Bones of the Past (Villains' Code Book 2)

by Drew Hayes

  From the trees, the humanoid form dropped, sinking claws into a Wrexwren’s neck before savagely digging further, sending sprays of alien liquid all along the lush grass. He leapt off the still-standing corpse, laying his fangs into another Wrexwren while pointing its own weapon toward more invaders. As pain took over, the alien tensed, sending errant shots sizzling through the air.

  “Emory hasn’t had much chance to test himself in the field yet—he’s got to rebuild his sense of power and self, especially after the training he went through.” Arcanicus reinforced the magical shield around them, a form of power which the Wrexwren were showing no capacity for whatsoever. If they hadn’t even been prepared for mystical forces, they were woefully unready to try to take on Earth.

  “We all had training,” Pest Control pointed out.

  “You had a group experience. Emory has been entirely in the hands of his mentor to mold.” Arcanicus had to look momentarily away as their newest guild apprentice ripped the scaly exterior from a Wrexwren’s body, drawing horrific noises in the process. He usually didn’t mind watching over the newer members—they weren’t ambitious or competent enough to cause much trouble yet—but this bout was making him wish he’d prepared a stomach-soothing potion.

  Glyph appeared to have a similar reaction, shaking his head at the carnage on display. “Who exactly was his mentor, anyway? A walking flesh-blender?”

  “Close guess, actually. He learned from Xelas.” Arcanicus wasn’t sure how he felt about the immediate understanding that settled into both rookies’ faces at that revelation. He was of the opinion that perhaps the guild didn’t need to be bone-chillingly scary to function effectively, but that put him in the minority of their leadership. The guild’s current plan was built out of reestablishing precisely that horrific reputation, so Xelas and her methods were clearly a good fit for the organization.

  As a spray of alien viscera landed on his shoes, Arcanicus muttered darkly under his breath. Carnage was one thing; they needed to teach him how to aim the consequences better. If the guild was going to be home to the world’s greatest horrors, then Arcanicus could ensure they were well-trained unnatural disasters, if nothing else.

  Moving the apartment building’s residents around was surprisingly easy. One of the benefits to living in Ridge City: everyone was accustomed to meta-fights and evacuations. With minimal prompting, they were willing to accept the aid of a woman in what could be generously described as a makeshift costume. By opting to be “Better lucky than good,” Cliché managed to avoid almost every threat as they walked down into the garage, depositing her neighbors into their respective concrete cubes or whatever ones were unoccupied. On the few occasions where someone did spot them, her umbrella easily deflected any ranged attacks they sent, and soon, the attackers had one of the capes to worry about.

  She tried hard to put Nexus and his cryptic warning out of her mind as she worked. There had been no sign of him since leaving the roof, but that offered little comfort when it came to a man who could appear from nowhere. Scary as Nexus was, he didn’t appear to be taking an active role today, which made him more annoyance than threat. When everyone else was coming to kill, creepy predictions didn’t carry quite the same oomph.

  The scream caught her off guard. Having already checked all of the rooms down this hall, Cliché was heading back toward the roof to report a successful evacuation. It didn’t sound like a mid-fight scream, especially considering she’d glimpsed Bahamut and Agent Quantum a floor above minutes prior. Maybe she’d missed someone, and they’d gotten caught? Except, something about that voice was almost... familiar. Umbrella at the ready, Cliché crept forward, taking each step with care until she came around a corner and nearly gasped in shock.

  Tachyonic was down. Not just down, trying to crawl on his back, eyes tilted upward at the twisted face of the man staring down at him. Smoke drifted from the man’s left arm, dark and gaunt all the way to the elbow. By the way Tachyonic was dragging his leg, this didn’t seem like any sort of ploy; he’d been seriously injured. For someone with his skillset, Tachyonic was functionally out of the fight, a huge blow to the New Science Sentries’ collective strength.

