A black hummer stopped in front of a gate that blocked a little two lane road in a wooded area just outside NYC. Amaranth rolled down the tinted window and an overweight security guard looked at him from inside the small security station.
"Sir this area is closed to the public. Gonna have to ask you to leave."
Amaranth lifted a pistol from his lap. It was huge; massive even in the hands of the seven foot mutant. "I insist. Give me your radio, cell phone and firearm. Then open the gate and you shall not be harmed."
"Shit!" The guard jerked back, eyes widening with panic as the tranquil boredom of his four-to-midnight shift was shattered in a heartbeat. He ducked behind the counter of the security shack. Grabbed his radio with one hand, his service revolver with the other.
The gun bucked three times in Amaranth's hand. Explosive projectiles crafted from his own mutant powers blew fist sized holes in the thin sheet metal. Through the guard's vest. Then exploded inside his torso.
What remained was barely recognizable as a human being.
Amaranth sighed. The seven foot tall mutant shook his head as he climbed out of the hummer, reached into the shack and pressed the button that lifted the gate.
Then he drove into the rural substation.
It wasn't an ordinary substation. It was a step-down substation. When power was generated by a power plant it was generated in huge voltages. Voltages too high to be useful in homes or businesses because it would overload electronics and melt the wiring. It was transmitted over land at these high voltages until it reached a 'step-down transformer.' That transformer stepped the voltage down to voltages that standard power lines could handle.
Step-down transformer
These step-down transformers were not ordinary transformers. They weighed upward of six hundred tons each. Trains with special train cars were required to transport them overland and unique 120 wheeled vehicles manufactured in Germany were needed to move them from the tracks to the substation. It had been decades since a step-down transformer was manufactured in the USA. Most were made in China, where the six hundred tons of steel that had undergone a specific type of laser tempering required was affordable. There was no universal design. As of 2020 nearly every step-down transformer was unique. They were not interchangeable.
Amaranth could feel the energy in the air.
To his super human senses it felt like stepping into the middle of an invisible star. Currents of electrical power so great they extended beyond the scale of human imagination.
His violet eyes fell upon that vast chunk of steel and machinery. Tarnished from the elements. Thirty five years old. He didn't touch it. Even the Immortal would not recover for weeks should that much voltage course through his body.
Instead he knelt and placed a palm upon the concrete foundation of the substation. He lifted his other palm in front of him and he begin to turn the air around him solid using his mutant power to change the state of matter.
The gas of the atmosphere became a solid. Over the course of two minutes he built layer after layer of physical shields from solid air. Hard as diamond. Each layer reinforcing the next. Angled to deflect projectiles away from himself. Designed to collapse in a controlled manner, absorbing energy as it did so.
When it was done he turned his attention to the concrete foundation under him. It was huge, capable of holding not only the six hundred ton step-down transformer but enduring damage caused by an earthquake or a hurricane.
He took his time. He worked in stages. First was the first inch of concrete slab, from end to end-- intangible. The transformer fell with a clunk onto the second inch. Slowly, Amaranth moved to the second inch. Then the third. Then the forth.
He himself did not sink for he could interact with objects that he had made intangible as if they were solid.
When the step-down transformer had fallen three feet the power lines going and coming were pulled taunt. At four feet several snapped free. Sparks flew.
At six feet the bundles of cable that ran from the power plant to the transformer, as thick as a mans thigh, snapped. Electricity arched between the broken cable and the transformer. It was blinding. Even in direct sunlight.
A dozen miles north alarms howled in the power plant's control room.
In the south entire swaths of NYC went dark.
Amaranth allowed the concrete to become tangible once more. Now two objects, the concrete slab and the six bottom feet of the six hundred ton transformer occupied the same space.
The laws of physics disagreed. Violently. Molecular bonds were severed. Potential energy became kinetic energy.
The explosion flattened trees for ninety yards in every direction. Thunder rumbled for miles. The crater was twenty seven feet deep.
Amaranth stood. His shields were a crumpled ruin. A jagged piece of steel stuck into the tanned, weathered skin of his cheek. He grabbed it and pulled it out. Blood ran down his jaw and soaked his goatee as the wound closed, tissue regenerating itself as he climbed from the smoking pit and returned to his hummer.
He drove away. There was no one on the road. Soon he was on the highway.
The east coast had thirty step-down substations. The failure of nine would collapse the entire east coast grid.
There were eight left. He put some music on. He'd always liked Mozart.
Elsewhere a program installed on a PC left running in a rented hotel room in NYC lost power and turned off. It had been sending one packet to an amazon cloud server every second for three days. Those packets all said the same thing: Wait.
Every second the program in the amazon server asked: Wait? Y/N. For three days it received' wait'. Now instruction had ceased and it immediately begin the next step in it's programming.
It begin to upload a video to dozens of bot accounts on YouTube, Vimeo, Twitch, and BitTube. It spammed social media across Twitter, Reddit, Voat, Gab and Facebook with thousands of links to the video.
Many videos were immediately flagged as spam. Others were taken down by moderators. But others made it through. They immediately went viral.
The video was of Amaranth standing in front of a white sheet covering the wall behind him. He was alone. He wore his armor, his adamantium sword, his revolvers and his white cloak with the hood down.
"I am Amaranth Solon and I have been gone for many years. Now I have returned."
He tucked his thumbs in the utility belt that wrapped around his waist.
"I have returned to destroy the United States of America for the crimes it has committed against mutantkind."
"You imagine that your sins were forgiven when you elected a mutant as President. That your apologies could wash away the stain. Like a criminal who pleads remorse after he is caught you sought only to reduce the punishment that you know you deserve."
"Your apologies are rejected. I will bring your country to it's knees and you will reap what you have sown."
"You may call it revenge." He said. "I call it justice."
It was a lie. A lie to advance his plot to acquire the Lavalieres and eradicate the human race forever. But none knew the truth save Amaranth, Ivana, Arrachtach and Richard.
Ivana and Arrachtach drove down the Verrazzano-Narrows bridge, traveling from Brooklyn to Staten Island. The bridge was packed. Rush hour, after all. The black F-350 rolled to a halt in the middle of the road. Horns begin to blare immediately.
Ivana looked to the right. "Ready?" She asked her blue companion in her Russian accent.
"Most indubitably." He said as he passed her an AR-15.
The F-350 cab was large enough to have front and rear seats. Just like a car. She climbed from the drivers seat into the rear. They had removed the seats and stacked several weapons, magazines and boxes of ammo in the floor. They had rented the shortbed and the bed was about five and a half feet long. It was filled with sandbags. There wasn't a conventional firearm on the planet that could shoot through five feet of sandbags.
Both put on earphones.
Behind her a yellow taxi was trapped and a traffic jam was developing. The cab driver leaned out his window, yelling and lifting his middle finger.
Ivana shot him in the head. The 5.56 put a neat hole through the rear window of the F-350 and an equally neat hole through his head.
Then she shot the passenger. Then the driver of the SUV behind the taxi. And she kept shooting and shooting until the road behind them was packed with vehicles stalled or crashed into one another because their operator was dead or seriously wounded and the cab rang with the deafening bang of gunfire in a confined space and the stench of cordite grew so thick Arrachtach rolled down the windows and turned the fans to maximum.
A hundred and fifty yards back behind a traffic jam of truly epic proportions two police officers jogged down the rows of parked cars and angry commuters who, in the chaos of hundreds of horns and radios and cell phone videos and arguments had not realized what was taking place less than two hundred yards away.
Ivana saw them coming and put a 5.56 through the neck of the officer in the lead. He went down mid-stride. His partner was a combat veteran and reacted immediately, dropping to cover behind a vehicle and radioing for help immediately. Ivana saw that the engine block of the car was between her and the officer so she simply shrugged, tapped Arrachtach on the shoulder and pointed him out.
"Swap. You mobility kill, I hit other side."
He nodded, climbed into the back and picked up a surplus FAL chambered in 7.62. The mechanically minded mutant wasn't as good a shot as Ivana. But he wasn't shooting at people; he was shooting at engine blocks. A thick finger covered in blue fur squeezed the trigger again and again and steel cored ammo punched through sheet metal hoods and into engine blocks. The rear window became so spiderwebbed he could no longer see through it so he kicked it out onto the sandbags in the bed.
The officer fired on them. His pistol was useless at that range. Occasionally Arrachtach heard a round slap into the sandbags. It didn't have a chance to penetrate.
While he disabled vehicles with methodical precision Ivana fired through the passenger side window at cars going the other way. It would be slower going because she couldn't fire vertical to the line of travel. So she fired into the drivers compartment of a passenger buss and the driver reeled over, body sagging and arm caught up in the wheel as the bus veered wildly into the other lane, pulverizing an electric car and smashing into the guard rail, blocking several lanes. Multiple cars slammed into the side of the bus and it overturned.
Behind them fuel had leaked onto the road as Arrachtach methodically put 7.62 rounds through parked cars. Perhaps it was a spark from the steel core of one of his bullets bouncing off the pavement. Perhaps it was a cellphone charger. A cigarette. No one would ever be able to say for certain but a curtain of fire raced down the pavement and swallowed up the road behind them. Black smoke choked the air.
The road entering Brooklyn was dotted with bodies. The passengers had begun to climb out of the bus and Ivana gunned them down one by one, stopping only to change magazines.
The floor was now covered in the gold tubes of spent brass piled around the square black of spent empty magazines.
Panic spread on the Staten-to-Brooklyn side. Several drivers realized what was happening and attempted to race around. Some got away. Others were hit by Ivana's steady, accurate fire. Others attempted to ram the stalled cars out of the way and Ivana gunned them down. Now the entire lane was clogged.
Ivana tapped Arrachtach on the shoulder. "Mobility kill." She said, nodding toward the traffic jam on the other lane.
He nodded and the two shuffled around one another so he could take up her spot at the side window, swapping magazines and putting rounds into the fuel tanks and engine blocks of cars trapped in the multi-car/bus pileup.
This ensured that emergency responders who wished to clear the road could not start the cars and drive them away. They would have to bring up heavy equipment to toe the disabled vehicles away and such was the number of vehicles that this would take a considerable amount of time.
Ivana moved back into the front and saw blue and red lights. The head of the bridge was blocked by police cars. She buckled up and patted Arrachtach on the shoulder. He turned, saw, and climbed into the drivers seat.
He pulled forward and then turned the truck around so the rear faced the police. Both mutants were wearing vests with level three steel plate inserts. Arrachtach crouched low, put the truck in reverse and begin to accelerate toward the barricade of police cars.
The former Shogun fired and they returned fire. Pistol rounds slapped into the sandbags. Rifle rounds punched through windows, sheet metal car bodies and soft body armor.
Several officers cried out as they fell but their voices were drowned out in the crunch of metal as the truck smashed into the police vehicles. It knocked them aside like bowling pins.
Arrachtach straightened the truck out as Ivana kept up steady fire on the surviving officers, pinning them behind their cars and shooting out tires, punching holes in fuel tanks, radiators and denting transmissions and engine blocks.
The Fire Goddess had just moved to Valor City to study at the Valor City University. Things were going good, life was good. She had just finished unpacking and laying on her bed in her apartment with her phone in hand as she texted her beautiful girlfriend about her small victory in being officially moved in. The TV was playing in front of her, the volume low, when suddenly, the news came on. A Breaking News. It caught Zoe’s attention as her eyes shift up from the screen of her phone to the TV and the smile that was once on her face was suddenly wiped away. A gasp could be heard as she practically jumped up from her bed, dropping her phone on it as she scrambled for her remote as she turned up the volume as a man dressed in white was standing before a camera.
“-to destroy the United States of America for the crimes it has committed against mutantkind. You imagine that your sins were forgiven when you elected a mutant as President. That your apologies could wash away the stain. Like a criminal who pleads remorse after he is caught you sought only to reduce the punishment that you know you deserve. Your apologies are rejected. I will bring your country to it's knees and you will reap what you have sown. You may call it revenge. I call it justice."
What the hell...
The screen then cut to New York City, which was now in a black out due to a massive explosion. The screen then cut to Highway 278, where bodies of both living and dead were littered along the road with cars backed up to the point of being trapped. "What the hell..." Zoe could feel the sense of panic rise up in her chest. She felt like she had to go out there, but at the same time… she wasn’t sure if she should. All she knew was that, she didn’t think she could handle this on her own and people needed help.
Grabbing her phone she sent another text to Cat, giving a quick explanation what she just saw and her sudden need to go. 'I have to help.’ was the last thing she texted to her before switching to her newest contact in Valor City, Brian Newcastle. She knew Cat told her to be careful around him, but he was the only person (aside from Cat) that she knew would help her if she asked for it. Something he told her the first day they met, stuck with her in the back of her mind.
"I have a bad habit of thinking I can do everything on my own, but maybe we're not supposed to do it alone."
She knew she couldn’t do this on her own, so, Zoe called him while walking over to her closet. “Hey, B-brain? Did you see the news? It’s crazy out there. I want to go out there, can you please help me?” Zoe opened up her closet and her eyes fell upon her iconic red, blue and gold uniform that was provided by STRIKE all those years ago. "I can’t do it on my own."
Cat saw it on the news as a top story, initially she didn't care. America was built on rebellion, violence and guns. It was no secret to the world that this country was proud of it's bloody heritage. It's citizens often cried out for change or some sort of legislation regarding such acts, but they were often opposed by fellow countrymen or even politicians with career preservation on the line. She didn't care, she couldn't--that is until she saw a text message from her girlfriend.
'GODDAMN IT ZOE,STAY OUT OF IT' she replied back in all caps calling occasionally desperately trying to get a hold of the fire goddess to no avail. The 5'11 Liafador beauty paced around her apartment for hours struggling internally about what to do. Daytonville wasn't up to date with the latest news on that side of the world so she found herself googling various American news sources only to be redirected to a website in her region--frustrating stuff. Pacing back in forth, phone in hand worry casting a dreary shadow on her face; finally she was able to log into her Facebook account to see that not only were many Americans gunned down on the Highway; but there was an explosion of some kind that left South New York without power. "There's no such thing as coincidences" She whispered, clutching her phone to see if Zoe had replied back. "Fork it, It's her country if she wants to get involved in that bullshirt, than fine" Cat tossed her phone on the couch after turning off the Tv.
The Ziccarra clone halt mid stride as something Zoe said hit her in the chest, it poked at her heart sending a severe feeling through the Goddess' body. Guilt?
“She won’t talk to me unless I become a full time hero or if the world needs saving. Which thank goodness we’re good on that right now.” “But it’s fine. I know I’m not alone.”
Perhaps it was guilt, perhaps it was love, maybe it was both; either way she couldn't allow her girlfriend and the only friend she has to handle this situation by herself. Now what? The Prize Fighter was out of question, the Eternal Goddess was too unpredictable for this situation. Cat wasn't sure if she'd even show up, and there was nothing stopping her Goddess roommate from attacking Zoe in the process.
