Forging Hephaestus

by Drew Hayes

  “Tori,” Donald spun his head around before realizing that she was directly next to him, giving himself a small fright in the process. “Tori, can you get everyone out of here? I don’t think they want to be around when that thing arrives, but with it up here, you should all be safe to evacuate out through the front doors.”

  “And what about you?” Tori shot back. “I highly doubt that thing is coming up here to shake your hand and compliment you on the good shot.”

  No, it was coming up here to kill him. He knew that—hell, everyone in the room knew that—and honestly, Donald suspected that it would likely succeed. But he couldn’t admit that fact. Not to the scared civilians, not to Tori, and most importantly, not to himself. If he did, his resolve would break, and he’d end up putting everyone else in danger. So Donald dug deep within himself, reaching all the way back to when he was a child watching the capes beat impossible odds time after time. Donald looked at the situation through the eyes of that naïve kid who truly believed good would always triumph and asked himself a single question.

  What would Lodestar say?

  “You’re right, it’s coming to try and kill me.” Donald hefted the gun up from the railing, walking with more confidence than he felt and resetting his perch with the barrel of the mighty machine propped against the top of a couch. “But it’s going to find me waiting for it with another hot blast of plasma, and this time, I’ll take more than a shoulder.”

  Tori stepped slightly forward, but Beverly caught her arm. Eyes darting between her friends, the strangers cowering in fear, and Donald, Tori finally locked eyes with him once more. “Are you sure about this?”

  “I’ve got this under control. Just get everyone to safety. Trust me: I’m a superhero.”

  “Looks like you really are. Credit where it’s due, kid, I’ve known worse superheroes than you.” This came from Alexis, whose bubbly, vacant expression had completely vanished. In its place was the gaze of a woman who had lived too long and seen too much, a bizarre juxtaposition with her youthful appearance. Then it was gone, and she whirled around, letting out a high-pitched whistle. “Monster is coming, morons. Everyone out the fucking door unless you want my heel up your ass.”

  For a split second, no one moved, so Alexis grabbed the person nearest to her—a minor TV celebrity—and shoved him forward. “Are you deaf as well as talentless? I said MOVE IT!”

  The shove and the scream did the trick. Everyone began rushing for the stairs that sat on the opposite side of the room from the elevator. Gretchen and Lynn stood near the door, forcing people to go through one at a time so a jam wouldn’t impede their escape. In seconds, the floor had emptied, with Tori and Beverly being the last to go. Donald breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Tori vanish into the stairwell, noticing that she did pause to throw one last look at him. If he was going to have to die tonight, he’d prefer to do it alone.

  Of course, dying wasn’t exactly Plan A.

  As a massive hand wrapped around the edge of the railing, Donald stuck his eye back on the viewer. Only a couple of seconds left and he’d have another shot. It was close, but Medley had bought enough time.

  They weren’t out of this fight yet.

  * * *

  “Are we going to do something?” Tori demanded. Beverly was beside her, and the four council members had stopped on the landing just above the next floor’s exit. The panicked scuffle of bodies hurrying to freedom masked their conversation, which was good because Tori wasn’t in the mood for covert whispers.

  “We are doing something,” Stacey replied. “We’re getting out of here like your buddy wanted. Just waiting for things to thin out a bit.” Though she’d affected her usual disinterested tone, it was clear Stacey was bothered by what was going on. Or, more likely, by the man they believed to have caused it.

  “I meant about Donald. That thing is going to tear him to bloody chunks if we don’t help.” Tori glanced back up the stairs, even though they were too far down to see any of what was happening on the fourth floor.

  “What do you suggest we do?” Stacey asked. “Go bust out our powers, our very well-known and distinctive powers, to save the very people who would try to haul us off to Rookstone if given half a chance?”

  “Donald wouldn’t do that,” Tori protested.

  “Tonight? Probably not, but sooner or later, he would,” Stacey countered. “It’s inevitable. They all turn out that way, caring more about the prestige than the good they do. Maybe it’s better that he dies tonight; at least he’ll get to go out while he’s still the genuine article.”

  Tori threw the punch before she even realized she’d made a fist. It connected perfectly with Stacey’s jaw, and then stopped completely. It wasn’t like Tori had hit a wall or someone super strong. It was like she’d just thrown the energy of the punch away; it vanished as soon as it met Stacey, who smiled at Tori’s suspended attack.

  “Well, well, our little rookie has some guts to her. You’re lucky I like guts. A different member of this guild would tear your spine out for that.” Stacey calmly reached up, grabbed Tori by the forearm, and lowered her fist. Tori tried to resist, but it was pointless. Stacey wasn’t strong: she was inevitable, as though every movement of her body was the orbit of a planet, too tremendous to even entertain the idea of halting it. “But I think you’ve forgotten something pretty important here: we’re not the good guys. We don’t jump in whenever people are in danger. We take care of ourselves and our own. End of story. If you wanted to run around playing hero, you should have signed up with the AHC.”

