Bones of the Past (Villains' Code Book 2)

by Drew Hayes

  Time to pay it back. There were others out there who needed help, and next time, Bloopston would be the one running in to save the day.

  Hovering in the air, Cliché held in one arm, the in-progress gauntlet in the other, Hephaestus couldn’t believe there was a time she hadn’t considered flight an essential suit function. She blasted back, toward a hopefully stable section of the remaining floor, and set both down. “You okay?”

  “Not especially. That guy sounds serious about killing us all, and I’m not sure this is going to work,” Cliché admitted. “Oh, you meant physically. Little bruised on the ribs from your grip, but doing much better than I would be if I’d taken the tumble.” Tenderly poking herself in the side, Cliché appeared momentarily confused. “Actually, wait—maybe not a full bruise?”

  “If you copied my powers along with my brains, then your body is tougher than normal right now, and will heal quickly. Really wish we had more time to play with the fire-based stuff, but eyes on the prize. As of now, I think this bad boy is our last shot.”

  Reaching over, Cliché put a hand on the cold metal of Hephaestus’s shoulder. “What if it fails?”

  It was something she’d been trying not to think about. Calling the guild was out, since most of them were dealing with the invaders, just like the major capes, so they couldn’t count on backup. If this didn’t work, she was officially out of ideas. Sure, with enough time and tech, there might be a solution; however, with what they had on hand, it simply might be impossible to beat the enemy who’d clawed his way out of the past. Should that be the case, it was important to remember that they weren’t the capes here.

  “Teleport out as many of them as will go. Bahamut and I should be able to escape on our own. I don’t think Alfred really gives a damn either way, since we aren’t with the AHC. Regardless, the guy lacks wings. Take anyone who’s willing to teleport somewhere far—another country if you can manage it. Aim for big cities. The kinds of places where capes will have to be present, dealing with invaders. Then get away from the superheroes fast, because we don’t want any part of this grudge spilling onto us.”

  The sudden groan of floorboards had both of them expecting another collapse, until they glanced behind and saw the familiar pattern of kaleidoscope eyes peering past them, into the rubble below, where bodies were already beginning to stir.

  “Not a good time for cryptic bullshit, Nexus,” Hephaestus spat, focus swiftly returning to the gauntlet-in-progress.

  “Then I am pleased to say that I have none to offer. This is merely the point where things grow most interesting, so I’ve come to see your version.”

  “Still a little cryptic,” Cliché pointed out, though her tone was gentler than Hephaestus’s. “I’m surprised you’re here, though. With Lodestar fighting a big monster and Fornax dueling an alien champion, aren’t there more interesting things to watch?”

  Nexus gave a small nod, never looking away from the shifting debris where Medley’s tail had just emerged. “Both are worthy of witnessing, which is why I am doing just that. There are a great many tales being told in this chaotic backdrop, and I am carefully observing all of the most entertaining ones.”

  Very nearly, Cliché almost asked how—except she sensed that that would start a journey down a rabbit hole they very much did not have time for. Instead, she helped Hephaestus with the gauntlet, rewiring at incredible speed, despite her previous lack of familiarity with the task. This was quite a potent saying to keep on hand, assuming the next attempt didn’t split her head open like she felt the last one still might.

  A voice rang out from below, filled with confidence, perhaps even a dash of joy. Unfortunately, that voice belonged to Alfred, and only made their situation worse. “Lozora, is that you? Here I assumed you’d have scampered off into a hole once the work began. Turns out, you managed to sneak in. A dedicated helper to the end.”

  Hephaestus knew that voice. It was one she’d clung closely to, making sure not to forget a single syllable, and as she listened to Alfred speak, his tone finally landed in her memories. It hadn’t sounded quite the same through the magical fire and distortion of the room, but there was no mistaking that air of shitty smugness. This was the voice they’d heard in the labyrinth, meaning that she’d finally found the one responsible for attacking the Starscouts.

