by Drew Hayes
It was the first time Hephaestus had seen an immediate physical shift accompany Cliché’s empowered words—even the aesthetic change had been slightly delayed. This time, it was a bizarre experience as Hephaestus watched a familiar pair of eyes suddenly look back at her from Chloe’s sockets. She knew them in an instant, and had there not been a helmet between them, the same eyes would have been staring right back at Chloe. They were, after all, the eyes of Tori Rivas.
For a moment, the stolen irises stared back, until they began to dissolve like shimmering flames, drawing into Cliché’s pupil, revealing her own eyes once more. Suddenly, she grabbed the sides of her head, wincing in visible pain as her whole body began to shake.
“Gaaaah, okay, okay, I think I’m—crrraaaaap.” She swayed, and for a moment, Hephaestus feared her friend would collapse entirely. “Hang on. Little longer. I think... nearly there.” At last, her eyes opened, tears streaming down her face. “Wow. That was like an ice-cream headache multiplied by a root canal. So much getting crammed in at once. I think this one might be tougher depending on how much power I’m copying.” Shaking off the last of her brain pain, Cliché’s gaze fell upon the removed gauntlet. “Oh, hey, looks like you misaligned one of the connectors. That’s going to make this feel sluggish when you need full dexterity.”
It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to bristle at that, remembering that her saying had purposefully called out being better than the subject from whom the talents were taken. Part of her wondered how that would have worked if she’d targeted the smoking bone-man instead. Given the painful reaction for just Hephaestus, it was probably best she hadn’t tested the power on someone that powerful. Even if it worked, publicly using such an ability would mean Cliché would definitely no longer be under anyone’s radar—not if she had a power that allowed her suddenly jump entire leagues in terms of danger.
“Glad to know, but let’s focus on getting this thing capable of handling Plasmodia’s output. Efficiency is more of a refining concern than an immediate worry.”
From below, there tore a scream. This wasn’t like the muffled thuds of bodies and blows being thrown. Someone had just been hurt, and based on the voice, that person was Agent Quantum. Presto, Hat Trick, and even their pseudo-prisoner were all staring with rapt attention through the hole. Plasmodia, however, was striding over to join them.
“What happened?” Cliché asked.
“He forced them to make a guess, and it went poorly.” Plasmodia sat down, crossing her legs like she was settling in for a session of yoga. “You two keep working. I’m going to work on building up my energy. If we’re betting it all on one shot, then I’m going to put every last bit of intensity I have into the attack.” The crackling glow of power radiated up from her hands, stretching across her entire body inch by inch.
The message was clear: if they wanted to save everyone, time was running out. Once the smoking stranger was no longer amused by playing with his toys, he’d begin breaking them. On a small, muted video still playing in a corner of her helmet screen, Fornax was giving a live demonstration of exactly what happened when a real monster grew bored. Unless they wanted one of their own to end up like Zerle Salvrin, they had to change the situation.
Activating the soldering torch in the finger of her right gauntlet, Hephaestus cracked into her creation and got to work.
Chapter 117
The scream had belonged to Agent Quantum. As he went in next to Medley, the two of them attempting to knock their enemy off-balance, the opponent suddenly shifted in ferocity. One hand shot out, slamming into Medley’s torso and sending him through a wall, shattering a bathtub. Agent Quantum wasn’t so lucky as he found his own blow caught, the arm being squeezed so hard it drove him to his knees in moments.
“That’s enough pondering. Time for you to make a guess. Any takers, or should I move right on to the penalty for failure?” As their opponent raised his smoking, gaunt hand, no one knew exactly what the punishment would be, but they could all make educated guesses that it would hurt.
Agent Quantum twisted his head, meeting what technically qualified as the man’s eyes. “How about Mr. Bones?” Although the name was patently ridiculous, Agent Quantum had heard stranger. Besides, he didn’t expect to be right. If the name were really guessable, the offer never would have been put forth.
