde?"
He screamed through his gag, a chokingly muffled sound. Luna turned her head to Donny, theatrical.
"Do you know what I do to rapists, Donny?"
He nodded hastily, so quickly that Luna was surprised he didn't give himself whiplash.
"Y- yes. Yes!"
"Seems that everyone knows," Luna mused, "Although I admit it wasn't my first choice. My first choice, Donny, was to impale them."
Her knife lifted, traced a path up Clyde's bare chest.
"You know, I hear that when done correctly impaling isn't a quick death," she said, still conversational, "Not at all. As I understand it you take the stake and you…insert it…through the anus. Right in, and if you get it right you can slide the stake all the way up, beside the spinal column, until it comes to rest near the skull. If you do it right you don't puncture any organs or blood vessels and the stake plugs the hole it makes, so it takes a long time to bleed to death. A long time to hang there, speared, with the entry wound festering and rotting, unable to move, starving and dying of thirst. Weeks, in some cases. Don't you find that fascinating?"
Clyde was silent, staring at her in terrified horror, and Donny whimpered softly. Luna sighed, tapping her fingernail against her knife blade.
"I said, don't you find that fascinating?'
"Yes!" Donny yelped, "Yes, yes!"
Luna smiled.
"That's a boy," she said, pleasant and friendly, before she drove the knife into Clyde's thigh. He screamed through his gag, bucking desperately, and Luna continued to smile as she moved the knife with his thrashing, making sure that it didn't widen the wound too much. Once the paroxysm of energy had left him he hung in his chains, sobbing, nose slobbering over his face and Luna still smiled.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Clyde," she said, her voice still soft, still gentle, "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to castrate you and I'm going to gut you and I'm going to enjoy every second of it. And…well, so are Cynthia and Andrew. Yes?"
"I always enjoy watching a master at work," Andrew said, his tone low and somehow hungry and Luna gestured at him with her free hand.
"There we are," she said, "As you sow, so you reap. You Fallen have sowed cruelty for years, and now you reap the repercussions. But I tell you what. Because I'm such a nice person, if you can last five minutes without screaming I'll cut your throat and make it quick. Okay?"
Luna cupped a mocking hand to her ear, turning as though to hear a reply that Clyde couldn't give, gagged as he was, and let her smile broaden.
"Okay then, Clyde! It's so nice of you to play along! Remember, darling…five minutes."
Luna leaned in again, and Clyde barely lasted two.
The drizzling rain washed off the last of the blood as Luna stood and waited. She'd chosen to be the one to dump Clyde's slaughtered carcass, her augmentations allowing her to heft the body through the all-but-abandoned streets with ease, and she was using the time to think. Her head throbbed, but it was dull and ignorable.
"Still there," she murmured, "Still there. My regeneration…it's a pity."
It was indeed a pity, assuming that she was correct. She thought that she was: the Parasite was a purely physical being, enough that it interfered with the Warp, and Taylor had become stronger after Luna's birth and the Shard had been lost. That, Luna could assume. The question was, what to do about it?
Luna muttered to herself and dragged the body a step further. There was an answer to the question she'd asked herself, but she wasn't entirely fond of it.
"I need to get the shard out," she whispered to herself, "And find a way into the Warp. I can control it when it's there, I just can't call it…I can step into the Warp, wrap it around me, make my soul evolve to contain it…"
Either that or die, but either way she wouldn't have any further problems, would she? And once she was a psyker, why stop there? Taylor was content to allow Humanity to evolve at its own pace, to become Psykers or not, to find their own path. Luna wasn't so sanguine. There were horrors out there in the endless void and if humanity was to claim dominion over the void as was their right they would need strength. They would need power, and what better way than to become masters of the Immaterium? The Immaterium was quiescent, as safe as it would ever get. The wonders of the Eldar Empire were within reach, so long as Humanity avoided their failures, and Luna had no doubt that they would not do as the decadent Eldar had. But that would be a great project, gene editing and Warp exposure in tandem, and would need to be delayed until after she herself had become attuned to the Immaterium. Luna still paused at the thought, smiling whimsically.
"And once they have awakened they will see," she whispered, eyes looking without seeing to where she knew Taylor was, a silver sun blazing in the Warp, "And they will worship her as She deserves."