  That might be useful in the long term for getting him on Lodestar’s radar, but in the moment, it meant their “trespasser” was exactly what Hephaestus had feared: an enemy in disguise. In fact, her skin’s inhuman hue triggered another bit of memory from the flaming pit’s speech—this Lozora woman was likely the “green little helper” he’d mentioned. Worse, based on everything she’d managed so far, Lozora might also be competent, as well. They were already on the ropes; one more enemy who knew what they were doing could very well put the nail in this coffin.

  “So considerate of you. Saves me the trouble of hunting you down later.” After Alfred’s words came a sharp screech, and Hephaestus felt a tad less worried. This was why villains used the guild, for protections against exactly this type of betrayal.

  It wouldn’t take him long to finish with his former ally—or anyone else, for that matter. Hephaestus scanned the gauntlet again, searching for any potential way to increase the output. There was no chance the weapon would survive; they’d get a single shot out of this, at most. It had to be cranked to the absolute maximum.

  Because if this didn’t work, the only choice they had left was to run, and Hephaestus knew deep down that not all of them would get away. Alfred’s bony hands wouldn’t let them escape.

  Chapter 121

  From the wounded body of Zerle Salvrin came a series of higher-toned whistles, what Fornax had begun to suspect indicated the presence of mirth. Moments later, the translator kicked in as words sprang forth. “Behold, your mighty champion. She has realized the fight is hopeless, and is fleeing for her life.”

  The mistake was understandable. Zerle Salvrin had no context for what he was seeing, no history to pull from. To Fornax, this sight also represented the nearing of the end, though not in the same way his opponent anticipated.

  As he was looking up at the ceiling’s screen, Zerle Salvrin launched an attempted surprise attack. To his credit, several blows managed to land before Fornax hit back, once, stunning the Wrexwren momentarily.

  By the time Zerle Salvrin recovered, he was being held, head pointed upward, directly facing the screen.

  “Fun as playing with you is, this is the sort of thing one rarely gets to witness,” Fornax said. “It’s about time you understood just what your species is truly up against.”

  Together, they stood, watching the light burn brighter as it rose through the sky, waiting to see what came next.

  The rubble should have been nothing, not to him. From the early days, he’d been strong. Before he learned, trained, grew, and evolved into the man who could lead the New Science Sentries, he’d been born strong. Pressing his hands against the floor, the weight bore down on top of him, trying to hold him back. Out there, he could discern muffled voices, followed by a scream. It could be one of his team, or the other superheroes, even one of the villains giving aid. There was no way to tell through all the debris blocking his ears.

  A small voice inside whispered that perhaps it was better this way. Covered as he was, the situation was actually a momentary respite from the beating he’d been taking. The voice lit something in his belly, a self-directed fury at even being capable of such a notion. Pushing harder, arms straining, he forced his muscles to work, despite being weakened by Alfred’s energy. Staying put, laying low, none of those were acceptable options for a superhero.

  His head swam from the effort, threatening to pass out entirely, and he refused it. Through the blurry vision and near unconsciousness, he could still see the faces of his team... his friends. Ike, so jaded and broken when he’d first arrived, now fighting to protect others. Ellie, starting so nervous and quiet, they initially thought she had stealth powers; it
had taken years for her shell to crack and the powerful superhero to emerge. Kyle, who’d been with him from the very beginning, a pair of kids shooting for the impossible goal of carrying on a legacy.

  Just when it felt like his arms would fail, one last face swam into view, followed by her gentle voice. “I don’t like the idea of you following his footsteps, especially knowing how dangerous it can be. That said, I trust you, and I know this is where your heart is set. So just promise me one thing. Don’t be like him, a figurehead playing a role. Be true to who you really are: my superhero.”

  Something in his back tore, a pain that barely registered amidst the accumulation of wounds piled atop him, as Agent Quantum managed shove aside a massive hunk of unseen material pinning him. He burst forward, getting most of his torso out into the open air. What greeted him was an array of groans and slow movement as a few of the others pulled themselves free. It seemed Agent Quantum had been under one of the densest sections, though there were some still hidden beneath the debris.

