by Lucas Flint
Treehugger did not bother to try out her own tendril, because she knew that Omanx told the truth. She could feel just how tightly the tendril held her and she could even sense that it would stop her if she tried to use her own powers to break free. Not that it would be very helpful, given how she didn’t have access to a lot of plants at the moment, but she still knew that she was not going to be getting out of this one.
“What are you going to do to us?” said Shell. “You mentioned something about the Starborn wanting us as sacrifices. Are you going to sacrifice us to the Starborn or something like that?”
“Not quite in the way you think,” said Omanx. “But you will all see soon enough. Soon, you will see the Starborn for yourself … you will see, and you will tremble.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
White threw a punch at the nearest masked Venetian. As soon as his fist collided with the Venetian’s mask, however, it passed through it as cleanly as air, causing White to stagger forward from the momentum of his punch before he regained his balance. He looked around in alarm, wondering where the Venetian had gone, before he heard movement above him and looked up.
At the top of a nearby shipping container the same Venetian—Bauta, he remembered the man introducing himself as—stood, his tabarro blowing in the wind behind him.
“What’s the matter, White?” said Bauta in a mocking voice. “Thought you got me that time? Well, perhaps this will be a lesson that you can’t always trust your lying eyes.”
White just growled. He fired a lightning bolt at Bauta, but the bolt merely passed through Bauta, who chuckled mockingly and then vanished into thin air. White flew up onto the shipping container and landed on its surface, but when he looked around, he did not see Bauta anywhere. Of course, it was also very dark out at the moment, but White still searched for Bauta anyway.
Where he go? White thought, whipping his head this way and that. Is he ghost or something?
White could feel his frustration rising. He had been fighting this Venetian for the past few minutes … well, for a certain definition of ‘fighting,’ anyway, because so far the ‘fight’ had consisted of White trying to punch Bauta, only for Bauta to disappear and then reappear just outside of his reach. White had never fought a villain like this before, so he was at a loss for how to actually deal with him except to try to keep up with him. But Bauta was as easy to catch as air and slipped through White’s fingers just as easily.
It didn’t help that White wanted to go and help Bolt instead of dealing with Bauta. But every time White attempted to leave, Bauta appeared in his path and forced him to keep fighting. White just wanted to end this fight here and now so he could go help his brother, but until he could actually lay a finger on Bauta, he would not get a chance to do that any time soon.
Another frustrating part was that White was trying to remember who this particular Venetian was. He seemed to recall Stinger telling him about a Venetian named Bauta once; unfortunately, White had not been paying attention to Stinger’s story at the time and so missed a lot of the details. Such as Bauta’s powers, for example. It seemed like some sort of teleportation, but it also seemed like Bauta could turn his body intangible. White vaguely recalled that it had something to do with the mind, but that was not very helpful because that could mean a lot of things.
Regardless, White was willing to tear apart the whole area if necessary to take down Bauta. He kept looking around, trying to spot Bauta, but unfortunately he still could not see any hint of Bauta anywhere. He almost thought that Bauta had gotten bored and left, but then he heard movement below and looked down just in time to see the edge of Bauta’s cape disappear around the corner of another shipping container about fifty feet away.
White immediately fired two bolts of lightning at that container. The bolts exploded against the container, sending it tumbling backwards, which should have crushed Bauta if he was behind there, but when the container tumbled, White did not see the flattened remains of Bauta anywhere.
“Argh!” White shouted as loudly as he could. “Show yourself or else!”
“Is someone getting upset?” said Bauta’s mocking voice, which now seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. “Perhaps a little frustrated and tired? Do you need to take a nap, perhaps?”
“No nap,” said White. “I want to bash your skull in.”
“That’s not very heroic,” said Bauta. “I must admit, though, that that would be a good way to take me out. Too bad I prefer my head the way it is.”
White’s hands balled into fists. The fact that Bauta’s voice was coming from everywhere at once made it impossible for him to tell where Bauta was actually hiding. And the more time White spent looking for Bauta, the less time he had to go and help his brother.
Need to end this quickly, White thought. But how?
All of a sudden, an idea occurred to White. It would be risky, but White didn’t think he had any other choice at the moment. He jumped down from the shipping container and landed on the concrete ground with ease.
“What’s this?” said Bauta. “Going to look for me on foot? That seems like a waste of time and effort.”
“No,” White said, shaking his head. “Have a better plan.”
White raised his hands above his head and immediately began charging electricity through them. His hands glowed and crackled like lightning, becoming bright enough that White was nearly blinded, but his eyes were used to the intense brightness of the lightning and he did not let himself fall down. He focused on charging more and more energy into his hands, the most he had ever charged without unleashing. And it was much harder than it seemed, because his hands felt like they were starting to burn, but White knew that he didn’t have enough energy charged yet.
“What are you doing?” said Bauta, his voice barely audible over the crackling electricity. “Just trying to brighten up the area to see me better? Won’t do you any good if I am hiding behind something.”
White smiled, despite the strain of charging so much electricity through his hands. “No. I am going to beat you.”