Luna took a minute to bask in the thought of a bright, bright future before she forced her mind away and continued her journey. She had a destination in mind, a place the Fallen visited fairly frequently where Clyde's body would certainly be found, but it was a fair walk away from her lair and Clyde was as heavy as any limp body.
"I don't have the technology to enter the Immaterium," she concluded a few steps onwards, "But I don't need it. Relic and ritual…the Fallen might have a use living after all."
A sacrifice, grand and generous enough to crack the veil and allow her passage. Yes…yes, that would suffice. Another may be required for a psychic awakening later, but there were ways to cause that. The Slaughterhouse Nine, for instance, were worthless as allies but could perhaps serve her purposes anyway. And if not there would be other times, other ways. All she needed now was to bring down the McVeays and find a trustable doctor. Luna grinned sharply, sliding Clyde onto the group with a squelching, meaty thud and rolling her shoulders. All was going swimmingly, wasn't it? And then a voice spoke.
"I thought I might find you here."
Luna whirled, her knife coming out, her teeth peeling back into a grinning snarl as Alastor stepped into the watery light of a streetlamp. The orange glow gilded his neatly trimmed goatee and shadowed his eyes dark, adding a flicker of mystery to him. He was handsome, Luna once again noted, and it made her want to peel off his skin and watch him dance.
"Alastor," she purred, "What a delight to see you. Out alone?"
Her Swarm spread silently out around her, looking for any backup he had brought, but she couldn't find any yet. She dipped her free hand into her pocket and found her phone, calling Cynthia by memory before pulling her hand from her pocket with her phone within. Another stab of pain lanced at her skull and she narrowed her eyes, shaking it off with an effort. Alastor brushed a hand against his jacket, knocking away imaginary dust, and shrugged.
"I suppose I am," he said, "Although I admit I'm not hunting tonight. I'm looking to talk."
"Talk?" Luna hissed, her throbbing head making her rash, "Don't bother. Save your breath for screaming!"
She crossed the distance between them in a single lunge, her knife slicing at his face. Alastor ducked, sliding under the knife and her arm and Luna half-turned, her boot kicking out and back as he dropped a hand to the ground. His flesh shifted, bare forearms turning to the same concrete as the ground but her kick caught him on the arm and sent him stumbling and Luna dropped her phone the short distance to the ground, spinning and going after him. Alastor was retreating, hands held up, but her blood was pounding in her temples and she continued her attack, letting her slash be blocked by his arm before dropping her knife, catching it with her right hand and ripping it across his stomach. A shallow wound but she heard him hiss with pain and Alastor hopped back, caught himself and lunged. Luna caught his forearm as he swung and turned into him, slamming in a headbutt to stagger him before jamming her hip into his and using the leverage of her body to throw him to the ground, following him down and landing atop of him, revelling in his gasp of pain as her weight fell upon his injury.
Luna straddled Alastor, pinning one arm with hers and bringing the other arm up, flourishing her knife with mocking skill. Alastor swung his free fist at her, catching her in the ribs, but from his position the blow was weak and from the grunt of pain he made her ceramite reinforced ribcage hurt him more than he hurt her. She leaned in and jammed the knife under his chin, digging it into flesh, and he went still under her.
"Wait," he gasped, "Wait wait wait! I want to help you!"
Luna sneered, baring her teeth.
"Oh, you're going to help me once I drop your body off for Daddy!"
"No, no, I want to help you against him! I want to join you!"
Luna paused, the blade digging into soft skin just enough that a thin line of blood trickled down his pale throat.
"You want to join me? Why would you want that?"
Alastor stared up at her, drawing in a long and shallow breath before he answered. Luna kept an eye on him, spreading her Swarm out to make sure that he wasn't delaying for one of his six-fingered friends, and listened.
"Have you seen what we're like? The Fallen are turning into a death cult. I don't want to live my life praying and end it because some fucking fanatic finally went over the edge."
Luna hummed, gently rocking the knife back and forwards.
"You've all been fanatics a long time, darling. What makes you think something will change?"
Alastor shook his head.
"We- the old guard, they don't really want to die. They might think the Endbringers are the harbingers of the end times or whatever, but they don't want to act to make it real. But they've been raising real zealots, who're ready to die for their promised afterlife. Give it a few more years and they'll be joining Endbringer attacks to help the Endbringer, and once that happens…"
"Once that happens your merry bunch of cultists are all going to be targets," Luna completed. She reached up her left hand and absently wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of Alastor's mouth, wiping it on his jacket.