  “It’s such a pretty narrative. One man’s genius breaks the very foundations of reality, ushering in a new age of limitless potential. The laws of physics and the universe are altered, allowing what was once impossible to become commonplace. Except it all ignores the simple truth that some things are supposed to be impossible. What was unleashed has far more capacity to corrupt, destroy, and ruin rather than elevate. How many monsters have risen out of our world, chasing or fueled by the power he unleashed?”

  “So you’re the good one? Going to tell me how, somehow, all of this is because you were really in the right? Look, you’ll never have to sell me on Professor Quantum being a callous, cold, calculating asshole. But he still turns his power toward the greater good, so why don’t you spare me the moralizing. I know who the superhero is between the two of you.”

  The man advanced, stomping down a foot next to Tachyonic’s shin that shattered the wood beneath. Oh crap; he was strong on top of whatever was going on with his hand. Cliché leaned slightly forward, shifting her footing in case she needed to help. Thus far, the umbrella had been able to take everything thrown at it. Hopefully, this was not the day she discovered its limits.

  “You’re so young, barely more than a child. It’s no wonder you still believe in such ridiculous concepts. There are no heroes in this world, super or otherwise. Only powerful people playing games to amuse themselves, the mundane serving as little more than pieces and prizes. The entire premise is a fabrication, a trick that lets them rule while upholding the illusion of service. The only difference between your people and the guild is that yours were more effective in seizing power.”

  Cliché said a small prayer of thanks in her heart to whoever the god of monologuing was, for they’d been blessed with a talker. That was time not spent maiming or killing; Tachyonic just needed to play into the rant and keep him going until help could arrive. Help other than her—someone with real power to swing around.

  “I might be young, but you are categorically wrong.” Tachyonic somehow managed to find a defiant expression, despite his prone, vulnerable position. “Are a lot of capes like that? Hell yes. Most of us are in this career for the wrong reasons, from pure ambition to having no normal job options. But there are some who live up to the word superhero, whose hearts are in exactly the right place, who take up this fight because they can’t imagine standing by when they have the power to help. I know it with absolute certainty; it has been my privilege to work under just such a person.”

  A sharp hiss and crackle drew Cliché’s attention to the looming man’s left arm, which was sending up even more smoke. Strangely, the skin along his arm turned crisp, then flaked away, unlike any transformation she’d seen before. It was more like he was burning off an outer shell of flesh.

  Leaning down, his right hand flew out, snaring Tachyonic by the skull, holding his head locked in place. “Do you still think he’s going to save you? That there’s any hope you will all make it out of this?”

  “The entire point of being a superhero is giving people hope even in the most dire of lost situations,” Tachyonic replied. “Maybe he won’t make it in time to save me, but he’s absolutely going to stop you.”

  They stayed like that for a long moment, until the grip on Tachyonic’s skull was suddenly released. “Very brave, little pawn. Trying to goad me into killing you in the hopes of taking away my hostage. Your friends still would have died, but I will admit, it might have been harder to draw them all in. Now, I shall teach you the cost of bravery. Everything below your right knee seems an adequate price.”

  He lifted his smoking left arm, and Cliché realized her bystander time was officially over. Either she let this happen or stood up: both options represented a choice. Praying dearly that the mask and goggle combo adequately hid her face, Cliché dove out from her hiding s
pot, racing forward with umbrella at the ready.

  Whether it was uncertainty as to who she was or merely confusion at the motley ensemble running in his direction, the man actually did pause to see what the hell was happening. It was enough of a gap for Cliché to leap between him and Tachyonic, popping her umbrella out to full extension, barely fitting inside the narrow confines of the hallway.

  “Get out of here! He’s too strong.” Tachyonic tried to send her away; however, the effort was significantly compromised by his inability to stand or walk.

  “I think that’s in our favor. The worse I am in comparison, the luckier I should be.” Cliché wasn’t entirely sure if that was how her current saying actually worked, but it felt like it could be true as an interpretation. If the power really was shaped by her perceptions of it, then that was how she chose for the phrase to interact with the world.

  Then again, if she was wrong, it probably wouldn’t take too long to figure out.