With a roar, White unleashed a shock wave of electricity through his hands in a huge explosion which went in every direction. The electric wave slammed into boxes, crates, and shipping containers, knocking them over or outright destroying them in the case of the wooden boxes. The sound made by the wave was like ten lightning bolts striking at once, temporarily deafening even White, who slapped his hands over his ears before jerking them off, as his hands were unusually warm from having unleashed so much power in one go.
Lowering his hands, White blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, though it took him a couple of minutes before his eyes finally adapted to the darkness.
It looked like a bomb had gone off in the area. Entire crates had been vaporized, their charred, blackened remains smoking slightly. Most of the shipping containers had been knocked over or twisted into unnatural shapes; a few had even been melted together by the heat of the electricity. A heavy stink of burning metal, wood, and concrete filled the air, making White gag, but he could not see Bauta anywhere. In fact, the area was now very quiet; White wondered if Bauta had also been vaporized by his blast or at least seriously wounded by it.
That was when White heard a groan coming from one of the knocked over shipping containers. He ran over to the container, ripped open the hot doors, and looked inside, as he had heard the groan come from inside the container. At first, he didn’t see anything, but then he saw movement in the shadows and what appeared to be a humanoid outline lying on the floor, from which groans of pain were coming. Though White had used up a lot of his power in that one blast, he still had some left, so he raised a hand and summoned the last of his energy, casting a soft blue light on the figure lying on the floor of the container. He almost wished he hadn’t.
It seemed like the container had taken the brunt of the blast, which was why Bauta was not a charred corpse, but the reason White wished he had not turned on his light was because of the bloody woun
d across Bauta’s stomach.
It was hard to tell what had happened, but it looked like a chunk of metal had been ripped off the container’s interior and cut across Bauta’s stomach like a knife. The blood was fresh and wet, its smell mingling with the stink of burning metal. The cut looked deep, to the point where White was amazed that Bauta had survived at all and had not simply immediately bled out upon getting cut.
Bauta’s green eyes flickered open in the light unexpectedly. He grunted and put his hands on his stomach, though he didn’t stop looking at White.
“Brilliant … brilliant move,” said Bauta, his breathing heavy. He coughed and hacked. “Couldn’t be sure if any of my illusions were real, so you decided to attack the entire area with one gigantic attack. I should have seen … should have seen that coming.”
White did not respond. He just glared down at Bauta, who now looked rather pathetic.
“So?” said Bauta. “Are you going to take me to Ultimate Max now? That’s … that’s what you heroes usually do, isn’t it?”
White nodded. “Yes, but maybe not this time.” He raised a hand, which began to crackle with electricity. “You won’t survive long enough to get there. Might as well kill you now.”
Bauta’s eyes widened with horror. He tried to sit up, but he immediately grabbed his bleeding stomach again. “Wait, what? You can’t … can’t kill me. That’s murder.”
“Don’t care,” said White. The electricity crackled louder around his hand. “You are monster. Monsters should be destroyed.”
White meant every word he said. He didn’t see any point in sparing Bauta, especially knowing that Bauta would likely just escape Ultimate Max anyway. He felt slightly disassociated from himself, like he usually did whenever he lost control of his powers, but at the moment that didn’t bother him. He took a step forward and aimed his hand at Bauta. He knew he wouldn’t miss now; even if Bauta tried to use his illusion powers, he still could not move out of the way of White’s attack.
Right before White unleashed his blast, however, there was another explosion outside of the container, an explosion so loud and so powerful that it shook the container itself. White staggered against the wall of the container, trying to maintain his balance, while Bauta curled into a ball like he was trying to hide from something bigger than him.
“What was … what was that?” said Bauta in a fearful voice. “Another explosion?”
But White was not paying attention to Bauta. He jumped out of the container and then flew on top of it, because he had heard the explosion come from the warehouse and he was worried that Bolt might have been caught in it.
That was when White saw that the warehouse was on fire.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Stinger carefully watched his opponent, a young woman wearing a Moretta mask and a long, flowing white dress. She had not uttered a word since unexpectedly sneaking up on Stinger without him even hearing her; she had even managed to get a good hit on his head, but Stinger had reacted quickly enough to force her to retreat. Of course, because they were on the roof of the warehouse, there wasn’t much room for her to retreat to, nor did she have a lot of room in which to hide, which meant that she had to face Stinger like this.
Stinger recognized the woman as Moretta, even though he had never seen this particular Venetian before. He recognized her based on the description that Treehugger had given to him once. Plus, Stinger had taken it upon himself to do a little research into the Carnival of Venice after their last run in with the Venetians, which was how he recognized Moretta’s mask. It was easily the creepiest mask, in his opinion, because unlike the other masks, it had no physical features at all, save for the eye holes, which showed Moretta’s blue eyes, but that made it hard to figure out what she was thinking. It didn’t help that she was mute, which meant that Stinger would have to pay careful attention to her body language if he was going to predict her attacks.