Releasing a strong sigh, Cat trotted up the steps to her bedroom and pulled out a huge box. The box was heavy and engraved with Cardinal Mumbo Jumbo her mom used to preach, but this was an important box. She was supposed to give this to her father, she didn't. For some strange reason she felt compelled to keep it after she found it amongst her mother's things when they were forced out of the West Cape. The contents of this box was Cat accepting a responsibility, one that would change the perception her family and possibly even Zoe had about her.
New York City
The Goddess
Opting to leave the invisible jet home because it was useless and she honestly had no idea if it needed fuel or not; Catalina teleported to New York and then eventually the scene of the crimes, which was admittedly harder than she thought was going to be.
Her sudden presence alert the officers on scene so much that they'd trained their weapons on her.
"Is that!?" One of the screamed, but before they could the irritated former Princess of Darkness dislodged their weapons.
"The Goddess yes, and if those weapons were as useful as you thought they were. I wouldn't have to be here now would I? get the fork out of the way"
Cat's hatred for America ran deep, the irony was that not too long ago she attacked this very same city; now she was here trying to save it. Well not really, she just wanted to make sure Zoe was safe.
With only a limited power-set (Without the Prize Fighter is limited to her Psionic Abilities only) she couldn't physically lift anything; but she could move things with her abilities. Her cinnamon eyes surveyed the carnage, blood saturate the now two-toned highway, bodies littered the streets in no particular pattern.
The intense smell of fuel and flames to fresh on the scene, bullet casings varying with size everywhere. No pattern, or was there?
Her presence around the Crime scene drew the gaze of officers, she knew it would; but just as comfortable as they were looking at her, she took that same liberty when listening to witness accounts. Two shooters confirmed. Black Pick-Up model unsure, AR 15-AK 47? Both? unsure. She did know the directions the suspects sped away in, but her rudimentary detective skills were spent.
Turning back toward the officers she saw a bloody child being carted away on a stretcher, and in her mind she saw Tassi.
"Ms? Ms? MS!"
An officer screamed snapping Cat from her own mind. "We could really use your help with some of the wounded" She didn't say anything else, she simply nod and followed the officer; taking the occasional glance back the ambulance kinda shocked.
CNN considered Brian's fame an example of everything wrong with the modern world. The way he turned controversy into cash was nearly revolting. Didn't he have any shame?
Fox News believed Brian was giving hand outs to an undeserving community. They believed his affordable housing campaign would destroy the real estate market. They proposed his low cost high-tech initiative would undercut the tech world. Sean Hannity once suggested Valor's community funded university was riddled with affirmative action. Why wasn't he ashamed for tearing down the foundation of this country?
New editorials insisted Brian walked around with a white savior complex. That he was another self-obsessed corporate capitalist aiming for political gain. He was the son of Thomas Newcastle after all. Brian being this sweet all-American guy was unbelievable. How couldn't anyone see how problematic he was?
His city, however, viewed Brian as the godsend their government wasn't. Where was the president after the terrorist attack that nearly wiped Grimm off the map? Where officials faltered, Brian strengthened his people. His devotion was undeniable with the amount of time he volunteered. From supporting local businesses like Marissa's Doughnut and Pastry Shop to working alongside construction workers for Ashley Knightfall's Children's Hospital.
"Hey, Brian. Are you feeling, okay?" There was a dimension to Brian Newcastle that many couldn't see. An earnest love that was authentic and unexplored by his naysayers. If only they knew Brian would go to any length for his city's support. If only they what he'd already done.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just tired is all. Just got a lot on my mind." Seven days a week and Brian was never resting. If wasn't working at First A.I.D. Labs, he was running around the city trying to be the hero he wanted to be. Working and working in hopes, his people, his country would support him as fully as he wanted them to. No more skepticism. No more half-assed open-ended opinion pieces on his news feed. Was that so hard to ask?
"I heard you, bro. This sh!t is wild. Our country really can't catch a break." What was this guy talking about? Brian knew it'd been hours since he turned off his phone and disconnected from the Grid, but what was so terrible that the work space was starting to empty out? He had to know. So, he walked into the back room and pressed his index finger on his temple to activate the Grid.
"I'm supposed to feel bad about New York City!?" Brian scoffed at the thought. He even kicked the box of tools laying on the floor in a fit of aggravation. Where was this public outcry when Grimm City was first attacked?
"Where was this energy for my city? For my people? Man, screw that." It felt like a spit in his face. How else was he supposed to feel? News outlets across the globe were covering this story. Concerned for the lives and safety of the more economically cushioned. It irritated the Newcastle legacy, the way media portrayed these human victims differently than the mutant victims of Grimm. Brian was moments away from disconnecting from the Grid once again, but then he received a text message from an unlikely friend (@feral_nova).
“Hey, B-brain? Did you see the news? It’s crazy out there. I want to go out there, can you please help me? I can't do it on my own.”
Despite the misspelling of his name, Brian's disgruntled mood lightened at the prospect of Feral Nova needing his help. For some time now, he was starting to think his efforts to help her don the costume once again were hopeless. Thankfully, he was wrong.
"Yeah, just saw. Thought I was watching a KKK audition tape." As Brian texted Zoe, he realized how blind he was to the situation at hand.
"I wasn't expecting terrorism to become a trending hashtag, but I'm down." Zoe wanted Brian's help and the thought alone was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. He didn't like the circumstances, but maybe this was his change to shift public perception of who Brian Newcastle was. A chance to show his people were bigger than their bigotry and hate.
"How about I pick you up? If we do this together. We do it right." Whoever this white cloaked man was, he wouldn't speak for mutants everywhere. He wouldn't set the movement for equality back once again. Most importantly, Brian just couldn't let another terrorist get away with senseless murder. Brian couldn't let another Ada Guillaume get away. He just couldn't.
We Are...United
Brian arrived at Zoe's place dressed in his formerly retired Force attire. His melancholic look would fade the moment she came outside. It was strange, the way she made him feel. It was the kind of inspiration he hoped to convey, but had so much difficulty portraying. As Brian stood firmly at her doorstep, his earthy green eyes met his own reflection in the door's window.
On his collar there was a faint blood stain, unnoticeable to the casual glance, but he could see it as plain as day. It was a creeping reminder of the pain he suffered from Ada. The losses he wouldn't wish on anyone else. So, Brian told himself he'd do better this time around.
"Wow, Zoe. You looking amazing..." When his eyes met Zoe's, Brian looked at her with a bewildered expression. He momentarily forgot just about everything he planned to say. He might have taken him a few seconds to recover, but who could blame him? This was Feral Nova. "...but this guy. This attack. Are you ready?"
It was a relief knowing that Brian was going to be there with her in ground zero. She began packing a backpack, what little medical supplies she had, a gallon of clean water and hand towels she had just bought for her bathroom. It’s ok, she could always buy more. She heard the ambulances couldn’t get to the wounded due to the massive traffic jam. Sure Zoe knew basic first aid, but traumatic wound care? That was waaaaaaaaaaay out of her league.
Then, it was time to suit up.
The suit still fit her like a glove, despite her being inactive for some time. She flexed her fingers as she looked down upon them, trying to get her mind ready for the death, fear and panic that was going on along the bridge. Not to mention the thousands of people who were left in the dark with their power out. It wasn’t that she wanted to go out there, she had to go out there. Every fiber in her body was telling her to. Just then, a knock.
"Wow, Zoe. You looking amazing..."
“Hey Brian,” She gave a small smile. “Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.” Zoe knew that Brian was experienced in terrorist attacks and large death tolls, but this seemed to be on a whole different level. Would the two of them be enough?
"...but this guy. This attack. Are you ready?"
The Fire Goddess took in a deep breath before lightly shaking her head. “No, but we need to go. People are counting on us.” As the two made their way outside, Zoe was half expecting a helicopter or something that could fly them over there because of the massive traffic jam. But she saw… nothing. “Um... ok this is gonna be awkward but I need to like… um... carry you so we can fly there. We can’t drive out there.” Before he could even try to oppose she had already walked behind him, levitating up from the ground as she hooked her arms under his and took off flying straight up into the sky and in the direction of the attack.
It was only a matter of minutes before the duo made it to the bridge. Thick black smoke still rising from the damaged cars and the closer they got, the more she realized, what she initially thought was debris on the road, were bodies. Zoe’s stomach sank. Who would do this? Why would they do this? “Ready?” She finally spoke out to Brian as they closed in.
She released her grasp, allowing him to land on the bridge just a few feet off the ground as she landed not too far away from him. The stench of burnt flesh hit her first as burning cars with corpses still inside them were still going. Looking down she could see she had stepped in a puddle of someone’s blood. She could feel herself slip into a panic, this was a bad idea.
“Help!” She heard several voices cry out desperately all around her. Her head began wiping back and forth, trying to look for an ambulance. She could hear the sirens, very faintly. She levitated up from the ground again only to see the ambulances stuck in traffic waaaaaaaay far back. They couldn’t get to the wounded.
They had to do something, anything. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to put her fears aside. “Brian.” Zoe began, still floating above the ground. “We need to get the one’s who are still alive out of here. I’m going to try and make a way for the ambulance to get here. Can you get the people out of their cars and just find… anyone still alive.” She shrugged off her backpack and dropped it down to him. "There's a few supplies in there, hopefully it helps a bit until I get the paramedics here."
Before she flew off she hoovered over the fire, outstretching her hands as they began to give a golden glow. The flames began to die down, Zoe manipulating the fire to her will until it vanished, leaving just black smoke. As soon as it was done, she took off flying to where the emergency respondents were stuck.
As she landed on the ground she began using her super strength to push cars as far as she could to one side of the highway until it would make enough room for the ambulances to drive through. At this point, most of the vehicles that were close enough to the chaos had been abandoned by their owners, while there were a few who were still frozen in fear inside. She could feel her phone vibrate, over and over again. It was either Cat, or her Aunt, Heather asking her if she was going to do something and Cat probably telling her to stay home. Zoe didn't have time to answer as she pushed, and pushed, and pushed and pushed. Tires screeching along the pavement as she couldn't help but push some of the cars into other empty cars to make enough room. Bystanders who were still on the Highway and were unharmed were now pulling out their phones, recording or live streaming the entire situation. Finally, she finished, unaware of how long it took her the ambulances raced down one by one along with police officers and even fire fighters.
Before she made her way back to Brian, Zoe saw someone who made her do a double take. "C-cat?" She made her way over to her as she was following paramedics. "You're here?" Her voice filled with surprise. Of course she was happy to see her, it actually eased her anxiety to have her here with her. But she knew how Cat felt about America, and she knew how Cat felt going out in public dressed in her uniform and she knew how Cat felt about getting involved in situations that had nothing to do with her. "Thanks, for coming." She gave a thankful smile as she reached for her hand, giving it a grateful squeeze before her attention was ripped away.
While paramedics and officers were now coordinating with each other, the sheer amount of bodies were just overwhelming.
Even in low light, the silver sheen of his Trion armor glimmered bright. Yet the spirit of the man behind the iron and mask was dim. Amaranth - his greatest friend - had returned more terrorist than misunderstood revolutionary. He spoke of smiting the United States, a country far from the land of Andres' birth, and it seemed wrong. Wrong as burning any man's land was, but wrong because this was not and had never been what Amaranth was. A destroyer. An avenger. It was wrong because it was not Amaranth, not as Andres'd known him. And so, the Knightfall Don sat in a room as dark as his mood, blue eyes sweeping from holographic screen to holographic screen as his mind ran through thoughts faster than a mortal brain had any right to be.
On his lap sat a mask of a metal few knew to even exist. And in his hand? The sword to plunge into Amaranth's skull. Yet Andres was more scientist than warrior, more brain than brawn. So as his eyes and ears drank from the image and words of a video replayed a thousand times over, his brain - an otherworldly machine - scrambled to every possible logical consequence within it's reach, and his mind pulled back to the one thought that kept him from raising his sword. This is not Amaranth.
Amaranth is from a future more distant from us than the Roman Republic.
A future where mutants, us, are less than animals.
But my friend has never been a destroyer.
If he did not kill Charlemagne for more, then he would not burn a country for less.
Is there more to this? Or was Antonia right all this time?
The nanoseconds ticked and tocked, and Andres' face became a mask of deep thought. To bring war to American soil was a bold invitation to every who soared it's skies and patrolled it's cities. Even Amaranth, with immortality and the skill of Achilles a thousand times over, hadn't the numbers nor the power for conflicts of this scale. What then, had the Lord of the Sword in store for America's finest? Andres could only wonder and wait. War was a game of chess, and the Knightfall Don need read his foe before moving a piece.
So as his gaze swept to the violet sparks in his Quantum Chamber, Andres would wait and watch. He need not use it - yet.
The heat was unbearable. The gravity crushing. The light blinding, and the sound deafening. And to Thee Champion, it was pure. This was the storm of his birth, and the scorching sting of charged particles racing past him was among the first of his memories. ||-So, found what you're looking for?-||, a voice - Mara's - echoed from his earpiece. "If you mean the Sun? Yes. But an appropriate prison for the Lavalieres? No", the Miracle Man returned, eyes staring past folds upon folds of plasma and gamma rays. ||-I should hope so. It'd be awkward for every one of us on Earth if you went up there and didn't find the Sun. So where're you thinking of locking those gems away?-||, Mara asked, her curiosity rising above the static growing the deeper Thee Champion went.
"Preferably? A black hole", Thee Champion answered, satisfying the subtle longing he'd been feeling for the place of his birth. Climbing out the Sun's heart, the Miracle Man lanced into space, his cape carrying the scarlet glow of a seething star. ||-Why not keep them yourself? I don't imagine there're a lot of people out there willing to fight you for the Lavalieres-||, Mara supposed, the sound of her fingers running through her dark locks floating out his earpiece. "Then that brings a new meaning to the phrase 'more than you can imagine'. I've already encountered one. There'll be others. Most less dangerous, but some even more-so". The seconds ticked and tocked, and for those fleeting moments, a silence overtook them as Thee Champion soared the cosmos with the echoes of his responsibility for the Mind and Reality Lavalieres reverberating through every inch of his mind.
||-Let me keep them for you. As a spy I think highly of my ability to keep things under people's noses. That and no one'd ever think to demand a Lavaliere from me of all people. I don't exist on public records and no one knows we know each other but you and I-||.
Earth, Wyoming, Jacksonville
Diving into Earth's atmosphere, Thee Champion considered - and rejected Mara's proposal. "No. That much power in your hands is bound to corrupt you. Magnify your pathologies, turn your confidence into arrogance, and your arrogance into a god complex. And you'll be found, eventually. By someone. It's not a chance I'm willing to take". Around her, the windows rattled and shook from the air storming the streets. Thee Champion'd arrived, cape spreading like an angel's wings as he neared a window for Mara to open.