  The man examined Cliché once with detached interest before coldly remarking, “You are not a New Science Sentry. There is no purpose in killing you slowly.” His left hand slashed down, intercepted by the umbrella as the bone-like digits raked off what should have been nothing more than dark fabric. Mercifully, the makeshift shield held, though the reaction that came next was completely unexpected.

  “What?!?” The man bellowed, his voice ringing off the walls around them, all composure suddenly gone. He struck again, that smoking hand scratching at the handheld barrier between them, only to slide harmlessly off. “This can’t be. No mere object can withstand my corrosion. Even the skin I wear is temporary. You... dare to challenge me?”

  The next blow that came was not a scratch; instead, it was like a sledgehammer. Having raised up his arms, the man struck with tremendous force, driving Cliché and her legs deep into the wooden floor. Snapping sounds were her only warning before suddenly, there was no ground beneath her feet. The stomp he’d delivered earlier had substantially weakened the structure; this second blow was more than the old building could bear.

  Through the air she and Tachyonic tumbled, down onto the unexpectedly soft landing pile of blankets and pillows. They’d ended up in a bedroom a floor below, the lush mattress easily breaking both of their falls. Up above, she could still see the man, staring down through the hole he’d just accidentally made, twisted in rage and glaring down at both of them. Well, she was certainly on his radar now.

  “The hell just happened?” Tachyonic fought his way out from under a pile of pillows, rising back to a seated position just before they heard the gentle thud of another body hitting the ground, their attacker landing only feet away.

  “You managed to buy yourself another few minutes.” Everything from his left shoulder down was smoking now, as were small sections of his face where the peeling process had begun. “That’s all your vain struggling managed to accomplish.”

  This time, there was nothing gentle about the noise that rang out from the floor upon landing. Given the new form’s size and muscles, it was no surprise the wood struggled to uphold what crashed down heavily upon it, and if rage had any mass, then Agent Quantum would have caused the floorboards to buckle right then and there.

  “They also made enough noise to be easily found.” Agent Quantum looked across the room to Tachyonic’s injured form. The anger hardened as his gaze turned to the smoking-armed attacker. Cliché had never seen an expression like that on his face, in or out of costume. It was, curiously, the first time she’d even noticed any resemblance at all between Agent and Professor Quantum.

  Despite the evident fury, he still didn’t come out of the gate swinging. “You get one chance: surrender, and come in quietly. Don’t try to fight me right now. I’m not at all confident I can hold back.”

  “He’s our weakness!” Tachyonic hurriedly yelled from the bed. “Don’t let him touch you—it messes with our abilities. Just get the others clear. He won’t stop until he has us all.”

  “Well, yes and no,” the man corrected, his calm voice and face once more fixed in place. Whatever dark impulses Cliché had stirred up, Agent Quantum was clearly of higher priority. “The weakness part is true, and I fully intend to do some killing, but only you are truly essential, Agent Quantum. Only you carry his blood.”

  Up above, Cliché could make out the forms of Medley and Bahamut. They must have heard the noise, as well. Perhaps they were waiting for the right moment to strike, which she hoped would arrive soon. Tempting as it was to teleport out, she wasn’t going anywhere until at least her roommates were present. Besides, at least here, she could influence things slightly. She just hoped it would be for the better.

  “That mean you’ll let the others go?” Agent Quantum asked.

  “Obviously not. My point is just that I don’t especially care about them, so it’s possible they could escape. Flee and cower—that will shame the Science Sentries brand nearly as well as their deaths. That means the longer you ‘distract’ me, the better their chances of escape.”

  Lifting his arms, Agent Quantum took a position that clearly indicated a fight was about to begin. “Seems we both believe ourselves to be the stronger in this fight. How ’bout we skip the bluster and find out who’s right?”

  “You lack his prudence and intelligence, yet you managed to retain the arrogance. I shall take great pleasure in this.”

  Agent Quantum charged, and the battle was on.