  Stacey released her grip on Tori’s arm just as the sound of another blast filled the air. This time the screech of the monster was so loud it rattled their teeth. It sounded pissed and definitely hurt, but not dead. Not dead was bad. Bad for the club, bad for anyone who didn’t get out, and most immediately, bad for Donald.

  “I thought we were also supposed to defend our turf.” Tori was grasping at straws and she knew it, but the idea of leaving a friend behind was too much. If she was ever going to get a good night’s sleep again, she had to at least try her best to save him. “Someone either just unleashed or turned into a monster in a club with four of the guild’s councilors. That sure seems like an act of aggression to me, the sort of thing our terrifying and powerful guild should mount a response to.”

  “Oooh, going for the pride and the politics, now that’s a nice move,” Alexis said, leaning against the concrete wall and gazing down the stairs as people flooded out. “Pseudonym wouldn’t have had the patience for that play.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Stacey snapped.

  “Whoever’s is more interesting,” Alexis replied. “And, on a personal level, while I loathe almost all the capes out there, the ones like that kid aren’t so bad. He knew he was probably going to die, and he still tried to get us all to safety without making us worry. That type, I don’t mind so much.”

  “Oh, great, then you and the rookie can both go up there to save everyone.” Stacey turned, her stoic mask slipping to show the fear and frustration ripping through her. “And then when that insane fuck lets loose three more monsters, you can kill those too. Then fight back the lava, or the tundra, or whatever else comes because you can’t beat Nexus, you idiots. All you can do is wait until he gets bored.”

  For a moment, there was silence, punctuated by the thump of something hitting the wall upstairs. When Lynn finally spoke, it was with the same measured, calm voice she’d affected while pretending to be the group’s doctor, a facade Tori was quickly realizing might be more truth than fiction.

  “Enough. Tori, I understand he’s your friend, but the AHC has their own way of handling things. Stacey, we all know you and Nexus have a complicated history, but please don’t antagonize our rookie, who is only worried about a friend’s safety. Alexis... well, I’d ask you to stop stirring the pot, but those would be wasted words. Now, we’re all going to get out of here, right now, and anyone who wants to argue more can do so once we’re back in
the limo.”

  “But I—”

  “Tori,” Lynn said, cutting her off before a new argument could begin. “Your friend has chosen a very difficult path. It will be fraught with peril just like this. Unless you plan to follow Donald around and fight his battles for him, you have to accept that he’s going to end up in danger more often than not.” Lynn walked over and set a reassuring hand on the apprentice’s head, gently stroking her hair. “Much as we might have our quarrels with the AHC, they are not in the habit of giving such attention to weak metas. Try believing in Donald instead of worrying about saving him. If given the chance, he might just surprise you.”

  “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ve hacked into the security cameras,” Alexis said. “He’s not dead yet, but things are getting interesting. I can put it on the screens in the limo, once we get there.”

  “Yeah. Please. I should watch, if nothing else.” Tori wasn’t certain if she’d just agreed to be a witness to her friend’s death or his unlikely triumph. All she knew was that if these were Donald’s final moments of life, someone should see them.

  Chapter 48

  In spite of logic, odds, and all belief in a practical universe, Donald Moss wasn’t yet dead. He darted to the other side of the room, barely dodging one of the monster’s grabbing hands as it tried to snap his bones and turn him into food. The monster, now less one horn thanks to a plasma blast that was just a bit too early, thundered about, trying to snare the vulnerable human flesh in its murderous claws.

  Donald, still dragging the massive gun, was barely able to avoid the attack. The reverberation as the beast hit the wall shook the very floor beneath his feet. Though shooting off the horn had been an accident, Donald had started to suspect it was actually a stroke of luck. The grace that this rhino-like beast had displayed down below was suddenly absent, leading him to theorize that the horn somehow served to help it balance the unwieldy bulk of its body. This made dodging difficult but still doable.

  On the other side of the room, Medley slowly rose to his feet, and Donald breathed a small sigh of relief. When the monster had hurled his friend against the wall, leaving a massive dent in the stone material, Donald had feared the worst. Luckily, Medley was far hardier than most and was slowly shaking off the worst effects of the blow. Unluckily, the time he was taking to regain his wits meant Donald was on his own, running away from a clumsy, angry, deadly monster intent on turning him to pulp.

  “You okay?” Medley called, his powerful voice barely audible over the cacophony of stomping monster.

  “Do I look fucking okay?” Donald screeched as he hurled himself to the side, nearly losing a grip on the gun, his greatest asset and liability all rolled into one slowly recharging package. Though there was no time to glance in the eyepiece, he estimated that it had to be nearly recharged by now. Not that it mattered—it was taking everything he could to get away from this damn creature. Lining up a shot was out of the question. If only he could actually lift the thing, maybe he’d have a better chance of connecting. Of course, the pressure of knowing that without a power-up, the gun had a three-shot limit certainly didn’t help matters. If he did get another shot, it would be the last one.

