Worm

by wildbow

She shot one of the afflicted, then walked past the other, ignoring him. She opened fire in the fog. One clip, each shot aimed and measured, fired with a peculiar rhythm. One, then two in rapid succession, one, then two in rapid succession. She reloaded with an almost casual ease, then slid the gun into its holster.

  The Number Man had her back. He fired into the darkness three times.

  It took two minutes for the smoke to clear.

  Two Nyx dead. Three Psychosomas. Four Night Hags.

  The doorway was already opening for the pair to make their exit.

  “Dude, who the hell are they?”

  “The bogeymen,” Hoyden said.

  “Shit,” someone said. One of the capes.

  “They’re on our side?” Another asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “Then why don’t they go after Jack?” a cape asked.

  Because she fits in the same category as Eidolon, I thought. Too dangerous to allow her to make contact with the man.

  I wasn’t even that comfortable with them helping here, but there weren’t a lot of excellent options for thinker capes who could simply cut right through the layers of deceptions the enemy had been using.

  I noted the capes who were present and still in fighting shape. I’d hoped for Jouster. No such luck.

  I dialed Hoyden’s phone, watched her pick up on the video.

  “Need a hand with something,” I said. “I’m going to send a ship your way.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes to go.

  The Undersiders stood far enough away from the Siberian cube that the camera couldn’t even make out the one who carried the thing.

  “This,” Imp said, “is your classic case of putting all your eggs in one basket. Really.”

  “He finds the Siberians boring, I imagine,” Tattletale commented, over the channel. “Before, they were an enigma. Now they’re just… the same thing, over and over. Tearing people apart.”

  “Just tell me this isn’t going to be the moment of idiocy that ends the world,” I said.

  “No way,” Tattletale said. “I promise.”

  “You’re absolutely certain?”

  “Ninety… three percent certain.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “Geez. You’ve lost your sense of humor these past few years. I’m kidding. I’m sure.”

  “You’ve been wrong.”

  “I’m right. I swear. Now stop fretting! Wait…”

  The Siberians left, engaging in another brief spree, attacking civilians.

  “Let’s not wait too long,” I said. I felt a sick feeling in my gut. Had I been right to send away the Chicago Wards? Seven or so people were dying every one or two minutes.

  “Wait…”

  The last group of Siberians abandoned the cube, leaving the carrier holding it.

  “Wait…”

  One more returned after a very brief trip, cast a glance around, and then fled.

  “Now.”

  Clockblocker fired his threads from his gauntlet. They surrounded the cube-carrier, and he froze them.

  Unstoppable force against an immovable object.

  Which won?

  The Siberian made contact with the thread and flickered out of existence, and the thread went limp. The cube fell with a crash.

  Others began to return. Vista was distorting the cube, creating gaps, weak points.

  “Thanda,” Tattletale said.

  Clockblocker activated the device on his back. A dome unfolded around him, almost like a tent, though more rigid.

  Rachel had already fled with her dogs. Even so, it was tight, everyone pressed together inside.

  He froze the dome.

  I regretted that I didn’t get to see the follow-up attack.

  The Thanda had a cape that was sort of in the same vein as Shuffle. A teleporter of landmasses.

  This cape didn’t need to teleport things onto solid ground. In fact, he specialized in the opposite.

  A large building was teleported into the stratosphere, where it summarily fell on the cube. I could hear the crash through the cameras the Brockton Bay Wards wore.

  Siberians down, I thought.

  One more group to handle.

  “Rachel’s on her way to me,” I said. Grue was out—I didn’t trust him in a face to face confrontation against the Nine, and he hadn’t volunteered. Imp was out as well. Too risky, too much of a coin toss, whether her power would be seen through. “Foil? You know what we’re doing.”

  “On my way.”

  “I’m coming too,” Parian said.

  “I’ll be on the comms,” Tattletale responded.

  * * *

  Tecton slammed his gauntlets into the ground. Murder Rats were knocked down from the walls. The streets had been shattered, and the dismantled craft lay in the streets, with one dead Miasma nearby.