Gliding in, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes meeting hers, the Miracle Man caught her smile, and the steel muscles in his face softened. "So", her smile faded, emerald eyes masked by concern, "Amaranth is still alive. He's escaped and is fresh from threatening the United States. You have the Reality Lavaliere. Use it", Mara urged, the desire to see Amaranth wiped from the cosmos heavy on her brow, "Blink him out of existence. And the others. Ivana, Charlemagne, Satar. There's no place for them in the future this world needs, and you know that". It was impossible to deny her reason, and even more-so the longing in her gaze to see Thee Champion take her advice to heart.
"I would. But I don't know how to use the Reality Lavaliere. Me trying to blink them out of existence might run the risk of me willing something even worse into existence, or changing something I didn't mean to. People like my daughter'll deal with this. I'll focus on keeping the people safe as you direct me to the areas with the worst casualties", he scowled. "If this is anything like Gothic City", Mara paused, "You might have to be everywhere at once".
NYC was huge. It had roughly twenty thousand miles of streets. Eleven thousand traffic lights. Forty thousand intersections. It was the second most congested city in the US and forth in the world.
Eighteen different agencies were responsible for traffic flow. Port Bus Authority, Interstate Parkway Authority, NYPD traffic division, Fort Lee traffic division, MTA command, Turnpike Authority, NYC DOT and on and on and on. These eighteen agencies had a combined total of one hundred and seven control rooms.
An ordinary day saw six hundred and eleven automobile accidents. Each of these required at least five agencies to coordinate. Enter Transcom. Transcom had one job and that was to coordinate communications between the agencies. Without Transcom acting as an intermediary between these agencies the traffic accidents alone would hurl NYC into total chaos as agencies clogged each others phone lines with tens of thousands of requests, reports and instructions.
This wasn't an ordinary day and it was going to get a lot worse.
Hawkshade stood atop the Transcom building. Their power was still on.
He dealt with the backup generator first. A large red unit atop the roof marked with caution signs and locked with a heavy duty padlock. A gloved hand turned the lock this way and that as he inspected it through his Strigidae Cowl.
Nine seconds later he tossed the open lock to the side, put his lockpicks back in his utility belt and popped open the steel covering of the emergency generator.
Hawkshade dropped three gallium pellets into the generators engine. The liquid bonded with the metal in seconds and begin to dissolve it. Pistons and cylinders fused into one. Steel became mush. There was no explosion. No strong smell.
He put the covering down and latched it into place again. His sabotage would likely only be discovered when the backup generator failed to activate.
The flick of his wrist sent an explosive Iaculum whirling through the air as he leapt from the roof. His glider cloak opened and carried him soaring down the alleyway.
Behind him there was the thunderclap of an explosion. The power cut off; his Iaculum had stuck fast in the electrical service entrance where cables as thick as his wrist vanished into the wall. There it has detonated, ripping conductive cable into shards of copper, caving in brick wall and turning millions in electrical equipment into shrapnel.
The screams begin but the Heir to Shadow was already gone.
Transcom fell silent. Hundreds of calls ended. Eighteen agencies were cast into chaos as the web of communication that bound them together was severed. In a heartbeat NYC's traffic management became a digital tower of babble.
"Please, don't drop me. It'll hurt." It was a bit of an adjustment, the whole flying in the air bit. It was like a roller coaster minus the nausea. For the most part, Brian allowed himself to embrace the energy Zoe afforded him. Whenever they were together, the Newcastle legacy felt limitless. Like he could do anything he set his mind to.
"Well, it won't hurt as bad as this..." As the duo approached the scene of the what smelled like a massacre. Tears rolled off his earthy green eyes as inhaled bits of the smokescreen from the lot of crashed cars. Brian was triggered by the sight of death. He thought he was ready. He wanted to be, but for a moment he felt paralyzed. He unconsciously weighed his partner down, his thoughts sinking into depths of doubt as they inched closer and closer.
"Ready?" Zoe spoke to Brian so confidently. She was someone else in the costume. Not a stranger, but a more present version of herself. Every single quality he wanted him exposed was there. From the willpower to engage with the unknown to the driven attitude to help. Those were the kind of qualities he hoped to emulate. So, when Brian looked up at her ever so very briefly, his heart was uplifted even as her grip loosened. He felt reassured.
"I'm ready,"he responded in return. After landing firmly on the ground, Brian would slap his face a few times to get himself back in the zone. It was a ritual of sorts to get his adrenaline pumping. Before he could engage with the scene, Zoe interjected.
“We need to get the one’s who are still alive out of here. I’m going to try and make a way for the ambulance to get here. Can you get the people out of their cars and just find… anyone still alive.” Thankfully, Brian had himself a cheat code. The Grid was a user database for Dominus International A-X Phone users. As the sole moderator, Brian could use the Grid to locate his user base anywhere in the world. Although the amount of A-X Phone's were limited north of New Jersey, Brian's holographic visor was able to ping several users within his vicinity.
His entire Force outfit glowed whenever he was connected to the Grid. Brian was a futuristic wonder in the modern world. With the adamatine laced shield he was gifted by Helena, the Valor native walked closer to an upside down vehicle.
"You can do this, Brian." Despite his boots tracking blood with his every step, Brian attempted to disassociate himself from the carnage that obscured his sense of smell. The smell was disorientating. How could it not be? Brian, however, desperately wanted to do something to make sense of the madness. Something that couldn't misconstrued or misinterpreted.
"I'm here to help, okay?" As Brian knelt down, he could hear the panicked screams of the young woman inside. She looked no older than 23 years old. Her phone information suggested she was a student. Moved from Houston, Texas in pursuit of her dreams. Recent social media posts had her positioned for an audition of some sort. Another rising actor, he thought. Now here she was. Her face cut open at the bridge of her nose. Much of the blood was smeared in her eyes, probably from her failed attempts at blotting her tears. Brian, reluctantly understood the feeling.
"I'm gonna get you out of here, I promise." With a warm smile, Brian attached the shield to his back harness before standing up again. With the palm of his hands, Brian gripped the vehicle by its ceiling. His fingertips digging into the road as he tried to find his grip. As he lifted the vehicle, Brian's face reddened as his he tried to maintain his grip. His knuckles bled as the car landed on its side.
"Jesus Christ," He wasn't superhuman like Zoe, but that woudn't stop him for doing his part. With his hands on his hips, Brian took a deep breath. "I can do this. I've lifted heavier." Brian wasn't lying. Over a year ago, there was a Las Vegas freak accident with the Force where he took a punch from a hulk level metahuman and survived. So, he could pull off the vehicle door, he thought. As he gripped the door's handle, the Newcastle legacy's costume radiated a green aura. His visor shifted from a turquoise blue to the same green that grew from the earth.
As the door flung off and skirted onto the ground, Brian found himself tinkering with the seat belt until it unlocked. Afterwards, he supported the back of the young woman as he used his other forearm to lift her from underneath her legs. It was a basic rescue, but the young woman was trembling as she wrapped her arms around his neck mumbling a multitude of thank yous.
"It's okay, it's okay. I know how you feel. I really do." When he looked up from the young woman, Brian was once again greeted by Zoe. This time, however, she was distracted by something...or rather someone else.
"I'm sorry. Am I missing something, Zoe? Who's she?" He couldn't place her face just yet, but he was mildly concerned about the way she made Zoe's heart stir. He could feel her emotions bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Conflicted or confused. Brian couldn't place it.
"I'm gonna go talk to the paramedics. Show them a few spots around here that could use some helping. I'll be right back, Zoe." Brian briefly eyed Catalina from head to toe, trying to get a read off the stranger before he walked away with the wounded passenger in his arms.
Using her telekinetic power Cat moved vehicles free people from their cars, she aided the paramedics in moving victims on to stretchers before her attention was wisk away by the arrival of her girlfriend.
The two shared a brief embrace, it was apparent on the face of the Ziccarra clone that she was indeed happy to see Zoe but the severity of the moment didn't allow them to conversate; Zoe rushed into action leaving Cat to lock eyes with a man she assumed was Brian Newcastle.
"Fck you looking at. Don't fart in them tight ass pants" She damn near screamed before her body was encased in azure light, and just like that she was gone. The blue light deposited the Goddess on the vessel of STRIKE's H.A.T.V.
The STRIKE Vessel (New Jersey)
Cat's eyes scanned the bridge to a plethora of STRIKE agents with their weapon trained on her. She understood the sentiment, the last time she came into contact with them she plunge them into an intergalactic war.
But then again, given her current demeanor it was probable they assumed she was Ziccarra--which wasn't better.
"I don't need to remind you guys that you kidnapped me, what the hell do you want" She hissed not making any sudden movements. It wasn't long before Ruby Gallagher joined them on the bridge, but she hadn't instructed her agents to stand down. Not yet.
"I'm curious, I have reports that The Goddess died in a battle with her niece; now here you are. Thanks to the book Ashley Mooreland wrote we know you're not her. So spill."
Cat cursed under her breath knowing she should've kept her happy ass in Daytonville. "I'm Catalina Liafador" She admitted which surprisingly drew no response from Ruby and her STRIKE agents.
"Impossible, I watched you commit suicide" Ruby retort. "You also know my father can stand on the sun, and my mother became a Goddess through apotheosis."
The two women shared a prolonged stare smothered in silence before the tension was broke by Agent Norfleet.
"Commander, there's been another attack, look like Transcom," Norfleet reported pointing toward the black smoke rising over the bay.
"It appears you guys have bigger problems then harassing a Ziccarra cosplayer, so if you'll excuse me I'll be on my way," Cat said trying to get the teleporter to work.
"Catalina, you've done this before. We can use your help. Obviously, you arrived in New York for a reason. Hell us before it gets worse"
Norfleet called out halting Cat for a moment.
"It's not just one person. Hell, it's not just three people. We're talking about maybe 4 or 5. Every law agency is looking for the vehicle that sped off on the highway, it's unlikely that they'd return to the city to attack Transcom. The attack on Transcom fits the MO from the first attack; the power outage. The second attack may not be connected, but I'm saying it is. If you really want to find these people you might want to start looking into things That's all the help I can give."
"Will you fight for us?" Ruby's question sent a weird feeling through Catalina, did she want to get involved? no, she wanted to go back home.
"Look I look like Ziccarra, but I damn sure don't fight like it. My Goddess and I aren't on the best terms if she comes out your situation will get worse. I can probably find their mind if they're in the city, but with all the shit that's going on it'll take a while."
Agent Barnes stepped forward with an idea of his own.
Nerd...
"Hey did any of you by chance watch Dragonball GT? Cat's eyebrows narrowed in confusion.
"Really nobody? Anyways, In the series, Vegeta's wife created a machine that allowed him to transform to Super Saiyan 4 without him actually reaching the required level. I think I can do the same for you. Trick your body into thinking the "Goddess" is present...but it won't last forever."
Her eyes rolled, but it seemed like a feasible plan. "If you do the air quote thing again I will literally kill you."
"Cat get started with the mind sweeping, Barnes get on the machine. Norfleet let's put agents on the ground." Ruby commanded.
It had been months since Cassius was home. Since Iceland and to be truthful since he was with his family he wandered. New York was the closest thing to being with them. It was oddly comforting for a city filled with ghosts. He stood and watched the world moving below. The bright lights of the streets, the cars, the city that never sleeps. Then came a total darkness and the voices. The streets looked dead the towering buildings now great cold monoliths as the whispers called to him. "Feed Us" shaking his head as if to free it from some something blindly making his way to a cupboard. Fumbling for a few seconds before finding a tactical flash light. Illuminating the small space ahead the strands of lights flashed across a shimmering red. "No, just no" as the light continued over a black duffle bag shimmering with the polished metal within its opening. Cassius paused briefly as if to consider the old tools. Before reaching for a already formed composite bow and a small pile of clothes.
Stumbling around as he dressed in the dark before furriously sracthing at the door as he attempted to lock it and leave. Cursing numerous times as he left. Hearing mutterings and confusion from his neighbours as he walked down the corriodor past the elevator to the stairs.
"23 floors to go" the lone knightfall thought as he began to walk down. Reaching floor 19 before he realised he had left his quiver upstairs. Moaning under his breath as he walked back and forth once more. Reaching for his Justice League communicator as he continued downwards.
"Cassian here. New york appears to be expericing some sort of power outage. Everything in Manhattan is dead going to investigate. Lack of back up generators is distubring. Something is off. Any of you on scene or need assistance? "
Reaching the bottom of the stairs after what felt like a life time as his ears screamed with a high pitch humb. A riot starting in the dark recesses of him. The cold shadow pulling on the reins of his consiousness like an angered cerberus with a furry he had never felt before.
Black cherry and American Elm rose up on either side of the road to shroud the hummer in shadow while the beams of the sinking sun pierced through here and there to illuminate the time worn lines upon his face.
His path took him through the backroads. Across little bridges that crossed tiny streams. Through neighborhoods that never appeared on any TV show, living as they did in the shadow of NYC's legend.
Forgotten places that reminded Amaranth of forgotten faces.
He remembered them now. Those men and women who had lived and died in the shade of his legend. Those who had believed in him. Believed in his cause.For over a quarter of a million years he had walked the earth and legions had walked along side him. Lived for him. Died for him.
Who now remembered them?
Only Amaranth.
He remembered every one. Today the memory of Albert lay heavy upon his mind. An old friend who had died in Ivana's conquest of Venezuela.
An old man, mourned by none. Forgotten. Amaranth wondered if any had even said Albert's name in the years since Amaranth's had been imprisoned by Avalon.
Another mutant who had given all. Not only his life but even the memory of him had passed away. As if he had never existed.
How many more, Amaranth wondered?
NYC, like most of the east coast, was a city built on top of a city built on top of another city. First a Dutch fur trading post that grew with the nation and it's exploding population each technological leap saw the city build atop it's former self.
When the population expanded new housing was tacked on to whatever space remained. Then technology leaped forward and new types of construction were laid beside the old. Coal depots dug beneath the sidewalks and then telegraph lines and then eventually power lines.
It was power that changed everything. Electricity.
First the lines need only supply a small amount of power for radios and lights. All too rapidly technological advancement would hurl NYC into the future and power lines must supply larger, more powerful devices. Then the information age exploded into the world, born in a digital big bang and suddenly the NYC power system was required to supply not merely radios, lights and TVs but power for an incalculable number of electronic devices 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
Technology was a ravenous beast and it fed on one food and one food alone. Electricity.
To sate it's inexorable appetite power systems had been layered on top of power systems. One width of power lines here, another there. One type of transformer here, another there. Each technological advancement in power generation and transmission saw instant construction as NYC struggled to keep pace with the never ending demand for more, more more.