  Chapter 114

  The noise was fading, not that it mattered. Zerle Salvrin remained enraged, swinging like he intended to knock Fornax’s skull from his shoulders. The cries for help from his people, all beyond his reach, had done their job and rattled his certainty. Had Ivan been the one running this show, he would have ended things soon after. To his thinking, it was enough. Sadly, for Zerle Salvrin, this was a Fornax mission, and he was only just beginning to have fun. Besides, this show wasn’t really for Zerle Salvrin, and Fornax couldn’t start the conclusion until the star performance had occurred.

  A dull ringing echoed through the room as Zerle Salvrin’s fists collided with the wall, failing yet again to land a blow on Fornax. The Wrexwren anatomy and martial art was certainly unique, involving tactics that had demanded time to fully grasp, but Fornax had been born in battle. His entire life until the change was nothing but fighting: constantly, endlessly, without even the hope of it ceasing. Adapting to new forms of attack was one of the reasons Ivan had been the lone survivor, and some habits were far too ingrained to be weathered away by a few mere years of peace.

  “While my world chips away at your title, I can move on to breaking the next of your foundations: that strength in which you place so much value. Tell me, Zerle Salvrin, were you the strongest of your people?””

  Zerle Salvrin was in no mood for chitchat. He kept pressing the attack, limbs swirling in all manner of directions, like an inescapable cloud. Fornax struck directly through the attempt, knocking two arms aside as he sent the Wrexwren hurtling back hard into the wall. “I asked you a question. Don’t get boring on me, or I’ll have to find other ways to entertain myself.”

  Whether it was the actual threat, or just the desire for a few seconds of rest, Zerle Salvrin eventually replied as he slowly pulled himself back to standing. “I am among the elite, yet there are greater threats still among my people. Do not think this will save your planet. Even if our forces are driven back, the Wrexwren will never stop.”

  “Oh?” Fornax didn’t sound as if he was afraid of the prospect. In fact, he was bordering on excitement. “How I wish you were right about that. What I wouldn’t give for an endless stream of your people coming to Earth, providing me with new fun. Because I am not the strongest of my people.”

  He pointed overhead, to where the screen showed Lodestar glowing brighter than before, still attempting to fight back the cosmic horror on a crash course for the Earth’s sun. “Our planet is like a pressure cooker, and that is the lid. We host a constant building of power and force that should spill fo
rth into the greater universe, except for the insurmountable barrier that holds us all back. It spurs us on to greater heights, building more pressure as we try and fail to overtake her. As iron sharpens iron, meta sharpens meta, all so we can break our blades on that incomprehensible wall named Lodestar.”

  “You believe weakness is a thing to boast of?” Zerle Salvrin came in for another round, but this time, Fornax didn’t wait for the attack. He dashed forward, hitting his opponent in the torso yet again. He didn’t permit the alien to fly back, however. Instead, he took hold of one of the four arms, pulling it taut until it nearly separated from the body.

  “I don’t think you get the point. My species hasn’t been dominating the galaxy for untold years, attacking less-advanced cultures and calling that superiority strength. We are a combative, violent race that struggles endlessly to be mightier. In just fighting with each other and trying to reach that impossible standard set by our champion, we have already grown well past the point where the Wrexwren could ever have been a real threat.”

  Kicks came from the multiple legs, but Fornax didn’t bother trying to dodge. He let the blows rain down, wards blocking most of the damage, yet not all. It was a gamble, allowing some injury now in the hopes it would strip away Zerle Salvrin’s will to fight. After telling him he was weak, refusing to show any reaction to the alien’s blows only drove the point further home.

  “If we are no threat, then why did your greatest defender come to meet us?” Zerle Salvrin demanded. It might have been a real question, or a ploy to take whatever the Wrexwren version of a breather was. Either way, that was a good enough opening to Fornax.

  “She is the world’s true superhero, and will defend it from any threat, big or small. It’s why the people of that planet can live such peaceful lives despite the chaos and madness of their reality: deep down, they all know that they have Lodestar’s protection. Which is the same reason why I’m up here today. Because you... don’t.”