  Nearby, Alfred was holding some tall woman with skin the color of an old lime underneath. Her face was twisted in pain—no surprise given the way one of her legs was dangling, refusing to bear any weight. Neither paid the newly emerged cape much attention; they were busy dealing with one another.

  “You traitorous shit. Why?”

  “Same old Lozora, needing explanations instead of just accepting the commands. Because you annoyed me, I wanted to kill you, and now that the job is done, there’s no reason not to. As a bonus, it saves me some pest nipping at my heels, demanding payment that was never going to come.”

  As they were fighting, a sudden creak next to Agent Quantum tipped him off to Presto’s arrival before the other man spoke—though not by much. “Things are looking rough. We’ve got one real card left to maybe play. After that, our only option is to hope we can escape.”

  Spinning around, he noticed Presto was lightly coated by dust, having taken at least part of the tumble with everyone else. There was also a curious set of goggles wrapped around his left wrist, much too cobbled-together for the New Science Sentries aesthetic. “You heard him—if we run, he’ll kill random civilians until I show up.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Look at when he took his shot: mid-invasion, when all the bigger capes are busy. I don’t think he can afford to draw that much attention to himself. Because next time we show up, it’ll be with the full Champions’ Congress at our backs. That’s the whole point of being in an alliance.”

  It was a good point; with backup, this fight could go very differently. And in truth, Agent Quantum didn’t really expect Alfred to manage a nonstop murder rampage if they got out. But people would die for it, he had no doubt there. This was an enemy who delighted in hurting them. He’d never miss such an opportunity to twist the knife.

  “Thank you, Presto. I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. Get everyone else out safely. That’s an order.” Turning from his ally, Agent Quantum shoved his legs through the rubble, yanking himself fully free as he faced their attacker once more. “Hey, Alfred! I thought we were mid-game. Get bored of me already?”

  At the sound of Agent Quantum’s voice, Alfred hurled Lozora over his shoulder without the slightest care; she hit a wall and slid softly down. “Never, my boy. I will never tire of tormenting anyone who wears even a piece of that name.”

  Moving with intent, Agent Quantum stepped away from the site of the collapse. The others were managing, but they needed time. If he could keep Alfred’s interest, it would give them a chance to recover, and hopefully escape. “It doesn’t have to be like this. What happened to you is clearly a tragedy, but the AHC has resources. They might be able to find a cure.”

  “A cure? A cure?” Another section of floor darkened moments before Alfred shot forward, backhanding Agent Quantum so hard the cape stumbled back several feet. “What possible need do I have for a cure? Shall I go return to my family, all of whom are long dead? Perhaps I can visit the graves of my friends, marvel at the results of my stolen legacy, or mourn for what might have been. A cure—what a childish notion. The only things in this world that are still mine are this power, and that mid-city patch of ugly concrete they slapped my name upon.”

  “This is better?” Agent Quantum wiped the blood from his mouth, or as much as would come away, as he struggled to regain his balance. “Hurting people you don’t even know, hoping the pain carries over to Professor Quantum. Which is pointless. Whatever you do to me, we both know he won’t really care.”

  For a very strange moment, something passed between them. On as many aspects as these men were polar opposites, there was a shared understanding common to both. They knew the man behind the legend, understood what it was to live in the shadow of the great Professor Quantum. In their own way, both had been scarred by the experience—only one of them wore that pain on the outside.

  “I do know.” There was almost a tenderness to Alfred’s tone, which did not match the punch he delivered to Agent Quantum’s ribs, shattering several. “But having his precious legacy ripped violently apart so soon after their debut will hurt the Science Sentries’ reputation. Let the years pile on as they may: pride has always been Professor Quantum’s one true weakness, the place where he can suffer.”