The same was true of traffic. Each advancement, from horse and buggy to rail to motor vehicle to airplane and helicopter saw more and more systems built and stacked atop one another. Each explosion in productivity brought more workers which required yet another block of housing which required power and food and water and on and on and on.
NYC was less a city than it was several cities from different eras jammed together, stacked atop one another and always teetering on the brink of complete chaos as far too much of everything was crammed into one place.
Vast sums of money, thousands of working hours and a truly leviathan bureaucracy was the glue that held the city together. That held it back from the brink.
But it wasn't just NYC.
It was the whole east coast.
Spared the destruction the second world war had unleashed upon European cities the east coast was the result of three hundred years of unrestricted growth. There had been no plan. Capitalism ran completely unchecked; everyone built what they could afford wherever they could afford to build it.
The result was a mechanical giant made from a thousand different pieces of technology all glued together and lumbering along, fueled by the vast wealth of the American economy and the momentum of three hundred years.
It wasn't robust. It wasn't durable.
It was more vulnerable than anyone knew.
Amaranth pulled in front of a security gate. Rolled down his window.
"Sir, this area is off limits to the public."
Fifteen minutes later Amaranth drove away. The echo of the explosion still rang in his ears and he was pulling shrapnel from the hem of his white cloak. Thousands upon thousands of homes and businesses in NYC and the surrounding area went dark, further straining the complex east coast power system.
That was two. Seven remained. And then electric darkness.
About half an hour later he stopped beside a train track in New Jersey. It wasn't an intersection of rail and road. Trains were limited to forty nine miles per hour in populated areas. In the countryside the limit was seventy nine.
He could feel the rumble of the oncoming train in the ground as he climbed out of his hummer and drew the great adamantine blade from his back. The ancient sword cleaved through the train tracks as though they were butter. Then muscles strained as he seized the tracks and slowly, but surely, bent them as though there were a sudden curve.
There were 1,923,000 cars registered in NYC. 50,000 or so cabs. Tens of thousands of buses, construction vehicles, motorcycles, ambulances and even farm vehicles.
They all required fuel.
That fuel streamed in on the backs of semis, through buried pipelines, seaborne tankers and most of all, in trains.
The DOT-111 tank car was the most common type of rail fuel transport in America. It carried 34,500 gallons.
Amaranth climbed back into his hummer and drove away. Rapidly.
The oncoming train pulled forty four cars. All DOT-111 cars. All filled with gasoline destined to power NYC's millions of vehicles, generators and amusements for yet another day.
In the gloom of twilight the damage Amaranth had done to the tracks wasn't visible in time. The train derailed at seventy two miles per hour.
Two thousand and fifty nine tons of steel and fuel flew from the tracks and hit the New Jersey soil like the hammer of the gods.
DOT-111 cars were renown for their safety failures. They failed again; one cracked and then the next and the next, punctured by twisted steel driven by thousands of tons of force as it ripped a canyon through the dirt, car tearing from from car with the scream of steel twisting like playdough as cars flipped end over end; a vast marvel of engineering slapped sprawling across the countryside like a child's toy.
There was a spark.
1,518,000 gallons of gasoline caught fire.
First an explosion that rocked the earth. Earthquake alarms a hundred miles distant screamed a warning.
But there was too much gasoline. It didn't all explode at once. It couldn't. Cars were hurled skyward hundreds of yards, spewing burning fuel. Others went rolling across the countryside igniting everything in their path.
Most were rent into molten shrapnel that flew for thousands of yards and set fires wherever they landed while thousands of gallons of gasoline spilled across the countryside.
A flood of burning fuel washed through the empty land. Washed into the Pine Barrens of New Jersey.
The Pine Barrens were mostly pine. Mostly dry. Mostly Pygmy Pines which were uniquely flammable.
Nearly a million gallons of fuel washed into the Barrens and they caught fire like straw.
The Barrens covered twenty two percent of New Jersey and five federal and eight state highways ran through them. Highways now clogged by the smoke of a vast inferno devouring dry pine and driven by hundreds of gallons of burning gasoline. Other highways faced near destruction as fuel washed over the asphalt and melted it.
Dusk neared. Amaranth drove on. The interior of the black hummer was illuminated by the flickering orange of the hellscape to his east.
Americans thought they were invulnerable. That Bad Things™ only happened in urban warzones like Gothic City or far away countries with unpronounceable names. That their wealth was like an invisible forcefield that warded off evil.
Cronologically this is where the Grimmwald/Ivana fight will begin and be resolved. Link here. This post will be updated with a summery by edit later when the fight is completed.
This was it. The Crucible. The purpose she'd half-heartedly held herself to since it was drilled in the moment of her inception. Before, it'd been a distant, vague theory meant to drive her behaviour despite a lack of a real reason and any evidence to the contrary, like "The American Dream" or "the greatest fighter in the world." Now, it was real. Amaranth was awake, and he was furious.
It was a stark contrast to the man she'd known. That is to say she'd never actually known him. Anastasia was only created after he had been neutralized. She'd only ever spoken to his comatose form but couldn't deny forming some attachment through their one-sided conversations. She'd only ever known him as one might have known the great Alexander III of Macedon – if that person could also say beyond reasonable doubt that they were his descendant. She read about him in books, articles, internet forums, seen videos. But this was not Amaranth the figure of modern history. This was Amaranth the militant mutant terrorist, Hell-bent on humankind's destruction.
Nastya'd been somewhat ashamed to admit that it hurt, him being so different from her wishful expectation. Even though, as Santi was keen to remind her, this was who Amaranth always was. This was her progenitor without the rose-colored lenses. It hurt not because it was unexpected. Nastya cared but she was no fool. She knew that if Amaranth ever awoke he would seek exactly what he sought before Antonia took him down. Mostly, she just wanted the chance to talk to him. Really talk to him, and see how he received her.
Now as word of his destruction on the East Coast spread, a tinge of quiet fury seethed along with her grief. More than saving mutants, he was hurting innocent people, and he wouldn't stop, not of his own accord. Perhaps once upon a time he'd had clear sight of his mission, but this?This wasn't about freedom. This was spite, plain and simple. So Avalon's Lazarus met with a cabal of a few individuals to discuss the threat, and how best to confront it.
(Former) Avalon Corporate HQ - Los Angeles, CA
Nastya stood, half-leaning, before her desk on the far side of the room. It was her office and of the individuals in the room she was the central component which linked them all together. Santi Porthos, who she fancied a mentor of sorts, stood not far. He'd been Antonia's "top general" in the wars that came before, and although she'd heard little of him in terms of combat experience he more than pulled his weight when the world itself decided to make Avalon their enemy. And all for protecting them from this very threat. Now again Avalon's minds were called to save the United States - to save humanity itself - from the most prominent and dangerous terrorists of the last century.
Abigail Aensland hovered by the window - the veteran heroine had been Nastya's most frequent companion on combat missions and the two had achieved a synchronization that made them, as a unit, able to act virtually as one when the situation called for it. Beyond that, Abigail had among the most and best combat experience of heroes in the modern era; versatile and capable of holding her own even when slugging with metas out of her weight class.
Hovering just before Nastya, a holo-transponder took in the Amazon's form and transmitted a warped form to a remote location. Another device projected a distorted humanoid light form into the center of the room, granting some visual presence to the individual on the other end of communications - although the voice was likewise distorted.
"Thousands of the same upload, all processed and completed in different locations at once? Well he's thorough."
"For the east coast." Nastya began tapping her foot. "I can go to the places he's been, track his scent, but if we're just gonna try to follow him we might never catch up to him in time.""In time" being the critical element. She was certain she could catch up to him. But he wasn't exactly playing pitter-patter with the United States's infrastructure anymore. "We need what he's after so we can cut him off." Looking directly at the light projection in the center, "Hardware, get every drone you have out in New York. City streets, country roads, out in the water, no place is off-limits." The figure nodded.
Abigail pushed herself from the wall. "He's more extreme and more motivated but he's still mostly the same man. We joke that he loves attention but he's effective. Amaranth has never worked as a huge force multiplier but he does serve multiple utilities - huge ones. His powers are versatile - they let him get into places others couldn't, do things others can't. But considering his likely condition he's not in for a fight. Even before his capture, Amaranth either unnerved or completely distracted his enemies. We've seen it with nearly every great figure of our era. Charlemagne, Satar, Ivana, Antonia. Either people run or a large congregation flocks to them, desperate to be the ones taking them down." By now she was actively pacing the room, working the details out as she spoke. "So soon after release from captivity? Even for one who regenerates I find it hard to believe he's in top form. Unless his healing factor can restore nutrients, body mass, and strength just as well as restore damaged tissue, he's simply there to boost the morale of the legions who've been waiting for him for so long, and hurt that of those who stand to suffer from his return. And those most qualified waste time hunting him down."
Then with a sigh, she added, "But it must be done. He has to be stopped." A flash of light, and from the air itself a golden lance fell into her palm. "I've...not used it yet"—that, she was saving for Ezra Strix—"but the legends say Gáe Buidhe can kill even an immortal. If he can't be reasoned with..."
"But before that," said Nastya, passing a glance over each of the others, "he's not alone. I'll be able to track faster alone and we'll need to split up anyway. We've still got Ivana, a possible Kratesis, and Bitcoin Richard to worry about."
A manic flare shone briefly in Abigail's eye, followed by a grimace. Ivana. It was a wonder she'd ever wanted anything but smoke from the ex-Shogun. Maybe once upon a time she might have been salvageable - Abby wished she was - but she held no faith in that outcome anymore. That one was a fight she'd been waiting to have one more time, and as much as she wished it was for purely altruistic reasons it was almost entirely personal. That said, this wasn't the time for it. "I'll head to Gothic. Vasiliev head's Excalibur now, right? If he's there maybe I can 'negotiate' a cut off of any supplies Excalibur might be using to help the Court of Arcani. If not, I've got something for that too. It won't stop them by a mile, but if any of their operations are tied up in his resources then we should look at not only the main tower, but their other enterprises, especially those moving along the east coast."
Nastya nodded. "Cierto. Hardware, have the drones also make note of any buildings, vehicles, uniforms, and equipment associated with Excalibur Industries as they go, and feed all data to Aeon's quantum computer. Santi, you're good at people. I can't really tell you what to do, but it would be nice if we knew what allies we had out there in all this."
The chaos unfolding in the streets of New York was as clear as day to him. Standing among friend and stranger alike, the Black Viper smiled, suave as was natural for him. And though his hands were kept snug in his pockets, his mind - quantum streams of otherworldly mathematics - flowed elsewhere, in New York's skyline. There, the quantum information comprising his mind hovered, drifting through the clouds as entangled fluctuations in the geometric folds of space-time. He stood in Los Angeles, but by decree of a psychic power more absurd than superhuman - quantum telepathy - Santiago's mind and soul soared in New York. Blackouts, gunfire, and the smell of death hanging thick in the air, American soil had not known such terror since the days of Satar.
So as his mind pulled back into his skull and brain, Santiago's eyes swept to the woman who'd slain the Baabda Beast. Perhaps Amaranth, the legendary Lord of the Sword, would too fall at Abigail's feet.
Both her words and Nastya's floated to his ears, and his blue eyes that so often trafficked in passion and mystery, met theirs. "Tis unfortunate that these attacks come and go like fickle weather. And more-so that the people behind them can often not be reasoned with". First, his eyes locked Nastya's in a gaze, and his smile held back his amusement that indeed, she could not tell him what to do. "I've some ideas in mind, bella. Some allies I've contacted. However, before they come, there is something I need to give to our ally here". Turning at the heel, his body facing hers as did his eyes, the Black Viper strode towards Abigail. "From the stories I've been told, you're the best archer in the world, and as you're the one who stopped Satar and many others, I'm inclined to believe those stories".
With a flick of his wrist, space-time rippled and spat a boon into his arms. A quiver and compound bow. The Black Bow. "The bow's limbs and bowstring are made of layers of molecular Trion springs which store and amplify elastic potential energy, to be released all at once as a lot of kinetic energy. Shoot a steel wall with this, and you will implode it with the massive forces the bow's Trion springs provide. And the arrows have Trion broadheads with hardened edges of four blades designed for good wide cuts. But, tis not why I am presenting you with the bow", he paused, setting the bow atop a table and plucking the arrows gleaming in the quiver. "Tis the arrows. It occurs to me that our enemy is no simple immortal. His healing factor is the stuff of legends".
"And it will get in our way. According to legend, your lance can kill an immortal. My arrows will be it's backup. The blue arrows carry VX nerve agents, which will severely limit any healing factor, accelerated or not. They inhibit nerve transmission and completely shut down the nervous system. Now, I imagine Amaranth's powerful regeneration will attempt to reconstruct his cellular tissues, but his body would still need to flush out the VX nerve agents. Which is why you have the grey arrows. They carry extremely toxic carbonadium nanites. And as we all know, carbonadium's radiation poisoning causes cellular damage at a rate that even accelerated healing factors struggle with. Shoot Amaranth with both these arrows, as many times as you need, and you will compromise even his ability to recover efficiently".
"They may not kill him, but perhaps they'll make him wish they had". Eyes now returned to Nastya, the Black Viper swiped a finger over his watch and glanced at the walls trembling from the gale force he'd summoned. "The first ally I contacted is the Miracle Man born from nothing in the heart of the Sun. Thee Champion", Santiago smiled, allowing the Miracle Man passage into Avalon's former stronghold via a subtle tear, a rift in space-time. And out it's thrumming heart, Thee Champion walked. Tall, eyes steely, and his cape like the scarlet wings of an archangel. "Hopefully I'm not imposing on this meeting", Thee Champion began, his voice rolling like quiet thunder, his eyes passing over all those present.
"But I'm sure we all recognize the threat we're facing, and the lives in danger. And I feel that my role's best played in protecting the civilians while the rest of you cut off the dragon's head". Strong arms crossed over his chest, Thee Champion found his glance straying to Abigail. He respected her deeds, and she was among the few he felt could him keep the Lavalieres from ambitious hands. "Abigail, a word, when you have time". With Thee Champion's rift closed shut, yet another rumbled open, "The final ally I contacted is a hero I helped free from the Black Hallows. Kieran Wilshere", Santiago smiled, watching the Last Braveheart stride out his portal more scarred, muscled and bearded than he remembered.
"And you're a life saver for that, mate. The Hallows was a bloody nightmare. Hope you're all well though gents, and ladies", Kieran smiled, his voice flowing like a calm wind till his eyes glimpsed at Abigail from the side. And he could do nothing but surrender to warmth swarming through him. "Abby, it's good to see you". It was a tenderness that was not lost on the Black Viper. "Now that we have everyone gathered, gentlemen", Santiago said, voice drawing both Kieran and Thee Champion's attention to him, "Time is of the essence and we have three critical targets. Vasiliev, Ivana and Amaranth. Tasia is tracking Vasiliev, which she can do more effectively alone".