“Thematic, yet incorrect.” The man’s eyes darted over to where Bahamut was slowly shaking off the last round of attacks, and to the shifting debris of a bathroom covering Medley. “Now we move on to the fun part of the game. Tell me, Agent Quantum, who shall be punished for this failure? It can be you, another cape, or even one of these villains you’ve formed a shaky alliance with.”
“Your problem is with me. Leave them out of it.”
Not quite a laugh, not quite a cackle, the hideous amusement that brimmed from that lipless mouth was almost as terrifying as the threats. “Exactly the answer I would expect from a superhero of your caliber. But the first one is easy. Let’s see how noble you remain after understanding what you’re in for.”
His movement was sudden, smoking right hand extended so the bony fingertips were pointed forward, then thrust into the meat of Agent Quantum’s left shoulder. The scream was immediate, like it had been pushed out by force of the blow. It wasn’t merely pain, though; everyone in the room had taken enough injuries to understand what that looked like. Agent Quantum was leaned over, barely hanging on as his whole body twitched and seized. Finally, the man yanked his hand free, leaving Agent Quantum collapsed on the ground. He didn’t stay there long, stirring soon, but the point was made.
“As your friend warned you, I am your weakness. That doesn’t just mean my ability lessens yours, ironically enough, but also that it hurts tremendously in the process. Now then, once you’re able to speak, let’s hear your next guess. I hope it’s better—”
The speech trailed off as the form of Tachyonic suddenly dove through the hole in the ceiling, landing roughly on the bed then scrambling off of it. Standing at a visible lean, there was no pretending he was able to fight at full strength, but he was standing. Given the state of his leg minutes before, that in itself was impressive enough.
“Perfect. It’s so much more enjoyable when someone personally invested has to watch. A coworker and a temporary ally aren’t the same as being taken apart in front of someone who believes in you.” The man’s eyes lingered on Agent Quantum, despite him making no forward movements. Now that the game was in full swing, he was enjoying himself far too much to rush it. The Wrexwren weren’t even dealt with yet, and once they were, the chaos would last for hours. Plenty of time to savor his triumph.
At last, Bahamut was back up, visibly groggy yet upright nonetheless. From the bathroom, Medley’s tail broke through, sweeping off shards of porcelain as he rose. Agent Quantum had made it to a turned-over chair and was using that to haul himself up. Just like when Tachyonic has been stabbed by those digits, Agent Quantum was visibly weakened, more than what just pain could manage.
Wobbling forward, not fully trusting his own leg yet, Tachyonic held up his hands and made a “come get some” motion. “Hey asshole, how about Round Two? Only this time, no sucker punch.”
“Do you know why it is prudent to take out the team’s speeder first? It isn’t because they’re dangerous—few ever manage to do significant damage against real threats. Your kind are simply annoying, dashing about in the middle of a fight. And you especially have a talent for failure. Being my hostage was perhaps the closest you’ve come to doing something right.”
The man turned away, facing Agent Quantum once more. “You are beneath me, Tachyonic, as are the rest of this silly ensemble. But you aren’t even entertaining enough to break. Stay patient. You’ll die when I get around to it.”
The wet smack was not the blow the smoking man, or anyone else, was expecting. Tachyonic became a momentary blur as he ran to the kitchen’s garbage can, yanked out a semi-full bag, and slapped it over his opponent’s head. No one was enti
rely sure what the owner of this kitchen had made the night prior, only that it was very sauce-heavy. Unidentifiable green and red liquids dripped down the lengths of the near-skeleton, whose smoke suddenly increased in amount and darkness.
“You dare—”
“You’re goddamn right I dare!” Tachyonic was right there, in his face, so aggressive it seemed to knock their opponent momentarily off-balance. “Where do you get off, strutting around like the big shit in town? Do you know why your little game works? Because none of us know who the fuck you are! All these big claims about fighting the original Science Sentries—except we’ve gone through all of their old cases and fights as part of our training. If you really were around, then you left so little impression it didn’t even warrant mentioning.”