  Another slam, combined with an activation of both piledrivers, and he created a fissure, breaking up the ground beneath the two remaining Hatchet Faces.

  They made steady progress anyways. They were too strong, their stride too long. Tattletale had been right. Running was difficult at best.

  Cuff used her metallokinesis to heave a small disc of metal. Effective enhanced strength, along with the ability to control the rotation of the projectile, the ability to control the flight of it after it left her hand…

  It slammed into a Hatchet Face’s collarbone, burying into his flesh.

  He broke into a run, axe held aloft.

  She prepared to throw another disc, only for a Murder Rat to leap onto her from above.

  The metal blades of Murder Rat’s claws were swept aside as if Cuff had parried it with something physical. Cuff settled for striking Murder Rat across the eyes with the razor edge of the discus.

  Grace followed up with a crushing kick from a steel-toed boot. A Murder Rat pounced on her, then vaulted off with enough force that Grace’s head struck the ground. Grace didn’t get up.

  Skinslips moved to flank, simultaneously reaching out with cloaks made of skin and shielding their real bodies with the amorphous limbs of stolen flesh.

  Romp’s animated constructions stumped forward, providing just as much raw mass to defend against the reaching attacks. They picked up speed as they moved, charging like bulls, catching the Skinslips well off guard.

  The fight was well in hand. Murder Rats leaped up onto building faces so they might be able to leap down and strike a vulnerable target, but Tecton made the entire neighborhood shake. The Murder Rats were trapped where they were, clinging to the surfaces, unable to attack.

  One caught a discus with her claws, then let it fall to the ground.

  No. There was one more threat. Tecton’s helmet caught it on camera as it loomed on a nearby building. A Mannequin.

  Only it was three times the usual size. Fat.

  Cuff flung another discus.

  It’ll glance off, I thought.

  It penetrated.

  Pressurized moisture exploded outward, crusted immediately into a small, spiky mass of ice.

  Ah.

  It leaped down, and the ground shook.

  Then, casually, it grabbed the most unhurt Hatchet Face with both hands and whipped its upper body a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around to fling him into the mass of defending heroes.

  Tecton punched, his piledriver extending, but it did surprisingly little damage.

  And with the Hatchet Face so close, the Chicago Wards were left powerless. Only tinker devices worked.

  The Mannequin charged.

  Being a tinker, the Mannequin didn’t suffer at all in the midst of Hatchet Face’s power.

  “Direct your attacks on the Hatchet Face, now!” I ordered.

  A piledriver-gauntlet hit him, followed by another. Cuff used a discus to slash at his throat, but it barely cut.

  He was still alive—his power wasn’t canceled out.

  The Mannequin let blades extend from his wrists and elbows. Not long, sleek, elegant bla
des like the original Mannequin had used, but heavy, crude ones, like axe heads. Cuff screamed as he brought one down onto her armored shoulder. She folded over in an awkward way as she collapsed to the ground.

  He spun around, almost skipped to one side to avoid Tecton, then directed attacks at Romp.

  She took shelter behind her no-longer-animated creation, and the Mannequin-thing turned away, directing his attention at Tecton, who was trying to bash the Hatchet Face’s head in. It was a narrow window of opportunity, here. The other, injured Hatchet Face was approaching. If he didn’t manage it in five or so seconds, there would be two to contend with.

  A heavy bullet caught the Mannequin in the back of the head. Ice cascaded out the back in a giant spike.

  Tecton used the opportunity to slam the upper ridge of his gauntlet into the Hatchet Face’s mouth and extend the piledriver full-force.

  That did it.

  More bullets pummeled the Mannequin. One resulting chunk of ice partially encased Tecton, only to shatter when he pulled back.

  Further shots followed, but they veered in awkward directions, sinking to hit the ground too early.

  He has another power. One that was being canceled by Hatchet Face.

  Winter’s Power, I realized.

  But Grace had powers now too. She grabbed Hatchet Face’s weapon and swung it, was nearly trapped in the ice that exploded out from the wound.