"Thee Champion will tend to the safety of the civilians, and Ms. Aensland will target Amaranth. That leaves Ivana with no dance partner. Ms. Aensland, will you need either my or Mr. Wilshere's help against Amaranth? Or do he and I focus our attention on Ivana? Tasia, thoughts?".
"Well I don't know many other archers who can maintain the same accuracy after losing an eye, so I'm not sure I could disagree with you even if I wanted to," she responded, though the shrug of her shoulders said she was still somewhat self-conscious. Oh! She gave a start as he pulled the bow from nothing. It seemed not entirely dissimilar to the way she called her lances.
He was well-connected, or knowledgeable, or both. Fewer than a handful of people in the world knew how to make Trion. And it was not only a closely guarded secret, but extremely difficult and expensive to create. Just the resources required to create the exotic metal were expensive and rare—fitting, as two of those resources were exotic metals themselves. But even still the gift made her ambivalent. It was beyond great, but Abigail had gotten rather attached to the nanite bow, even fully aware of the irony that for several years now the greatest hero of the modern era used a bow owned by two of the world's worst terrorists to save lives. But it was also a perfect picture of the redemptive power of her faith.
Still, "Thank you," she said with a gracious bow as she took Santi's gift. It'd be handy as it was, especially in conjunction with the trion in her gloves, and already she'd begun working out additional details - figuring she should be able to take elements of both bows and combine them into a singular utility.
Arquitenens met the acknowledgement of the Miracle Man with a mutual response. "Huh. You're shorter than I expected," she remarked with a smirk, spirits lightening considerably. "Thanks for you help." It was comforting to have him watching over civilians. She'd often taken over that role herself in crises, knowing others wouldn't. Her efforts were appreciated, and eventually netted her an invaluable resource in the dedication of her global fianna; but often, leaving the management of threats such as Satar, Ivana, and Charlemagne in the hands of other less scrupulous heroes played right into their hands, letting the villains play them for fools and escape, often after achieving their goals.
"Kieran!" But her face truly lit up when her old friend emerged. For a few short moments the scarred veteran was allowed to look and feel her youth, wasting no time in rushing to embrace the Welshman. "Have you gained weight? 'Trapped' or not, wherever you were staying, still better than bloody Wales. At least they fed you well." She jested with her comrade, blissfully unaware of the implication that the Black Hallows carried even with the mere mention of its name. Unaware of the rival who awaited, should she survive the Court of Arcani. Scarcely aware of the slight chill gone down her spine as its name was spoken.
Nastya wasted little time expressing some issue with Kieran's breakdown. "Yeah, I'm tracking Amaranth. I've got the scent and I've got drones, and I'm the goddess here." Abigail's brow furrowed and she rolled her eyes. And maybe, the young immortal thought, I could talk to him, just for a bit. Chances of converting him were slim to none, she knew, but more than that, she only wanted to see him, really see him—speak to him, and have him know her, before everything was over. If her allies were intent on killing him, they'd have their chance after she'd had hers.
"Mira. Abby's got enough juice in one arrow to level several city blocks on top of an underground city. She could take down the Excalibur building in the amount of time it takes her to line up a shot on that huge target."
Abby snapped. "I amnotbringing down another structure on the heads of innocent people to get at some psychopath. If tha—"
"You don't have to," Nastya cut her off, firmly yet calmly. "With businesses like these, there are always security protocols. They work just as well whether your security force is the 'I don't get paid enough' type, or the hyper-vigilant, by-the-book type. If you call in a bomb threat they'll have that whole building cleared while they search the area. Then you strike."
Abby eyed her sceptically. It almost sounded like a plan, though she had her misgivings. "Someone'll be inside searching the premises, probably multiple people. And there's always the chance there'll be stragglers." Turning toward their allies, "If we could track the presence of these persons, Alexis could keep the building clear while I work, as well as help manage any debris so it's not affecting the civilians." She'd try to do so herself as well. It seemed as good a reason as any to use her father's mutation, though she wouldn't go in without a backup plan in case her powers failed to contain the damage again like at Black House. She simply didn't trust herself. "If you can do that, I'll agree to attack the building itself."
Jericho's heart-rate tripled instantly. He'd heard the noise before, the sharp crack that preceded death. Not in real life, of course. Just the movies. He'd never been in a real fight before. Much less been shot at.
His phone dropped from his hands, the case protecting it from cracking on the floor of his car. He'd been watching the video. Amaranth, a mutant terrorist, declaring war on New York. Or at least, he was called a terrorist. When Jericho's powers had first manifested, he had gone down an internet rabbit-hole or two related to mutant issues. Some had called him a freedom fighter, a champion of their oppressed people. The Savant was unsure what his own opinion was.
The fact that the guy had dispatched some crazy lady to shoot at him certainly didn't tip the scales in his favor, though.
Ivana's truck was heading in Markov's direction. Cars around him were detonating, their fuel tanks ruptured by impossibly-accurate bullets. And he was certain that his would be next.
Indeed, as the vehicle barrelled past, a single round pieced the passenger-side window of Jericho's car. Inanely, his only thought was Dad is going to be pissed. This car had been a gift, but one that'd come with some strongly-worded 'hints' that he would be the one paying for repairs, not his parents.
For any other person on the bridge, this would have been the end. The 7.62 round would have penetrated Jericho's skull. Splattered his grey matter across the steering wheel, as had happened to dozens more just moments before, and would happen again in the moments after. But the Virtuoso was not an ordinary human.
Some mutant powers confer the ability to twist reality to one's whims. Others, flashy fire-power. Jericho had received one that was, above all else, boring. He had great potential, but it was virtually impossible to realize. Skill-mimicry was impressive on paper, but when you were a high-school senior in New York City, the options for acquiring impressive combat skills were few and far between.
Really, Markov's plans had been clever. Starting a web-only business, Savant Solutions, that advertised the services of a polymath in solving mundane problems. He was a plumber, a carpenter, a mechanic, an electrician. But he wasn't a fighter.
That was, until the Shogun and her partner drove past.
The Savant's powers triggered just a second before the trigger was pulled. Under an MRI scan, it would look like he was having a seizure- maybe two. Data was being copied from the minds of his would-be executioners, and implanted into his neural architecture. The Shogun was easily ranked in the top five fighters on the planet. Her companion, Arractach, one of the smartest. Either of them would likely have avoided the bullet with ease.
Jericho didn't die. Reflexes that weren't his kicked in, and he jerked to the side with incredible speed. But his own lack of experience had hamstrung him. The bullet grazed the side of his head, scraping away flesh, and spraying his seat with blood. But he didn't scream. No Strigidae had ever howled in pain. The Virtuoso did, however, slam face-first into the steering wheel. By the time he looked up, fingernails digging into his palms, the pair was long gone.
The bridge was empty. All those who'd managed to survive the Secret Master's assault were in the process of fleeing. Hands moving on impulse rather than rational thought, Jericho tore off a strip of fabric from his shirt, and set to staunching the blood-flow of his wound. As he stumbled out of the car, surveying the scene, Markov felt his body begin to change.
Ivana's skills were vast. But her physical alterations were as well, and the two were intertwined inextricably. So his own body began to change, merely to accommodate some of his newfound abilities.
This is a nightmare, was the Savant's first thought. I never wanted to be a fighter.
But what was done, was done. For better or worse, Jericho Markov now possessed martial prowess to rival any member of Amaranth's coterie.
Turning on the car's radio, Jericho leaned against the dented door, listening to the news. It seemed he'd blacked out briefly, after being shot. Because events were proceeding at an alarming pace. The city was losing power in a dozen places. Vital systems were being cut off. And the worst part was, it was a strategy he recognized. Because, in part, Jericho had devised it.
Not really. Before fifteen minutes ago, he'd have been wholly out of place in whatever dark room the Shogun had planned this attack in. But now, he carried himself differently. Though even Markov himself wouldn't recognize it, his stance was that of a warrior. Hardened by hundreds of battles. Even though he'd fought none. And the minds that he'd mirrored had helped create this plan of attack.
Taking out New York's vital organs. One by one. Moving quickly, efficiently. Faster than the heroes could hope to catch them.
Jericho's next thought felt out of place. Not one he'd have ever had, before his... transformation.
The capes won't be able to stop the Shogun. But I could.
It was true. He knew how Ivana and Arrachtach thought. He possessed all the knowledge and talent of a genius-level intellect and a martial-arts master. Perhaps Amaranth was yet out of his league, but... residual memories suggested a fourth. Someone the Shogun felt something barely resembling affection for.
He dies first.
Without even realizing it, Markov had started moving. A map of New York was one of the many things he'd gained in this process. And his destination... somewhere the Virtuoso could find the tools he'd need to fight back against these monsters.
Even moving with the perfect efficiency of a master of the Arcani Arts, crossing the bridge on foot took a while. As did navigating the city. The streets had flooded with fear, terrified civilians on the verge of riots. With the lights out, one could hardly tell if it was their neighbor who was looting the local CVS. Jericho headed for the rooftops, climbing the nearest fire escape rapidly.
And here I thought that parkour was getting me around fast.
Already, Jericho was beginning to see different. His field of view was expanding, the colors of the world sharpening. If he focused in just the right way, he could begin to see in infrared, or ultraviolet. But the way he saw things, and even people, was changing too. He highlighted weak points, identified objects as potential weapons. Operating on pure instinct.
So this is the way the Shogun sees the world.
She was famous, of course. Former dictator of Venezuela. But Markov had an insight into her world-view few others could claim to. Arrachtach too, though he was rather less infamous. The brilliant blue-furred mutant's thought patterns were filling Jericho's head with ideas. Inventions. Blueprints, sketching themselves on the inside of his skull.
Jericho thought, and his body did. But there was a disconnect. His actions were dictated by impulse, instinct. With the directive of acquiring weapons, he'd begun to move, but the movements themselves felt foreign.
The gun store was closed. Unsurprising, given it was supposedly carrying the best gear in the city. New York's gun laws had become a little more enlightened, when cities started being nuked off the map every six months. But that also meant looters would come here first. Observing from a rooftop on the opposite side of the street, Jericho noted the owner was still inside.
One leap, fluid and acrobatic, carried him across to the other side of the street. Alighting on the rooftop in a classic three-point landing, Markov set off towards the fire escape. Descending it not via the stairs, but a series of flips and kicks, he found himself at the back door. Using his newly modified eyes, he located the sequence of inputs on the lock that would open the door. Fortunate, as he had no tools with which to pick a mundane lock.
Jericho entered the store silently. The lights were off, and thankfully not motion-activated. Viewing the room with his infrared sight, Markov crept up behind the proprietor of the establishment, and disabled him with a single blow to the back of the neck.
I could have tried to convince him that I was a good guy. But somehow I don't think inspiring civilians is in Ivana's skill-set.
There was no need to turn on the light. Jericho knew what he needed already, and locating it in the dark was simple. The basics came first.
Dragon Skin
Sidearm. CZ-75 SP-01 Phantom. Delta Force's handgun of choice. Not something Jericho had known, an hour ago. He loaded the weapon, selecting a clip from the selection of ammunition. Strapping a holster to his waist, he stowed the weapon. Before selecting the rest of his arsenal, Markov grabbed a duffel bag. Quite convenient. First, it was filled with ammunition. Hollow-point. Incendiary. Armor-piercing. Anything that might prove at all useful.
Next, an all-purpose. The HK417 would do nicely. A combat rifle generally designed for intermediate-range engagements. Moving with practiced efficiency, Jericho donned one of the most expensive pieces of equipment in the shop. Dragon Skin body armor. Over this, he attached a strap, keeping the rifle connected to his body hands-free.
The armor was lightweight, given the amount of protection it offered. Jericho knew that his CQC efficiency wouldn't suffer for wearing it.
The Remington MSR, partially disassembled, was placed next into Markov's duffel. Ideally, a sniper rifle would mean he could end his fights without coming into melee range. But against these people, there was no ideal. Even with the skills of the Shogun and her scientist, he'd be outclassed unless he picked his battles carefully.
To supplement the Phantom, Jericho selected an SMG. H&K MP7. Armor-piercing by default. DEVGRU uses these. Though technically the more accurate designation, and the one you were more likely to see on official documentation, it was not an abbreviation Markov had ever used to describe SEAL Team Six before.
Finally, the M26 MASS. A combat shotgun. With a moment's consideration, the Savant added a MAUL (Multi-shot Accessor Underbarrel Launcher) to the weapon. Now he'd be able to hit his targets with the weapon's standard ammunition, or metal slugs. Just in case.
Melee weapons. I don't think they carry katana here, and a machete would be impractical... but I can work with knives. I'm pretty sure the Shogun got famous for killing some guy with a knife, even.
His blade selected, Jericho left via the back door. But first, he pulled a black mask off a rack and applied it to his face. The gear and body armor would mark him as a threat, but this- the symbol of a vigilante -would mark him as an enemy.
There should have been more time. If Markov had no specific tasks in mind, he would have begun scouring the city for tech, something he could use to make the blueprints in his mind real. Hi-tech gear, the sort you couldn't just buy. But that was not fated to be. Every moment he spent gearing up was another moment that the Shogun and her minions spent killing innocents and dismantling the city.
This particular slice of the city was less than ideal. No tall rooftops, from which to locate targets. And the subways were nonfunctional by now. The streets were congested, which meant taking a cab wasn't going to happen. But it took a mere five minutes, to find a motorcycle. Using his newfound skills, the Virtuoso hotwired the vehicle, bypassing the need for keys he didn't have. And, strapping his duffel bag full of bullets to the back of the bulky vehicle, he took off.
Navigating the streets was effortless. Even with the weight of his guns, Jericho found he could make the bike move like it was an extension of his body. The abilities he'd been gifted with, unknowingly, by the Shogun, had changed him utterly. If he took any more, Jericho was unsure if he'd remain the same person. Or if he'd become an echo of these monsters, unable to process empathy because he'd absorbed their lack of regard for 'civilians' along with their combat potential.
As he sped towards his destination, the Virtuoso scoured his mind for any skills that might be of use, perhaps providing an insight into the mind of the man he was hunting. Instead, he located something... interesting. It registered in Ivana's skill-set as a way to contact an enemy. But if whoever the unlisted number contacted was the Shogun's enemy, it meant they were a potential ally to the Savant. And even if not, the fact that the Secret Master herself considered this persona an actual enemy, meant they'd surely have useful skills for him to 'borrow.'