In a flash of movement, Tachyonic dashed back several feet, wincing at the end as his leg nearly gave out. Ignoring the pain, he repeated his previous hand-motion, once more inviting their opponent to trade blows. “You’re a nobody. Nothing but forgotten trash. You don’t deserve to face Agent Quantum yet. Team leaders are reserved for actual threats, the kinds with real reputations, not sad fantasies they’ve concocted.”
In terms of subtlety, there was a lot of room for improvement. Tachyonic might as well have been waving a red flag and wearing a matador’s outfit. That was the upside to blunt attacks, though: they didn’t have to be refined to be effective.
Plumes of dark smoke rose from the man, searing off all the garbage on his person into a sizzling residue that clung to the floor where it landed. He stared at Tachyonic, all others momentarily forgotten.
“Such a dear, devoted friend you are, taking my wrath all for yourself. Very well, Tachyonic, I’ll grant your wish. My statement holds true: you aren’t worth the entertainment. Yet I think it will be rather enjoyable to watch Agent Quantum’s face as I tear his most devoted supporter limb from limb.”
In spite of being less an arm and down a leg, Zerle Salvrin refused to buckle. His assaults continued, their techniques changing on the fly. The Zerle even scored a few hits with unexpected movements, making use of the now missing appendage’s space. Fornax let him come, parrying here, knocking back there, but otherwise keeping him at bay and suffering. There was a next step to this process; however, it couldn’t be initiated by Fornax. Moving forward had to begin with Lodestar or Zerle Salvrin himself.
As it turned out, the latter arrived first. After taking a rough punch to where his hips would be on a human, the Wrexwren leader did not immediately attempt to spring back up. Instead, he sat, leaning his head and back against the cool metal of the chamber’s walls.
“My pride as a fighter can deny it no longer. You are indeed stronger than I, Fornax.” Zerle Salvrin made a motion with his hand, though what it was or what it meant, Fornax could only speculate. Perhaps a gesture of respect?
“Is this your way of calling it quits? I must say, I didn’t see that coming from you.” He paused, rune-filled eyes sweeping across the alien enemy. “Still don’t, actually.”
“Nor should you. I will never admit defeat, nor permit you to take victory.” Zerle Salvrin made the noise Fornax felt reasonably sure was laughter, albeit low and subdued. “My people saw the command given. As we speak, they are already training their weapons on this ship. We will be annihilated together, along with the entirety of the crew, but you will not triumph today.” Having taken a breather, the Wrexwren got up, keeping weight off his broken leg. “I hope now you understand the Wrexwren people’s commitment to victory. Not even our own leaders are of greater importance.”
The whistle was sharp and high, nearly a Wrexwren voice, except it came from Fornax’s puckered lips. “Hell of a move. Rather die than lose. Believe it or not, I get that. Even respect it, in the right circumstances. Of course, I could always kill you before the attack hits.”
“Which is why I took my time explaining. It’s already too late. The blast will arrive at any moment.” Zerle Salvrin raised his remaining arms, determined to hold out until mutual destruction took them both.
Fornax made no move to follow up on his threat, turning his attention to the floating cameras instead.
“Well then, it seems our only recourse is to patiently wait for the end to come. In these, my final moments of life, I would like to leave all of you viewers with a simple bit of advice: never start a war with the most dangerous species in the galaxy.”
With that, Fornax turned, facing Zerle Salvrin as they waited for the ship to explode. After ten seconds, Zerle Salvrin began to get worried. After a full minute, true terror set in. Finally, he broke, the question bursting forth as he watched the absolute lack of concern remain in Fornax’s grin. “What have you done?”
“Me? I’ve been in here with you, having a grand old time. But I’m not the only villain out there with stress to relieve. In fact, while we were playing around, my old friend Doctor Mechaniacal was working on his own project. Doc, you want to take it away?”
From all around them, broadcast over the Wrexwren’s own communications system, the answer came. “Gladly. After some basic analysis, I discovered quite a number of weaknesses in the design and programming used in your ships. Redundancy is all well and good; however, the trouble with using identical components over and over is that they all have the same vulnerabilities. For example, did you know it was possible to create an overload sequence in the engines, leading to catastrophic detonation? Ten seconds, and any Wrexwren ship is nothing more than debris in the void.”