  Romp’s creation charged the ceramic man, and Tecton raised a shelf of ground around him to limit his movements.

  He was being abused, battered.

  Tecton’s head turned, and I could see Chevalier on the camera. Revel was beside him.

  Chevalier fired his cannonblade again. One shot to polish off the remaining Hatchet Face that was closing the distance, and another directed at the Winter-Mannequin. The Winter-Mannequin’s power took the impetus out of the second shot.

  The Wards were moving slower now too. Reacting slower. Tecton barely resisted as the Mannequin seized him in one hand.

  Didn’t even get up after the Mannequin virtually punched him into the ground.

  Blades extended from his palms, the Mannequin spun like a top.

  Chevalier charged, and the Mannequin changed tacks immediately, using a chain to draw himself up to a rooftop, where he clumsily climbed over the edge.

  Ranged attacks didn’t work, and he was deceptively dangerous in short range.

  Revel launched energy-orbs, but they barely seemed to touch the Winter-Mannequin hybrid.

  Then Wanton closed the distance.

  Ice chipped away, and the resulting chunks flaked away at the other pieces of ice. It was soon a localized blizzard, and the large hunks of ice that clung to the Mannequin’s suit began to break away.

  More ice appeared, but it, in turn, was broken by the yet-larger chunks that had been picked up.

  The storm began to slow as the Winter-Mannequin concentrated his power on a smaller area. The storm came to a standstill.

  Chevalier raised his cannonblade to fire, only to stumble, dropping his weapon.

  Miasma.

  “Indiscriminate attack, Chevalier!” I said. “Revel, get down!”

  Chevalier swung, very nearly striking Revel as she dropped flat to the ground. He connected with something, and Miasma appeared in an explosion of thick green smoke.

  The villain rolled, then disappeared again.

  But Revel was following up, spitting orbs of energy out of her lantern. Miasma wasn’t fast enough to dodge all of them. He, and another Miasma behind him were burned, holes the size of softballs punched through their torsos.

  Cuff was helping Tecton stand, using her metallokinesis to push at his armor. Once he was standing, they worked together to outfit Tecton with one of the specialized shots we’d prepared.

  The Mannequin wasn’t going to go down to fast moving projectiles or short-range attacks.

  They’d take him down the same way I’d fought him ages ago.

  Tecton used his piledrivers as a sort of gun, launching two cup-shaped hunks of metal with material strung between them.

  The net unfolded in the air, and it draped over the Mannequin. Spider Silk and metal wire interwoven. It caught on the ice and the extended blades, and snagged on fingers and chains.

  The Mannequin was still struggling to escape when Chevalier slowly closed the gap, bringing his sword down like a great guillotine. He had one hand pressed to the side of his helmet. Blood streaked down his arm.

  Last group, for now. I watched as they checked on the injured. Chevalier’s eye had been stabbed, but not perforated, and Grace had suffered a heavy blow to the head. Cuff’s shoulder socket had been broken by the Mannequin.

  I almost hated to ask.

  “Tecton,” I said. “We’ve got a game plan. Maybe a way to get Jack. You up for helping?”

  “My team isn’t in good shape.”

  “If you want to stay, keep doing this—”

  “No,” he said. “No. Just… maybe my team should sit the rest of this out.”

  “You’ve all done good work,” Chevalier said. “Above and beyond the call of duty. You don’t even have to ask.”

  “I’ll come on this mission, if you have a use for me,” Tecton said.

  “I do.”

  “I’ll come as well,” Chevalier said.

  “You’re injured.”

  A pause, as if waiting for me to realize what I was saying. This was the guy that had gone up against Behemoth face to face, scarcely an hour after suffering critical injuries in an assassination attempt.

  “I’ll come,” he said, again.

  “Glad to have you,” I said.

  * * *

  It was suicidal. Returning to Nilbog’s kingdom, where his creations had riled themselves up, hungry for blood. I could only hope that their forces would be thinner towards the center, with the sustained attack on the surrounding capes.

  I glanced around the back of the craft.