Retrieving his phone from a pocket, Jericho dialed the number one-handed, and wedged the device between his ear and shoulder, before returning the hand to a handlebar. He spoke in clipped tones, with a cadence that suggested military training of some sort. But it was impossible not to recognize that a nineteen-year-old was on one end of the call.
"I don't know who you are, and I doubt you know me. You can call me the Savant." A moniker that would have felt ridiculous to self-apply before. He supposed that it was due to the fact Ivana had run around carrying the title of a dictator from Feudal Japan. "I've come into possession of the skill-set belonging to one Ivana Strigidae." Though who or what the 'Strigidae' were was unknown to Jericho. "If you're interested in stopping her, then we share a common enemy. Meet me at the highest level of the Empire State as soon as possible."
Though Jericho had no idea, the recipient of his call would be none other than Abigael Aensland. The Shogun's one-time nemesis. Whether she'd respond, or send an envoy to his position, would remain to be seen.
The choice of the Empire State Building had felt fairly obvious. The highest vantage point in the city. If anywhere was ideal for spotting a target, it would be there. Arriving outside the landmark, Jericho ditched the bike, and grabbed his bag. It was empty, the tourists having long-since fled. The doors were locked, but his Phantom solved that problem.
Power to the elevators was dead. Jericho took the stairs instead. He'd been moving at a rapid pace since the bridge, but showed no signs of exhaustion. His body had changed to accommodate the abilities of Ivana and Arrachtach, and as a result, his stamina and endurance felt nearly limitless. Even lugging the heavy weapons up to the 102nd floor merely left him winded, once he reached the top.
The windows were smashed, raining glass down on any who might be lingering below. It'd likely blow over the city before hitting anyone, shattering on rooftops somewhere in Queens. Jericho put the MSR together quickly, his hands moving like an expert pianist, as he assembled the sniper rifle. He positioned himself looking down the sights, for any glimpse of his chosen target. Skill-memory suggested that he'd be wearing all black, and utilizing a gliding cape. Perhaps difficult to spot for an ordinary person, but Markov's eyes, inherited from the Shogun, were hawklike. Capable of spotting his prey at any distance.
Jericho's target- Hawkshade, though it wasn't a name he yet knew -could show himself at any moment. Rotating between the different angles, the Savant kept his finger a half-inch from the trigger. He was drawing on one of the Arts of the Arcani, though that too was unknown to him. Abushaku. In this case, conferring impossible precision with range weapons.
The moment that the Virtuoso caught a glimpse of Vasilev, he'd fire. A single armor-piercing round, intended for the Gothic Knight's skull. There was no doubt in Jericho's mind, that it wouldn't be enough. These people were made of sterner stuff than most. Even a head-shot, from someone using a skill that meant they never truly missed, would not put them down. But it would attract the attention of the vigilante-turned-terrorist.
Eased into a lean with a wall at his shoulder, a hand in his pocket, and a hawkish charm to his gaze, Santiago watched the scene unfold before him. Reunions between companions long lost, awkward nods from those yet unfamiliar, and defiance from an Amazon less than eager to be tamed. And as the banter flowed to and fro between Aensland Golden Girl and Miracle Man, amusement lengthened the subtle curl of the Black Viper's lips.
"Huh. You're shorter than I expected"
Abigail epitomized a reality Thee Champion had long since come to understand. That distance is not what it seemed. And it was perhaps why more than all others present, she'd walked farther on the hero's road. He respected her. So with his arms crossed over a chest more shield than body part, the Miracle Man matched her smirk with a smile, and her remark with it's partner, "And you're taller". Answering her thanks with a nod meant to reassure and honor, Thee Champion's eyes fell upon the man who'd walked out a portal with a golden mane and vibranium pollaxe. Kieran Wilshere. Yet now his most prominent feature was the savior whose arms were wrapped tight round his body. It seemed he and Abigail were close, something neither Santiago nor Thee Champion failed to notice.
Kieran's arm was a trunk of muscle strong enough to make dust out of stone, yet it curled round Abigail with the strength of longing instead of a warrior's. And though he met her jest with a chuckle, his smile soon receded, and the light seemed to fade from his eyes as memories of the Black Hallows flashed vividly in his mind. He could never forget being there. And staring off into the distance only to see an impersonal non-existence, a horned void that was coming for everything and everyone. He forced a smile, "Believe you me, Abby. Even Wales is better than that place. But it's so good to see", he smiled, genuinely, "I was afraid you'd lose the other eye", he bantered, his ears and eyes soon drawn to Nastya's objection to Santiago's outlined plan.
"I'm the goddess here"
Few could catch the claim sooner than Thee Champion, and perhaps none gave it as little credence as he. To it, he said nothing. For in his mind, it was exactly that. Nothing. And perhaps the same in Kieran's. For where the Last Braveheart had been, there were no gods, only horrors and forces so twisted divinity dare not approach them. Santiago however, smirked and strode closer to the room's center. "Of course. In any case", the Black Viper paused, sweeping his eyes to Thee Champion's in light of Abigail's suggestion. "Ms. Aensland has raised a good point. As has Tasia. Tracking the presence of these people seems well suited to someone of your abilities, Alexis. Your visual and auditory perceptions are impressive, to put it mildly".
"You can identify and keep track of these people, no?", Santiago asked, to which the Miracle Man answered with a nod, "You have my word, Abigail". "Brilliant", Kieran added, "Then that frees up Santi and I to stop Ivana". Smiling, Santiago clasped his hands together, "It appears we are all in agreement. Shall we proceed?".
He hadn't flinched. In fact Lucian had shown no visible registration of Cat's luminescent arrival aboard the Strike vessel's now tension filled bridge. Instead he remained stoically muted, partially contorted as to maximize his visual line of sight on one of the ship's many monitors. Each monitor housed a communications officer tasked with mining for digital information. Some screens remained on a continuous loop with trained eyes and ears surgically dissecting the now infamous Amaranth video.
The subtly passive aggressive exchange between the new arrival and Strike's commanding officer, Ruby Gallagher, brought a slight and unnoticeable smirk to Lucian's face, remembering his own reaction to his sudden unexpected inscription into the unit. Though his mind still remained filled with large unexplained gaps, lost time and fog like memories, he remembered the name of Amaranth. Recognized the mutant's indomitable gate, the influential aura of the apex alpha from clippings, videos and articles his father had shown him during his extensive training.
Split screen displays were being combed over for any clues, any shred of tangible evidence that would allow the team to get out ahead of the mutant messiah. Grainy video from the initial sub-station security massacre clearly showed the silhouette of a towering individual leaving an all black hummer. Causing Lucian to sub-consciously caress the unshaven stubble on his chin with contemplative analysis.
"Agent Danvers right?" he suddenly said, placing a gentle hand on the seated officers shoulder. "Is there any way to see which direction they left in? North, south, east, west?"
"I...I...I can try? It all depends on camera position sir."
"Try is all I'm asking son. But before you do that I want you to bring up a map of eastern stepdown substations. Highlight the currents with 500 or more kilovolts and send it to my phone."
With a pause in the exchanges between Cat and Ruby, Lucian took the opportunity to bend Ruby's ear. "Mam. I'd like to show you something." swiping on his phone instantly bringing to life a hovering holographic projection of Agent Danver's map, he continued. Highlighted lines of red, black, grey and blue snaked and twisted along the eastern portion of the map.
"There are numerous step down sub-stations, but only 30 along the east coast. Take out 9 and its lights out. Amaranth has destroyed 2, but I believe we can anticipate and intercept him at at least one of them. Maybe more if you have the men and resources to deploy, secure, and defend all 30. But what I dont understand is...why now? Where has Amaranth been all these years? Whats his true endgame? I'm not buying his mutant uprising speech." Forced to bite his lip, Lucian silently remembered fragmented moments from the battle in Venezuela. A battle that saw the massacre of ordinary human citizens. A massacre un-avenged. A massacre forgotten in time.
Lucian's shoulder's sank with a heavy sigh. What he was about to suggest next would violet every code, every lesson his father had taught him. "Also, we cant win this battle using conventional means, conventional manpower. We need metas. We need mutants. Technopaths to maintain the grids should the substations fall. Telepaths to pick off stray thoughts and gather leads. Superhuman senses for tracking and bricks to go toe to toe with the legend himself. Speedsters for recon. I know I'm the newbie mam, I dont mean to overstep, but Amaranth may have been planning whatever this is for years and we're stuck playing catch-up. Its my opinion that we need game-changers. And we need em now."
As Catalina departed with Agent Barnes and Agent Norfleet, Ruby moved about the bridge until she was summoned by Lucian.
Like Catalina, they'd beamed him up to assist them with hunting down Amaranth. It seemed now, he was proving his worth--giving them their first real lead.
The Iron Director crossed her arms studiously surveying the map as Lucian briefed his interpretation of the situation. "So you think, he could be trying to cause a power outage on Atlantic Seaboard. Agent Romero, I want you to Isolate every major city, then add the Stepdown generators as an overlay." Ruby commanded taking a step back to view the results. Before the Directors could accurately diagnose a course of action Lucian continued, this time suggesting that they bring in more "Metas" to assist them. At an earlier point in her life, his suggestion would've been met by ridicule, but now the former Human Rights Advocate was at the finale of a change of heart. He was right.
"We're nowhere near powerful as we were when we first started, I really only have you. But I can call in a few favors" She replied knowing off the top of her head the likes of Feral Nova and Brian Newcastle were local, then there was Iron Warden who'd joined under Maya Summers administration. She truly wished Summers could join them, but the Golden Goddess was off tending to the Academy. They were the force STRIKE needed, but at the present moment were untrained in situations like this.
"Ma'am there was another attack." Agent Norfleet reported, Ruby swiftly walked across the bridge to Norfleet's station to get an updated on the latest attack. "A freight train this time, thousands of gallons of fuel on the highway, multiple explosions.
From where the STRIKE Vessel was currently located they could see the thick cloud of smoke polluting the air. "That's way to big for firefighters we..." Norfleet continued only to be silenced by a single index finger of the returning Catalina.
@feral_nova"Zoe, I know you see those fires that's all, you babe" Cat messaged sending a telepathic link to her fire manipulating girlfriend on the ground.
"Agent Norfleet, deploy STRIKE relief Agents, I want them on the ground assisting the EMT's. Agent Danvers, I want STRIKE agents from every precinct on the ground. Every vehicle in and out of the city will be checked. Agent Barnes, get PJM on the phone tell them they need to increase security at there step down stations preferably metas" Ruby barked before Cat once again interrupted.
"I found him" She reported with her hands folded across her chest. "I found Amaranth, at the source of the last attack, I picked up increased neural activity ranging from panic to fear from those involved in the initial explosion, but was able to isolate a mind in close proximity with increased activity but it was tranquil. I think that's him. If it is I'm going to put a stop to all this"
Cat moved to exit the ship but she was halted by a slew of STRIKE agents. "Tell us where he is" Ruby commanded, it was clear to Cat that at this moment she wouldn't be trusted. Not as long as she was wearing Ziccarra's face.
"You seem to be forgetting that I don't work for you."
"You seem to be forgetting that you aren't Ziccarra Liafador; if you leave to fight Amaranth alone. He will kill you." Catalina was a harbinger of the Goddess, but she was not the Warrior her mother was. Ruby was right, if the Goddess didn't make an appearance while confronting Amaranth he would kill her.
"Then he'll come with me," She said directing her attention to Lucian standing at the monitors. "A full STRIKE convergence might alert him that we're tracking him telepathically. Will you go?" She asked her eyes moving through the Agents back to Lucian.
It seemed that no help from the JLA was coming. Cassius or Cassian to them was on his own. Sitting astride his motorbike his throughts went in multiple directions. Sercure fuel and ensure hospitals and prisons remain fully juiced or go looking for the cause and the no doubt ensuing fight to follow. The old Cassius and new fighting it out in his mind. Sure a fist fight could stop any further assult on the power grid. But surely the truely heroic deed was to focus on the people. Be seen helping do the work that a hero needs to do. But the biggest part of him wanted to throw off the costume strap on his guns and listen to the voices in his head. One trip through the shadows and a clip or so later and the threat is over. But that Cassius is dead, that man is a public enemy having attacked the whitehouse, assulted a president and killed officers of the law.
Clearing the cobwebs by shaking his head he pinned teh throttle back and shot off towards the nearest hospital. The streets where chaos, no traffic lights people rioting people running around confused and scared nearly all the lighting either deathly low or off entirely. Weaving through the masses at a frantic and frankly suicidal pace Cassius made it to his first stop. The chaos outside was replaced by a malestrom inside. A mass of humanity bombarded every inch of the place. Shoving his way to the front desk before pulling himself up onto the counter. Reaching down to a tannoy and hoisting it up so everyone could see.
"HEY, HEY EVERYBODY. LISTEN , LISTEN "
Looking through the domino mask and out into the sea beneath him his words bringing a sudden stillness and silence.
"My name is Cassian, i am here on behalf of the JLA. This city is under our protection."
shouts responding to him "Where was you when this started?" , "Who put you in charge"
Shaking his head in agreement before adding "Your right we wasnt here to stop whatever this is. But we are here to stop it. As for who put me in charge. Do you see anybody else standing up to take a swing" gesturing for anybody who wished to stand alongside him on his would be poduim.
"Ok that being said , here is the plan. Each of you fit and well enough to do so, will gather anything you can that could contain fuel. You will then go out into the city and bring whatever you can get your hands on back here. This fuel will keep this place on the grid and keep you and any family you have here alive."
Holding his JLA communictor high in the air
"This is a direct line to the JLA HQ this will be here" looking around at the staff gathered behind the counter. Spotting a name badge "This stays here with Gladice. " handing the device over before he continued. "This will bring more help, till then. Collect as much fuel as you can and turn everything uneeded off. Now if you excuse me i have to stop every prisioner in this city hitting the streets. GET TO WORK"
Nobody said a thing as he walked back through the masses, some looked annoyed others started to look for would be fuel vessels. He couldnt contain this location alone and some people will always resist a non official telling them what to do. But hopefully some help would come to check on the device through the locator chip at the very least.
Getting back onto his bike Cassius mobile lit up a video message from an unknown number. A lone hooded figure in white. A few minuted passed as he absorbed the video and its message. "Another bloody mutant uprising. " his brother had really stirred the hornets nest with the first and the world had been getting small mutant reveloutions ever since. Then the idea struck him, he knew of a guy. A guy like him known for his guerilla tactics they had worked in the same circles but never crossed paths. Perhaps The lone Knightfall, was the hero this country would need. Prisioners where one problem, a full blown mutant uprising was another.
1 hour later
Cassius looked into the camera on his phone his old armour covering him from head to toe.
"We have never met Amaranth, and until now we have had no reason to. But now we do. You are a brother in arms. So lets meet and do gods work together. Evolve or die"
Posting the responce to his own video. Hoping beyond hope his ruse would garner attention or even better an reply and then he could go from there.