"So," she continued, "What do you want? Why not try and change your group?"
Alastor took another shallow, careful breath.
"What do I want?" he asked, managing a crooked smile, "I want what everyone wants. I want to live a good life."
"Good?" Luna asked, her lips curling into a smirk. Alastor huffed a breathless laugh and she eased off on the knife, just a fraction.
"Well. An enjoyable life, maybe?"
"Ah…sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, right? Guess a cult born from Christian lunatics wouldn't look too favourably on that. And your dearest Daddy?"
Alastor sneered.
"All he wants is to sit around, drink and fuck his life away. He's a pathetic old man who deserves to die."
Luna silently noted the similarity between Alastor's dream and his fathers reality, but said nothing. Alastor continued.
"He wants to draw you into a trap. Those Wards that he's calling in, he's going to be waiting with the other True Sons and most of our family. He wants to get rid of you and then go back to drinking and whoring his way to an early grave. I want more, and if I have to join you to get it then…I never liked my family much anyway."
Luna tilted her head back, laughing.
"Oh, dearest Alastor," she said, "What a piece of work you are! What a delight! But you know, I simply don't tolerate rapists in my ranks. You're Father's right hand man, after all. Surely you must have…shared the spoils?"
Alastor glanced over at the body of Clyde McVeay, gutted and castrated, and swallowed. Luna tapped her side of his face and he turned back to her, meeting her eyes. Luna leaned in, closer, and smiled gently.
"Well, Alastor?"
"No," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "I didn't."
Luna hummed and raised her voice, speaking to the phone that lay nearby without taking her gaze away from Alastor.
"Cynthia? Is he telling the truth?"
A long, long pause, almost a minute, before Cynthia's voice came harsh from the speakers.
"Far as I can tell? Yes."
Luna gently traced the blade of her knife along Alastor's jawline, still smiling. It would be satisfying, probably, to slice off that pretty face and pin it to Father's door. But there was always after, wasn't there? For the moment…
"Well then, Alastor," she said, "I'm sure we can find some use for you."
Interlude: Alexandria
"We need to talk about Circaetus," Doctor Mother said, breaking the silence. Alexandria folded her arms across her chest, hearing David and Keith shift behind her. Keith- Legend- would speak first, she thought, as he often did.
"Do we?" he asked, "Seems to me like she's not any trouble."
"She's reached an extremely high level of power in a very short time," David said, a flicker of frustration in his tone, "And she has clear issues with authority. She's dangerous."
Alexandria suppressed a faint smile at that. David was trying to be neutral, but he was jealous. He was afraid of being surpassed as the fifth strongest being in the world, maybe? If Circaetus continued to grow at her current rate she'd be stronger than them all in time. That had been said before, though- and the person it was most commonly said of lived in the same city as Circaetus, to boot. Then again…
"Circaetus has grown a lot stronger a lot faster than the other examples," she said, raising her voice to be heard, "Compare her to Dauntless. Dauntless will allegedly surpass us in several years time, assuming his growth remains steady. Given the damage Circaetus did to Leviathan you could argue that she's already approaching our level. Against the usual upper tier…Lung, Crawler, Butcher and so on she might already be stronger."
She heard Keith move, characterised the rustle as him spreading his hands in a frustrated gesture.
"But that's a good thing. We joined this organisation because we agreed that Scion needs to be stopped and we've been waiting for a Parahuman strong enough to do it. And now that Circaetus might look like she has a chance at being that we're frightened? Why don't we try and induct her?"
Alexandria finally turned away from the window at that, to face her colleagues. Contessa leaned against a wall in the back, her fedora tilted at a customarily jaunty angle while David and Keith occupied chairs. Doctor Mother, sitting at her desk, raised an eyebrow.
"We don't want to induct her because we don't know how she'll react," David said, sounding irritated now, "And what if she decides to fight us? It'll be difficult to stop her from causing damage and we need her alive, growing stronger, for when the time comes."
Keith looked around the room, finding no support.
"And you all agree on this?" he asked. When all he got was nods he threw his hands up again and sighed.
"Well, I know when I'm out-voted. I still want to know why."
Doctor Mother cleared her throat.