“Okay, girl, I’m going to assume that you aren’t alone,” said Stinger. “Because, you know, you Venetians tend to travel in twos and threes. I don’t see any of your friends around, but I’m sure they’re close enough to come to your rescue if you get into trouble.”
No response from Moretta. She merely stayed very still. A smart move on her part, because as long as she stayed still, Stinger would not be able to predict when or how she would attack.
“What, did I say something wrong?” said Stinger. “A simple nod or shake would work.”
Unless Stinger’s eyes were deceiving him, he thought he saw Moretta’s eyes shift like she was smiling. Perhaps she was amused by his joke, though she was clearly trying not to show it.
“Or maybe you could just write your response on a card or something,” Stinger continued. “That way I could, you know, read it.”
This time, there was no doubting it. Moretta was indeed smiling underneath her mask, clearly finding his humor amusing despite herself. That made Stinger smile, because he now saw an opening in which to strike.
“You seem like a nice girl,” said Stinger. “Aside from, you know, nearly sacrificing my friend to eldritch abominations from another universe, anyway. If you want to leave, I’ll let you. I don’t like hitting nice girls and all I really want to do is check on my friend, Bolt.”
Moretta shifted ever so slightly to the right, like she was trying to block off a potential escape route for Stinger. He hadn’t expected her to take his offer; he had simply been trying to get her to move in order to get an idea of how fluid she was. She seemed much more fluid than most, fluid enough to stop him if he should try to run around her. He hadn’t been lying about not wanting to hurt her; however, Stinger was growing impatient. He decided he would just fly over her. She may have been able to control sound, but she had no way of stopping him from flying over her head.
Stinger launched into the air, his wings buzzing furiously. Moretta watched him as he flew toward her, but Stinger made sure to fly high enough that she couldn’t jump up to stop him. The average man, Stinger knew, could only jump between 16 and 20 inches, while the average woman could only jump between 12 and 16 inches. Given how Stinger was flying at least three times that height, he doubted Moretta would be able to do anything except ineffectually shake her fist at him like a cheesy villain from a Saturday morning cartoon.
But then Moretta pulled out a gun from her dress and aimed it at Stinger. He saw her pull the trigger, but he did not hear any sound come from the gun, which made him think it misfired or that it was empty before a bullet cut through one of his wings.
Crying out in pain, Stinger fell like a rock back onto the roof of the warehouse. He landed on his back, more specifically on his wings, and he groaned in pain. His left wing had been shot; it could still move, but flying with it was out of the question. Nonetheless, Stinger scrambled to his feet, but he started backing away, because Moretta was now advancing toward him, pointing her gun at him, her blue eyes as impossible to read as always, though Stinger thought he caught a glimmer of murderous hatred behind them.
“Okay, okay, so you’ve got a gun,” said Stinger. “Doesn’t mean we can’t still sit down and talk over our differences. Er, I mean, metaphorically, of course, since you are mute and—”
Stinger nearly fell off the edge of the roof, but caught himself at the last moment and looked over his shoulder in alarm. He had backed up to the edge of the warehouse roof, and the ground looked a long way down from here. That normally would not have bothered Stinger, because he could fly, but with that bullet hole in his left wing, he doubted he would be able to fly very well if at all. He might just drop all the way to the bottom and crack his head open like an egg.
Stinger looked back over at Moretta. The woman was still pointing her gun at him. Stinger wondered why she had not yet shot him; given how her gun was completely silent, she had a huge advantage, and she just needed to hit him once to send him falling over the edge to the ground below. Maybe she was waiting for the right moment to send him plunging to his doom.
Or
maybe she’s afraid that I have something up my sleeve, Stinger thought. She’s afraid that shooting me might not take me down, so she’s waiting to see what I’m going to do first. There’s definitely a logic to letting your enemy attack first; however, it usually isn’t very good logic.
But then he saw her finger pulling down on the trigger, which meant that any moment now, a bullet would exit from the gun’s barrel and hit Stinger. His suit would keep it from entering his body, but the impact of the bullet would no doubt send him falling off the edge of the roof. At this close range, there was no way he could reasonably expect to dodge the bullet even if he could hear it.
At the very last second, however, there was a huge flash of light, followed by the sound of crackling lightning that sounded like it was coming from somewhere on the ground below. Stinger looked over his shoulder, but the blinding white light made it nearly impossible to see what was going on until he spotted a chunk of burning metal flying toward him. Stinger fell to the roof, causing the chunk to fly straight over his head and hit something in front of him. He looked over just in time to see Moretta drop her gun and clutch her hand, which seemed to have been hit by the metal, as it lay at her feet.
Sensing his chance, Stinger rushed toward Moretta. Moretta reached down for her gun, but Stinger reached it first and kicked it off the edge of the roof. Moretta desperately grabbed at the gun, but it went sliding out of her grasp and vanished over the edge of the roof quickly.
Moretta looked at Stinger again with hatred in her eyes, but Stinger slammed one of his stingers into her shoulder, causing Moretta to jerk violently for a moment before she suddenly went still and fell down at his feet. She was now as still as a rock, though based on her glare, it was pretty obvious that she was still angry.