She was still trying to help with the chaos on the bridge. Lifting cars, carrying well enough civilians off the bridge to ambulance personnel, it was none stop. But then, Zoe felt it, a surge of heat spiking not to far from her. Her head snapped in that direction as she could see thick, black smoke rising in the distance. The Fire Goddess felt her heart race as she was flying back up to the bridge. Her feet planted firmly as her electric blue eyes looked off into distance.
"Zoe, I know you see those fires that's all, you babe"
Her telepathic girlfriend’s voice spoke in her mind as if she was standing next to her.
She gave a smirk, even though she knew that Cat couldn’t see it. “You got it love.” she replied as she looked off to one group of paramedics. “You guys ok?” They gave her a nod, exhaustion showed in the way they moved, but determination in their eyes. “Alright, I need to head out to put out some fires, you guys hang in there!” She gave them a thumbs up before soaring into the sky.
The smoke in the sky got bigger and bigger the closer she came and the golden flames could be seen roaring below her. She knew this fire could cause multiple issues, aside from immediate danger of the drivers who were stuck on the road in the fire, it would affect the air quality, the soil, kill off wild animals who are unable to escape the fire and more.
Roars and crackles from the fire was heard as she flew over it, she could feel the heat as the flames reached up about 100 feet from the ground. Any firefighters who would attempt to fight these fires would be risking their lives. She couldn’t let them do it. She could see what was left of the trains carrying the fuel, scattered all across the area. Whoever did this knew exactly what kind of damage they were doing.
Flying ahead of the fire she landed on the ground, it was going to be pushing against civilization soon. Zoe couldn’t let it get that far. She could hear fire trucks coming up behind her. Quickly making her way to them, she could see them jump out of the truck, suited up and ready to battle. “Hey guys, I’ll do my best to put out the fires so no one gets hurt, can you guys just back me up from behind and put out any stragglers?”
“Sure thing Feral Nova.” One of the men shouted as he began giving orders to others.
Zoe then turned her body as she marched forward. Sure, she could try and control the fires from above, but the thick smoke would not only block her field of vision, but obstruct her airway. So the ground it was. Her blue eyes clashed with the crimson fire as it danced wildly before her, as if it had a life of it’s own. It was time. The flames begun to reach out for her, as if trying to grab her, take her in and devour her. But she snickered as the flames touched her skin, and no sting of the blaze was felt.
Reaching out her hands she planted her feet firmly on the ground, her fingers spread out as far as she could as if it would help her better control it. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath through her nose and focused. Zoe began to slowly lower her arms, but she could feel the blaze resist her. But little by little, the flames could be seen slowly, slowly ever so slowly shrink. But it was powerful, and Zoe was out of practice. The flames roared back alive, causing Zoe to stumble back as she blinked her eyes in shock. She couldn't do it from the ground, she needed to see the entire inferno from the sky and put it out from the top weaker flames to the bottom. So Nova leaped into the sky, higher, higher, higher until she could see it all.
The smoke from the flames pushed against her as it began to enter her lungs. She coughed, trying to look directly at the blaze as she threw out her hands downward at the flames. Gritting her teeth she began to command the fire to cease. She watched as the golden flames began to slowly dwindle. Zoe had to pace herself, doing it any faster and it would exhaust her and she would have to start over. But would have taken firefighters days to accomplish, Zoe was able to do it within minutes. When the blaze was lowered enough, she landed right in the middle of it and began absorbing what was left. The flames began to rush into her from every direction as she let out a feral roar, her head threw back as her eyes gave a golden glow. From the outside it looked as if the fires began to retreat back to the center, leaving behind a scorched Earth. Anything that was left behind, firefighters quickly put out. Several minutes later the last bit was absorbed by Zoe and with a gasp for air she dropped down on all four, her hands digging into the earth to keep her from falling face first into the burned ground. Smoke was left emitting from her body as her chest heaved heavily. She hadn’t taken in that much before in a long time.
She then sat on the ground, still trying to catch her breath as her hair fell all around her face. She blew a strand out of her way as she looked up at the sky. The thick smoke still there, but not as black as it was. It was weird, she wasn’t tired, but at the same time, she was. It was like she just drank ten Red Bulls but hadn’t slept in days. She felt like she could run a marathon and sleep at the same time. It was only moments later several firefighters came up to her, still putting out any small lingering fires. “Feral Nova, are you ok?” One man walked up to, placing an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth.
She took in a deep breath and gave a light chuckle as she rose her slightly shaky arm with a thumbs up. “I’m great.” Her face and golden hair were stained from the black smoke when she was flying and she could still feel the tingle in her lungs from the smoke. But she was good.
She pulled out her cellphone, only to see that it had been scorched, and no longer working. With a sigh she looked over at the firefighter. “Hey you got a cellphone I can borrow real quick?” As he handed her his phone she put in @catalina_liafador number, sending her a text message (cause she didn’t have fancy telepathic powers). ‘Phone got burnt, don't text back, random dudes phone, but the fire is out!’ with a thumbs up emoji before deleting the message.
The inferno raged in the rear view mirrors. It's red-orange light illuminated the cab of the black hummer. It was dark now except for the hellish light that glowed behind him as fire devoured limb and branch.
Headlights whizzed around him, streams of yellow light in the night. Campers and hikers fled the fire, he could see the animal panic in their eyes as they hunched over the steering wheels of their sedans and SUVs. A sixteen wheeler whipped by him, horn blaring.
Man had come far in it's long march from the Mesopotamian plains to the stars but he hadn't forgotten his primal fear of flame. So they ran. Ran east, against the coast. Into the city where there were hotels and restaurants and police officers.
They thought they'd be safe there.
He turned off onto 563.
The black hummer stopped in a gravel driveway in the middle of the woods. He walked up to the small house at the top of the hill and knocked on the door.
No one answered. Amaranth tried the doornob. Locked. The seven foot mutant became intangible and phased through the door.
The interior was dimly lit by a old lamp in the corner. The floor was worn green shag carpet. Faded wallpaper with floral patterns. An elderly woman set in the corner, her chin resting on her chest that rose and fell with every snore. The faded lives of soap opera stars flickered across the TV in the corner.
He walked into the kitchen and fixed supper. Eggs. Toast. Bacon. Coffee and tea.
When he came back into the living room she was fumbling with her glasses and blinking as she awoke.
"Hello?"
"Good morning."
"Who are you?"
"Do you not remember me?"
She squinted up at him through her brown plastic framed spectacles. "Amaranth?"
He only nodded and put one of the plates in her lap and tea in her hand.
"I'm sorry, I haven't seen you in years and I forget things sometimes."
"It is alright."
"Was it true? That you were in prison?"
"Yes, it was."
She sipped her tea.
"I knew they wouldn't be able to hold you forever. I just wasn't sure if I'd still be around when you got out."
"They almost did. Without help I would still be trapped."
"You look tired."
He removed the sword from his back and set on the couch. "Prison was difficult."
She peered at him over the top rim of her glasses. "Are you going after them? Is that what-" The old woman waved at the TV where a newscaster was now talking about a terrorist attack in NYC. "-that is about?"
"No." The seven foot mutant shook his head. "This has nothing to do with the ones who imprisoned me."
"So they get away with it?"
He smiled. "I suppose so."
"Doesn't seem fair."
The ancient mutant finished his toast.
"Why me?" She asked.
He raised an eyebrow. "After all these years, why ask now?"
"I've always wondered. Ever since I was little. But I guess I was intimidated. I thought if I made you upset or asked the wrong questions maybe you'd leave and wouldn't come back."
"Ah. To make a long story very short, I promised someone I would look after his family."
"My father? I never knew him. What was he like?"
"No." His weathered face lit up as he laughed. "This was long before your father. But to answer your question, your father was a quiet man. Kept to himself. Difficult at times."
"Was it my grandfather then?"
"Oh no. Long before your grandfather." A chuckle. "When the world was young."
"When was that?"
"Two hundred thousand years ago, or so."
She laughed. "That's silly."
He smiled. "Yes. It is."
A warm orange glow begin to shine through the dusty curtains. Amaranth walked to the window and parted the curtains with a hand. The seven foot mutant had to duck to see out the window.
"What's that?"
"Fire."
"Will it come this way?"
"Yes it will. That is why I have come."
Both finished eating. They set in silence and for a time the old woman napped.
Some time later the quiet sound of Amaranth's boots against the shag carpet awoke her. He stood at the window again, crouched and peering out.
The glow was gone.
"Did the fire department put it out?"
"No. It was much too large for them."
"Did you?"
He laughed. "No. Yet someone did. Someone powerful." The old mutant smiled as he refilled her tea.
"I always wanted to know." She said. "I always wanted to know but I was afraid to ask. When I was a little girl I use to dream I had powers. That I could fly or move things by thinking. Dream that I was special, dream that you were my father or grandfather and other silly things. Even with--" She waved a wrinkled hand. "--the way things were for mutants then I wanted to be one. To be special."
She started to cough and stopped for a moment. Amaranth set once more upon her old couch. It creaked under his weight.
"Am I? Am I a mutant?"
He looked at her. "I have no idea."
The old woman stared out the window for a time and then fell asleep.
One of Amaranth's encrypted communication devices pinged him. A video message. He watched it.
"We have never met Amaranth, and until now we have had no reason to. But now we do. You are a brother in arms. So lets meet and do gods work together. Evolve or die"
Amaranth stroked his goatee. Then he commented on the video. <Meet me at Substation #9, NY. 8:30PM> Eight thirty PM. Nightfall.
The old woman awoke.
"Hello?" She said, squinting at him through her plastic rimmed spectacles.
"Good morning."
"Who are you?"
"Do you not remember me?"
"Amaranth?"
He nodded.
"I'm sorry, I haven't seen you in years and I forget things sometimes."
"We're good to go!" Nastya exclaimed. Hardly any time had passed since the outburst and she'd already done a complete 180.
"Hey," she called, approaching Abigail one last time. "You know if you do this you'll be a terrorist, right? Mister Miracle can hide under the pretense that he's saving civvies from what you're doing, but unless we can find something incriminating on Bitcoin Boy with the Arcani business, you'll just be the rogue heroine who attacked an American business."
"A criminal in the colonies?" Abby wore a broad smirk, concern seemingly nonexistent. "For the right cause? There's a piece of history I wouldn't mind repeating." A funny bit of irony. Then it was the humans, now the mutants. Perhaps history wasn't exactly cyclical, but there was absolutely a method to life's chaos.
While preparing her exit, however, the archer never strayed far from Kieran, her eye always following him, never letting him out of her sight for too long. Although she maintained her poise in front of the group, the change in her friend hadn't slipped past her. He could put on a show as good as any man but Abigail's keen eye recognised vintage Kieran from a performance, and she'd become more than familiar with forced smiles over the course of a miserable tortured lifetime. "When we're done here—when all this is over, we should talk. So take care, yeah?" Offering a smile as wistful as it was sincere, she stood on her toes and pulled him down into a kiss, gently placed on his cheek. As certain as she was of her course of action, something about Ivana would always call to the archer, beckoning the worst parts of her to challenge the ex-Shogun again and again, until one was no longer alive to play a factor. Words from a dreamlike state long past echoed in her mind:
"You'd better be ready to take your first life or die yourself."
Richard first, she thought, forcing both of the more infamous terrorists from her mind, and avoiding the uncomfortable choice she might have to face later. Once Vasiliev was dealt with, she'd be free to assist with either of the others.
Finally, she sought Alexis. "You said you wanted to have a word? Well, it's fitting anyway, seeing as we're going to be partners in this objective, but I guess we've got time now."
Alex West the Fastest Man Alive (Tied with his dad) sat in his living room watching the events on the news with a bag of popcorn in his hand. Normally he would rush in to help...but this time it wasn't his battle. He had no obligation to help anyone. This Amaranth person was not Alex's problem. Alexander had a mission..and as he may love to pretend and play the hero he knew he wasn't one. But as he continued to watch the more he got anxious in his seat...to the point where he couldn't keep still; he secretly knew that he did want to help people. Just because he did questionable acts didn't mean he didn't want to do good. And Velocity could do things that Al Sa'iqa couldn't. He could inspire people...save them...The City of New York was under siege, and Alex had the power to help them. Velocity held the power to help them, and he would... because Flash Lightning wasn't there. Tossing his bag of popcorn to the side Alex walked and went to his room and grabbed his phone. Texting his friends and asking them if they had seen what was going on he would go and grab the emblem cover that held his Godspeed uniform. Summoning his suit he would look in the sky and speak to no one in particular; he was just reassuring himself. "I'm going..I'll save them and show that I'm not the monster that I was bred to be." In a flash of white electricity Alex was gone; racing to New York
New York City
Alex's eyes widened at the actual horror and destruction that surrounded him "This...is insane." Alex darted in and out of the streets looking at the immense levels of chaos surrounding him. The city was completely powerless. Small and large fires alike were blazing all around the city. Velocity was cautious about using the Godspeed armor. It'd only been put into use once and though it did work Alex didn't like relying on anything. Alex tried as hard as he could to bring as much help as he could, saving people from the fires, putting out the fires. Alex became a blaze of motion and energy as he darted back and forth. His heart began to hurt, but he paid it no mind. Even as his body began to tire. His legs began to slowly become numb and his face became pale. He was gonna keep rushing forwards until he heard someone scream "BOMB! SHE'S A BOMB!" Skidding to a stop Alex would turn and blast inside the building. "What's going on?!" He'd lean on the wall of the building and catch his breath. A young woman would turn to him, dust blood and grime covering her face. "I-I don't know! She's just glowing..and hissing, and her skin burns. I think she may explode." There was no hint of amusement ir sarcasm in her facial expressions. And Alex would waste no time picking up the lady and rushing her out towards the nearest body of water which happened to be the Flushing River.
The heat she was emmitting burned Alex's skin bare skin, along with the fact that he was beginning to pass out....Yeah he was definitely beginning to pass out..But he couldn't yet. If a bomb the size of a person..with this amount of heat in power. There's no telling the destruction that would bring. There's no way the city could take that. So he fought to keep going..as his visio became blurry; as his head began to swim...Then he hit the water, Just a little while longer! Keep Running Alex! His face began to blister from the heat and he knew..."She's about to blow...oh f*ck she's about to blow..." The cold water felt good as it misted and evaporated on his face, the air was cool enough to not make the heat unbearable. "Ok. Ma'am I just want to say that you deserved better then this." He didn't even know her name. Maybe she was a meta-human who had gotten hurt, lost control of her powers. But Alex regretted the fact that he was just gonna dump this chick in the water and run away. But innocents were at risk here, at least in the water she couldn't hurt anybody.