“An entire ship... you wouldn’t. There is no honor in such a tactic.”
Fornax laughed at that, loud and cruel. “You don’t get to say shit about honor. Tricking Earth’s champion, launching the invasion before our duel, even trying to cheat at the last minute when losing became inevitable. You have held to whatever code the Wrexwren have in only the most technical sense. I will say this much, though: you’re right. We wouldn’t do that.”
The smile widened as new images flashed into existence all around; Doctor Mechaniacal was really getting the hang of the Wrexwren systems. The entire invasion fleet still in space, from the largest warship to the tiniest landing vessel, were being detonated before Zerle Salvrin’s eyes, the scenes played over and over on a constant, repeating loop.
“We wouldn’t, because we already did.” Fornax spread his arms, gesturing to the cornucopia of destruction surrounding them. “What sort of creature would do a thing like that? Kill an entire army when peace is still on the table? What sort of species would even conceive of such a notion, wiping out their enemy without prudence or partiality? It’s the same one that fell upon your people the moment they landed. A species born in war and conflict, with millennia to hone both their skill and the darkest parts of their souls. You would shrivel in disgust to know what we have done to each other, for crimes no greater than a hue of skin or a place of birth. What did you think would be waiting for monstrous invaders such as yourselves?”
He faced the floating cameras once more, and for the first time, Zerle Salvrin began to understand that this wasn’t really about him at all. Whoever was on the other side of those orbs, that was the target Fornax was trying to reach. Ordinarily, he’d have considered that useful information for controlling the tide of the fight. As it was, Zerle Salvrin was momentarily lost in the horror of seeing his entire force purged so completely. Much as he wanted to think it all a trick, the fact that they were still here meant the other ships had failed to fire. Zerle Salvrin’s life was proof of his people’s death.
“My advice earlier was genuine,” Fornax continued, speaking directly into the cameras. “It is indeed prudent not to start a war with the galaxy’s most dangerous species. Only, the Wrexwren are not the holders of that title. They are a simple, brute force: effective at their own tasks, yet inherently limited by their own rules. No, the true danger would be creatures capable of planning, deception, and untold death, all without a moment’s pause. An imagination that can conceive of terrible ideas, the sort no decent speci
es would ever consider, let alone put into use. Beings who can justify any atrocity, so long as they come out on top.”
Pointing back over his shoulder, Fornax drew attention to the array of exploding images all around him and Zerle Salvrin. “Meet humanity: the most twisted, murderous, foul species in the entire cosmos. We are the ones you should have avoided conflict with. Now, you get to be a warning for the rest of the galaxy, a tale to tell over whatever the alien versions of campfires are. The once mighty Wrexwren, destroyed by one simple, poor decision: they decided to fuck with Earth.”
Finally managing to gather some of his thoughts, Zerle Salvrin glared back defiantly. “Do not think one kolitre is the entirety of the Wrexwren force. There will be more to follow, to avenge our failing.”
“My dear Zerle, don’t be so impatient. We’ll get to that, when the time is right. A being like you, possessing such willpower and strength, must be broken properly.” Fornax started forward, a fresh look of excitement in his rune-filled eyes. “Have no fear, you are in the hands of a professional. I will make sure to see the job done right.”
Chapter 118
This world was a hellscape. Humans were not the docile, simple creatures that had been painted for the Wrexwren forces. They fought like prexles, a notoriously ferocious pest on the Wrexwren home world, famous for its willingness to lash out when dying rather than flee. Prexles would prefer to wound their enemy in death than to survive, and somehow, it felt like humanity had stolen that philosophy from across the stars.
Even the ones that lacked abilities were armed, opening fire on the trio of Wrexwren as they ran through the streets, fleeing their pursuers. The ship was lost, blown up minutes after landing. The team’s only hope was to find somewhere to hunker down and call for rescue. Not that they felt great about the odds, given how many similar cries for help were pinging their own systems. With every passing step, the effort of running became more and more futile.