"Circaetus is a loose cannon at best and an active destabilising agent at worst," she said, "She works with the Protectorate and PRT because it benefits her, but she's repeatedly worked alone and maintains a clear attitude that they're her allies, not her leaders. She could be a useful asset: equally, she could take offence at what we do. She could well consider Parahuman Feudalism a short step away from the opinions of the Empire Eighty-Eight, which she has repeatedly expressed animosity for. In short, it's not worth the risk."
Keith rubbed his chin and sighed.
"Alright. Say I agree with that. So we…what? We let her do what she wants and then, when the times comes, we get her to work with us because she doesn't have any other choices?"
"Sounds like our best option to me," David muttered and Alexandria nodded.
"We've done it before, no reason to think it wouldn't work this time. So long as she isn't shaking things up too badly…"
"We'll deal with that when we come to it," Doctor Mother said crisply, "What I wanted to discuss is the nature of Circaetus' powers."
Alexandria glanced at David, whose face had gone hard and closed. Doctor Mother obviously noticed, because her next words addressed it.
"Yes, I'm aware of the rumours that she has a very similar power to David. I admit the variety of her powers initially indicated that she might possess Scions version of David's Shard, but as time has gone by I think it's become clear that that isn't the case. Her abilities still largely follow a set path, rather than changing. However, I have another potential theory."
Doctor Mother shuffled some papers on her desk before continuing.
"Consider: the first time Circaetus appeared she faced Rune, a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight neo-nazi group who is a notable telekinetic. Immediately afterwards, Circaetus demonstrated significant telekinetic powers and has continued to demonstrate them. Her ability to heal and alter herself, biokinesis, after meeting Panacea. Her powers have continued to escalate in order to meet every foe she had ever faced."
Doctor Mother turned to look at Contessa, who shrugged.
"I think," Doctor Mother said, imbuing her words with a weight of thought, "That Circaetus may possess Scions version of Path to Victory."
Alexandria turned, lifting off the ground in order to spin more smoothly, and both Keith and David jolted.
"But Path to Victory is-"
Doctor Mother raised a hand, forestalling Alexandria's protest.
"Yes, I am aware that Path to Victory is not even remotely similar for Contessa. However, think on it: Eden was the Thinker. Her Path to Victory is thinking, planning, laying out every step before executing it. Scion is the Warrior. It could be that his Path to Victory involves ever increasing power, to overwhelm any foe."
Doctor Mother shrugged.
"It's just a theory. It's entirely possible, likely even, that Circaetus has some completely different power that just happens to be extremely strong. Or even…it's a shame that none of Circaetus' clones demonstrated similar powers to her, and that the bodies were all destroyed."
"Isn't there one left?" Alexandria left, settling slightly but still disturbed by the possibility of a loose Path to Victory shard. Much of Cauldron's success had been built on Contessa, if someone with the same power, or a power of the same magnitude, pitted themselves against Cauldron…she didn't like to think of it. Doctor Mother shuffled through the papers on her desk, finding one and nodding.
"Yes, she calls herself Luna I believe. She's currently engaged in a gang war in Wichita, against the McVeay Fallen. I'm keeping watch on her; she could prove quite interesting."
"You don't want us to do anything about it?" David asked and Doctor Mother shook her head.
"For the moment I think we'll leave it. My concern is that Circaetus will grow too strong and draw too much attention. If someone seeks to eliminate her before she can become strong enough to make a difference against Scion, we may need to act."
"How? I don't think she'd take kindly to protective custody," Alexandria remarked. Doctor Mother smiled thinly, teeth glinting in the cold, impersonal lights of the room.
"Oh, Contessa and I have a plan for that. Don't worry about it, Rebecca. If the time comes, we'll make sure she's safe. Whether she wants to be or not."
To pre-empt any wondering- yes, Luna wants to equip her group with Imperium tech weapons and armour. She just hasn't gotten around to it yet, since she's doing a lot of the heavy lifting.
Next chapter, probably, will be the end of December- I want to get Legacy updated around its 1 year anniversary and I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year so I'll be busy writing non-fanfiction throughout November. But I'll aim for, say, the 23rd December and we'll see where we go from there.
Otherwise, I think that's all. I hope you enjoyed, reviews are appreciated and, as always, I'll see you all in the next chapter.