Knowing that there wasn't much time Alex drew in a breath, he felt a trickle of blood run down his face and he'd wipe it off with his shoulder never slowing down. He couldn't slow down and he wouldn't. He saw the other heroes in the city doing good. Helping others. He watched Feral Nova put out a large fire and risk her life for them. The least he could do is the same. It was time for him to accept that though he may be an assassin...he didn't want to be a monster. He refused to be. So he kept running, the pain wouldn't slow him down, his heart wouldn't defeat him...not today.
Running as fast as he was able to he would dump the body in the water, and high tail it back to the shore trying not to fall and skip like a stone, the explosion made it hard. It blasted and lauched a shockwave that almost knocked him down. Eventually his feet hit solid ground and he would crumple in the grass in complete exhaustion. Rising up to his feet he would stumble around and lean on a railing catching his breath. He'd done his part to help the city and it felt great. But he wasn't done. Someone still needed to be stopped and people still needed saving. So Alex presed the emblem on his suit and felt with satisfaction ad The Godspeed armor enveloped his body. He felt his body return to normal and he'd disappear in an instant to go save the next person.
"When we're done here—when all this is over, we should talk. So take care, yeah?"
Tales about Abigail were not difficult to come by. She was a hero among heroes. A God-fearing woman who has shaped the world with the greatness of her deeds - a feat ironically reserved for gods themselves. Yet while the world was her audience, so many knew so little of the woman whose bow and arrow have become the stuff of legend. So as her voice floated to Kieran's ears with a friend's longing, he was reminded of something few can ever claim to have witnessed; an Abigail before the legend. Her lips grazed his cheek with a spark of warmth Kieran had not felt since being made a prisoner of the Black Hallows. That it felt so foreign to him caused his heart to sink into an abyss he did not know was there.
"Abigail", he called out, snaking an arm rounds her as though to keep her there - something good - for a second longer, "You be safe out there", was all he could manage. Be safe. The weight behind those words was mountainous, for the man himself knew of the dangers looming. Of Amaranth, and of the monster rarely seen but so strongly felt. Watching the others take their leave, the Last Braveheart turned round to meet eyes with a Black Viper standing ever observant. "My friend", Santiago began, the suave contours on his face softening, and the guilt in his voice rising, "I should have found you sooner. But" || "Santi, come on now. You were bloody brilliant to have found me at all", Kieran assured, mouth pulled into a genuine smile. Of eternal gratitude. Though Santiago stood unconvinced, and his curiosity, his worry, flared.
"Dios mio, Kieran. What did you see in there?", he asked, his eyes narrowing, and Kieran's smile fading. "I'll tell you everything once we're done here", the Last Braveheart promised, first earning silence - then a reluctant nod from the Black Viper. Though as sirens howled long and loud from ambulances stuck in the traffic below, Kieran's brow furrowed with concern, and Santiago expected nothing less. He sighed, Kieran had always been a good man first and a warrior second. "Go help them", Santiago insisted, for which Kieran gave a thankful smile, "With a name like the Black Viper, I'd be disappointed if you couldn't fight the Shogun without me", he bantered, unable to keep the instinct at bay for too long. And though Santiago laughed, his concern remained as Kieran took to the skies with wings grown from lightning.
He'd transport the wounded from where ambulances held in traffic could not reach, and clear all debris in his path with a thundering swing of his pollaxe.
----------------------------------------
Elsewhere, Thee Champion and Abigail lanced heavenwards and as they glided above the city, his silent energy field shooed away the cold air sweeping her way. "I wanted to speak to you about a set of cosmic artifacts called Universal Lavalieres", he began, his arms keeping her steady as a slideshow of emotions flickered across his eyes as they swept through the streets below. Gothic City had seen chaos storm it's gates a hundred times over, but the most recent storm was raised by a faceless man with the Soul Lavaliere. Such was the danger posed by the stones of power. "Gothic City was recently devastated by one. But what happened pales in comparison to what could have happened had the person in it's possession had any skill with it".
"These Lavalieres each hold dominion over fundamental aspects of reality. Space, Time, Power, Mind, Soul, and Reality. Any one of these stones offers it's owner infinite reach in whichever aspect of reality it controls. One must simply know how to wield it. So you can imagine the dangers of someone having all six. Virtual omnipotence'll be at their fingertips. And the entire universe a subject to their will". For a moment, Thee Champion's voice fell silent, and all sound came for the fluttering song of his scarlet cape as they neared Excalibur. "My daughter was in possession of the Mind Lavaliere but didn't trust herself with it, so she gave it to me. And in my journeys in space, I came across a power mad despot desperate to collect all six Lavalieres. He had the Reality Lavaliere, and hoped to take the Mind Lavaliere from me".
"I instead, took his Lavaliere. I now have both the Mind and Reality Lavalieres. But I don't trust even myself to hold on to all six, or even the two. A simple desire to resurrect my late wife or the woman who raised me could start something I may not be able to stop. I've been lucky enough to feel no such emotion thus far, but I can't speak for what the future holds", he paused, as though taking the time to keep his mind from wandering to maddening "What if?" scenarios. "I'm forming a cabal, of people I feel are responsible enough, and will hold themselves accountable. People who will each have ownership of one Lavaliere. I'd like you to be part of that cabal. And I'd like to entrust you with the Reality Lavaliere at the end of all of this".
There, before them, stood Excalibur, a tower that dare claim itself the successor to Avalon. Landing atop the nearest roof, Thee Champion gazed past Excalibur's walls to zero in on the thermal flare of all who walked it's halls. "Call in the bomb threat and I'll take care of anyone who lingers once so that you may work in peace".
William has only been living in Blüdstone for two weeks and he already liked it better than the last place he lived in. Not only was Bludstone much quieter, but crimes didn’t happen 24/7 there either. The past weeks for the teen had been pretty stressful with all the moving, but when he finally settled, it was as if the stress has been removed from his shoulders. Everything in his life was going great, he was given a new start, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. For the past two weeks, Will slept in a cramped apartment room, with nothing more than a flat screen tv and a couch to sleep on. He had more stuff packed but he was too lazy to do any unpacking right now.
It was only eight o’clock in the morning when Will would be found switching through channels on his Tv while he drank his coffee. He kept skipping until he came to a stop. The young sparrows tired expression slowly turned into an internal state of shock. Witnessing what he just saw on the screen in front of him, the cup of coffee that was once in his grasp, fell onto the rooms soft granite tiles, shattering it causing shards of glass to litter the ground with shards of small glass. The black coffee that was stirring around in the cup, spread across the floor, seeping itself into the granite. "What in the world..."
"I have returned to destroy the United States of America for the crimes it has committed against mutantkind."
Watching the news for Will was like watching spoilers for a movie, you don’t want to see what happens but at the same time you do. The broadcasting on the Tv showed a live view of New York, now experiencing a city wide blackout, then the screen cut to highway 278, countless bodies, either dead or severely wounded, spread across the entire road, with a blockade of vehicles backing up the road for miles. Will froze, the sense of panic that ensued in Will after the broadcasting began to show. A part of him wanted to go out there, but at the same time, he was scared. He was afraid if he went out there he would end up like the other poor souls, it was a huge risk to take, but taking risks was apart of being a hero, apart of Will. So he finally manned up, and got up from his couch, locking his sight onto a brown cardboard box hidden in the dark corner of the room.
Walking over to the hidden box, Will tried his best to not step on the broken pieces of glass that was littered all over the floor. As he approached the box, Will got in his knees pulling the box out from the shadows. On the box, was labeled “Very Fragile. Be careful!” Using his own hands to tear off the grey duct tape, Will slowly opened the top of the box as if it was s Christmas present. Opening the box revealed his entire gear set. His uniform, utility belt, and gadgets all neatly organized in the box, with his iconic red domino mask sitting right on top. Will pulled out his mask first, with a hawkish grin, then he pulled out everything else, pushing the box back into the shadows, where it came from. Will knew New York needed immediate help, so he had to hurry. Quickly throwing on his gear, Red opened the only window his room had, and jumped of it.
The young LeBeau knew going to New York on bike was a stupid idea, seeing as if Bludstone was literally located on the opposite side of he country. So he decided to take a faster route. Unbeknownst to everyone that lived in the apartment complex, will actually stowed his plane in the back, he just keeps it hidden with its cloaking device. Will boarded the plane with a quick pace, immediately blasting off to New York. Two hours later, Will met the halfway point from Bludstone to New York. Will knew what he was getting himself into, he knew the risks, but he also knew he would need backup. Remembering a few weeks back, Will Someone that helped him take down a secret terrorist organization known as Black Void, and now, he needed her. Will called her up hoping she would pick up, “Hey Jocasta, did you see the news? It’s crazy.” Will exclaimed as he hit the top speed of his plane. He knew she was going to say yes cause who hasn’t seen the news lately, “Anyways. I need your help. And New York needs ours, so can you help me?”
A few more long hours, will finally came up on the city. What he was welcomed to, made his heart sink in terror. He was only flying on the outskirts of the city but he could already smell the sensation of black smoke hanging in the air. But then he saw it, bodies upon bodies, all in such a confined space, who could’ve done something like this? For a moment, Will froze again, seeing all of the anarchy brew around him, a part of him wanted to turn around and leave, but Will knew he couldn’t do that, there were lives to save. As he inched towards the burning city, the cloaking device that kept the plane hidden, deactivated, revealing the sparrows large sleek aircraft. Grafting into existence itself, the plane gently set itself onto a nearby news building. Quickly scurrying out of the aircraft will found his way to the ledge, watching the city get engulfed in flames. Will eventually calmed down, wondering where Jo was, until he finally called out.
“Anyone here?” Will called out, hoping Queen was around to answer.
As an independent covert operative, Jocasta was always on the move. It was part of the job, find a lead and uncover it, and then neutralize it for the betterment of the country. After the events in Key City, he followed a trail to Canada. That lead came up cold - no pun intended. She then had a hunch to go to New York. It was one of those cities that just gathered information.
Jocasta found herself in the subway, looking carefully at everyone on her train behind her shades. She didn't need them as most New Yorkers avoided eye contact. She had seen a female with a green Mohawk, a young man who dressed as if he was from the Wild West, and something she couldn't even describe. She felt a light tremble, and then the vibration grew harsher. All of a sudden the subway train stopped. And so did the lights.
Many waited for the emergency lights to kick in. They did not. After a minute, people began to talk. Then came the expletives as did their cellphone lights. Then worry and panic started to stress their tones. Jocasta's contacts had already adjusted to night vision, the green hue tint now the constant. There was a slight tremor, and then the crashing in of the subway roof upon the subway car freaked all but her on the subway.
Jocasta managed to pry one of the doors open, as did some other people. Many hopped off the train, wanting to make the short trek to the platform. Others hesitated to remain on the train, wanting the proper authorities to come with help. With a limited visual range of two feet per phone, Jocasta didn't blame anyone that wanted to stay, but moving was the correct choice. At least for her. A quick magnesium flare down the tunnel made everyone look at the bright gleaming flare. Jocasta's loud whistle catching the gathered's attention.
I need everyone to move toward the flare. We are two blocks away from the platform. We need to keep moving. We need to stay together. If we do that we get out of here. Jocasta did not wait for any questions, she just moved, only turning back to reassure the others she was serious. I mean now people. Move it!
Jocasta led the moving mass, and as promised her night vision saw the loading platform, empty and silent, unusual for New York. Jocasta launched another flare, revealing the platform to the others as they ran past her to safety. Jocasta made sure everyone was out of the tunnel, trailing even the slowest person up the platform. It was then she pumped into everyone. She moved the others out of the way. It was New York City, what could actually cause New Yorker to stop and gawk. When her eyes set its view upon the horizon, she too was mesmerized by the event. The whole horizon burnt from the distance. The water itself burned, the smell of massive amounts of gasoline filling the air. It was as if they had walked into Hell. Or at least an episode of the Twilight Zone.
Muse. She asked with a concerned voice as she began to see crowds of people race through the streets in panic. What the hell is happening?
There was no answer, and then she could hear garbled parts of his voice. Nothing strung together to make any sense. Losing Muse concerned her. Muse was an outside interface AI. What was causing such interference. Jocasta then switched to her primary line, seeing she had a message. It was boy wonder she had met in Key City. Maybe he had answers.
Hours later...
Anyone here?
There was a slight pause but Jocasta finally answered. You look good , Sparrow. She said as she came from out of the shadows. Her purple outfit was covered with ash and sweat. She revealed a smile to the young hero, being both happy to see him and to gather more information from the outside. You gained some weight though. Its pretty crazy out there. I lost contact with Muse. Its pretty much a bunch of scared people running wild out there. The bridges are closed with abandoned cars. The subways are shut down. Same thing with the airports. The city is completely isolated. What else can you tell me that I don't.
These were completely new to her, but despite having never heard of them the mere mention of the Lavalieres sent a cold chill over her entire body. That alone would've been enough to raise every alarm biologically and metaphysically programmed into her being. The mention of Gothic City was icing on the cake. Reports of the incident were barely comprehensible, details were scattered, but Abby herself had lost contact with several fianna across the former No-Man's Land. Mum and dad's libraries would be the places to start.
Abigail cursed the Hellish circumstances in which they'd found themselves. She wondered about this Richard, his recent endeavours and connections with the Arcani. Could he have been connected to the attack in Gothic? For all of these things to coincide, his timing had been nearly perfect, and now they had nearly none at all.
Reality? Ironic. Abigail's father, Atticus, gave her the ability to rewrite probabilities—and reality itself—in ways that should've been impossible, but for her imagination. Not that Alexis was aware, but in theory the Lavaliere wouldn't add any more temptation, its effect the same as her own intrinsic power. But this took a toll, and even as a veteran of countless metahuman conflicts with all her accomplishments, almost all of those things she'd accomplished Arquitenens did without the use of her father's "gift." All the Lavaliere would do was circumvent her own personal limitations. As if that were the worst of it...
A murmur in her heart responded to the sudden fear rising within her. It came not only in response to this revelation of apparently unlimited potential, but her own knowledge. Even a man as powerful as Alexis Pettis looked at Abigail and saw a legend but she struggled with her own failures and inadequacies every day. She'd been entrusted with extreme power before, and it ruined her. The League of Shadows, the authority and the reach it gave her, gave way to hubris. And, without realising, Pettis himself had just stated exactly why the Aensland "Saint" didn't trust herself. She'd suffered far too much, wanted far too much. Especially now with a mad spirit sharing her body. Her own neuroses, her own messiah complex, would be her undoing, and possibly the undoing of others.
The Miracle Man's flight speed left little time for the discussion anyway. In nearly no time at all they'd converged on the destination. "We'll finish this later," she declared. Then, without so much as a revealing movement, Abigail warped the space around them, rendering the pair invisible to all but themselves and each other until she and he had gained distance from one another.
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