  Morose though the moment was, Agent Quantum’s heart suddenly fluttered as he caught sight of a dark armor floating down from the ceiling. Alfred glanced back once, allowing Agent Quantum a chance to strike, which he didn’t take. Knowing the effect such a blow would have, it wasn’t worth the injury to his hands. Right now, he needed to stay whole for as long as possible—taking the beating was the only way he could hold Alfred’s interest.

  “Oh, are the others planning something? How cute. Perhaps you’re buying them enough time to attempt an escape, now that you’ve all finally grasped how hopeless things will be? Guess that means you’ll have to keep me busy, then.” Another punch, this time to the left shoulder, breaking it and sending Agent Quantum reeling.

  Even through the pain, however, he kept watching the others. Hephaestus had brought down some woman with a ski-mask and an umbrella just after Alfred turned away, and together, they were rooting through the rubble, searching for someone. Agent Quantum tried to raise both fists, but the shattered shoulder refused to work properly, so he settled for getting the right hand up.

  “That’s right, I will. Keep it coming. Almost got your timing down.”

  A bony palm to the sternum cracked it on impact, as well as sending Agent Quantum stumbling back. He was saved from the floor only by virtue of crashing into some of the few remaining kitchen cabinets. Breath was suddenly tight in his lungs—the air had been knocked out of him, adding rasping to injury.

  Behind Alfred, light burst forth from the debris. They’d uncovered Plasmodia, who was seated like she’d been meditating, energy crackling along her entire body. Agent Quantum wasn’t even sure she’d realized the floor collapsed. Plasmodia was building a charge, focused enough to manage through the chaos. Hephaestus and the strange woman hurriedly grabbed her attention.

  “Bastard though he is, at least Professor Quantum is capable of adapting to a challenge. Look at you, the situation so clearly hopeless, yet you persist on playing hero. Do you really intend to take this all the way to the end?”

  “Absolutely.” Sweat and blood were dripping into Agent Quantum’s right eye; he must have cut his head on impact. It didn’t even matter. Seeing the punches coming wasn’t helpful in this fight. Half-vision was plenty. “I know what happens when you start choosing yourself over everyone else. I’ve seen what lays at the end of that road. If my choices are to be a real superhero for this one moment or spend decades as a fraud... well, I think I’ve already made my decision on that front clear.”

  Ignoring the pain screaming across his body, Agent Quantum lifted his working arm into a fist once more. The others were to his right, in the blurred-out section of his vision, so he had no clue where they were in whatever sche
me they had planned. All he could do was keep standing, and have faith in his team.

  Alfred, on the other hand, was in clear view as he lifted a hand, fingers fully extended. That was the form he used for stabbing blows, and gauging by the angle, Agent Quantum had a gut feeling he’d be feeling this one in the gut. “Such a noble sentiment, yet in the end, what did all your suffering accomplish?”

  “Well, he bought us enough time to beat you, so that’s something.” Hephaestus’s voice rang loudly through the room, clearly meant to be heard. At the sound, Alfred twisted back toward it, and Agent Quantum was able to adjust his gaze. Now he could make out Hephaestus and the woman wearing the ski-mask, both directly behind Plasmodia, who’d donned one of Hephaestus’s metal gloves. Both she and the device were glowing like a sword pulled from the hearth, his fellow New Science Sentry staring pure death at their attacker.

  Interestingly, it was the ski-mask stranger that seemed to rile Alfred the most, pointing directly at her. “You! The gall to be in my presence again, and with that vile item in hand no less.” To Agent Quantum’s shock, Alfred began to stalk across the room, interest momentarily shifted.

  While this did move him closer to the others, it also put distance between him and Agent Quantum, meaning Plasmodia had an easier shot. From the whine of the metal glove, it sounded as if she’d hit the same conclusion.

  “Really? More of this pointless pageantry. Very well. These are your final moments. Waste them as you see fit.” Alfred kept right on walking, and given how unassailable he’d been through the whole fight, it was hard to blame him. Odds were, this would be just like all the other attacks: entirely pointless.