  Chevalier. Revel. Hoyden. Tecton. Bitch. Two dogs and Bastard. Foil. Parian. Me.

  Two Dragon’s Teeth to round out the group, so we had people trained in the use of containment foam and other PRT munitions. Veteran PRT soldiers outfitted with the best gear the Guild could provide.

  And Defiant up at the cockpit, rounding out our group.

  I felt my pulse quicken. My hand traced over the box that Defiant had brought, with all the bugs I needed.

  Nilbog’s army seemed endless. We’d only seen a fraction of it. It flowed over, under and through the walls, in numbers that tied up the defending capes. Our battle lines couldn’t hold a position for long before something threw them off. Someone vital would get injured, or a creature would burrow out from beneath the ground. Something would fly over to land in the middle of the back line, forcing a reorganization.

  We weren’t being overwhelmed. Any cape was stronger than the typical starved, desperate, reckless monster. But this was definitely not helping.

  A man’s voice came over the comms. “Three new locations with attacks. Coordinated strikes. Harbingers sighted. They are reinforced by Nilbog’s creations.”

  Bonesaw got something set up already, I thought.

  Defiant was clenching his fist.

  Who was the man?

  “Doesn’t matter,” Defiant said. “Our focus is here.”

  “Fuckin’ right,” Hoyden said. She turned to smile at Rachel. “Right?”

  Rachel only frowned, turning her attention to the dogs that sat between and on either side of her legs.

  Hoyden punched Rachel in one arm, then grinned. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Right!” Hoyden grinned.

  Heavy metal boots banged against the ramp as our last attendee made his way into the back of the craft.

  Golem sat down opposite me, silent. He briefly met my eyes, and I nodded.

  He didn’t react, casting his eyes downward.

  It was nothing. A minor thing in the grand scheme of it all. I tried to
tell myself that he was strong when it counted, whatever his doubt in the quiet moments.

  The ramp closed with a bang. Golem jumped a little at that.

  It didn’t do a lot for my confidence. I glanced around at the others, wondered who else had seen it.

  The Pendragon took off.

  And off we go, into the lion’s den.

  Sting 26.6

  The large box sat in between the benches and seats at the back of the Pendragon, beside a heavy device with an ornate looking gyroscope on the top. I could feel the bugs within. I instinctively knew what they were, how they operated, and could even pinpoint exact bugs in the swarm, among dozens of their kind.

  I focused on them. It was almost meditative. I’d taken to focusing more on the conscious uses of my power, so I’d be more aware when I was making unconscious use of it. There was nothing I could do about the fact that my passenger apparently had a hand in how my bugs were controlled, but I was trying to train myself to recognize it when it happened.

  Rachel was focusing on her dogs in much the same way I was focused on my bugs. Her hands ran over their bodies, fingers combing through their fur, tracing the lines in their athletic little bodies. Bastard submitted to the touching without complaint or reaction.

  I could sympathize with Rachel some, now. We’d gathered our strike force together from among the people who I was familiar with and the people who were intact enough to fight, but my relationship to each of these people was iffy at best. Focusing on our minions was easier.

  Chevalier sat in a seat that put his back to Defiant’s chair, so they faced in opposite directions. He was talking in a low voice that didn’t cut through the drone of the Pendragon’s engine. Defiant responded without taking his eyes off the controls.

  Revel leaned back her head back and resting against the vibrating outer hull of the Pendragon, eyes closed, lantern in her lap. She looked almost meditative, to the point that I didn’t want to disturb her.

  Tecton and Hoyden were talking in low voices. Both were Protectorate members, now. Tecton had passed the reins to Grace, and Hoyden was now the little fish in the big pond. I didn’t want to interject.

  Parian and Foil were holding hands, sitting with their arms pressed together, heads leaning to either side so that Foil’s temple sat against the top of Parian’s head. Even now, it was hard to think of them as Undersiders. Lots of mixed feelings in the background there. I’d turned Parian onto this path, and in the doing, I’d done the same for Foil. For Flechette.