  With a shake of his head, tossing his mane like it was caught in the wind, Medley reared back and charged at their opponent. This time he didn’t bother grabbing on to its back; the armor there was too thick, and its unnaturally jointed arms could still easily reach him. Instead, he took advantage of its missing horn and launched himself right at its face. Using his own claws to grip the scarce amount of exposed flesh, Medley snapped and tore at the area that appeared to be its eyes, a small open patch barely visible under the armored ridge of its brow.

  As a gamer, Donald knew a delay tactic when he saw one. Mounting the end of the gun against the edge of a sofa once more, he peered into the viewer and readied himself to take aim. Unfortunately, what greeted him was not the aiming mechanism that would help him lock on to his target, but a timer that was just going down past the thirty-second mark. Shit, had it really only been a minute since the last shot? Time flew when one was dodging for their life, apparently.

  Medley let out a sound between a whimper and a roar as the monster’s claws raked across his back. While Medley had some scaly armor of his own, it wasn’t nearly enough to stop those powerful arms from driving into his flesh. Donald tried to think, tried to focus on what he could still do. Medley wouldn’t be able to hold out for a whole half a minute more, and when he went down this time, there was no telling how long it would be until he managed to get back up, if he managed to get back up at all. Without a distraction, Donald had zero hope of pulling off anything but a wild shot. Damn this gun! It was so stupidly heavy and cumbersome. Who had designed it like this? They’d had to add a whole special armor to Blaster Brahs just to explain how they wielded ...

  “Medley! I need ten more seconds!” Donald wanted to smack himself on the head and feel like an idiot, but there wasn’t time for self-loathing. He’d have to sneak that in later, assuming they both survived. Slapping the display on his wristband so quickly that the screen wobbled, Donald backtracked out of weapons and into the armor section. Of all the things he’d experimented with during his time by himself, it had never occurred to him to try to manifest and equip something other than handheld items. He wasn’t even sure his power worked that way, but worrying was a luxury he didn’t have at the moment. Either it worked, or they probably died.

  So it had damn well better work.

  Finally, Donald found what he was looking for and thrust his fingers, crackling with blue sparks as usual, into the display. As he pulled the item from the digital world to his, he focused on it not only coming through, but coming through already wrapped around his weak, tender body. Closing his eyes and tossing a prayer up to any god that might listen, Donald gave the final jerk.

  Lines of code suddenly turned into metal and electronics. Lifting his eyelids as slowly as he dared, Donald was overcome by a wave of excitement as he realized he was peering through the visor that topped the helmet of the Master Brah’s Armor. It was all there—meters for shields, speed-boosts, even thrusters. As he pulled himself up, Donald realized he could easily lift the gun now, swinging it about one-handed, as if it weighed no more than a wooden toy. That was why the weapon was so heavy: in the lore of Blaster Brahs, they needed specially enhanced armor to use it. In the upper right-hand corner of his visor display, Donald noted a replication of the countdown timer. Only about fifteen seconds left to go.

  From Medley’s bloody gouges and lilting stance, it didn’t seem like he’d last that much longer. The fact that he’d managed to hang on for so long under such a powerful assault spoke volumes about the determination that lived in Ren Tanaka. Donald was impressed—wowed, to be honest—and made a mental note to buy Ren a beer once things were settled.

  “Get clear! I’m on this.”

  For a moment, it seemed like Medley was going to hang on anyway, determined to go down swinging. But Medley understood enough about guns to know that being in the way when a giant plasma beam fired was a futile gesture. After a moment of scouting for the best path of exit, he leapt between the monster’s swinging arms, which were intent on slicing him to pieces, and landed deftly on the carpet fifteen feet away.

  As soon as Donald saw his friend go, he charged forward. He still had ten seconds left, but he’d be damned if he was going to let Medley buy them in blood. It was time to stop hiding—behind Ren, behind Chloe, behind Tori. He’d told the world he was a superhero, that he could be counted on to save the day. Ten seconds and one more shot; that was his window to prove it.

  Between the adrenaline, fear, and relentless pressure of having something unworldly trying to kill him, Donald moved almost entirely on instinct. It was like he was in the hardest part of the game, difficulty settings cranked up as high as they would go. Thought failed to exist; it would only slow him down. Donald didn’t even know how he’d activated the armor’s speed-boost, s
hooting backward at the last second as he avoided a powerful blow. Fragments of couch flew toward him, striking the armor’s shields and slightly lowering their value. The speed-boost gauge had also been drained, over a third gone from that one move alone.

  For the first time, it occurred to Donald that merely loading the games and items onto a wrist-sized computer display hadn’t done dick in the way of leveling them. He was basically playing with starter gear. Contrary to how that news should have hit him, Donald smiled as he speed-boosted back from another blow, bright blue flames shooting out of his back as they carried him away. Sure, he’d have liked a little more oomph in his weaponry, but he hadn’t spent most of his adult life playing games because he shied away from a challenge. Real life had always been terrifying. Deep down, he knew he should be a quivering mass of fear at what was happening around him. But he wasn’t. Maybe it was the digital display that made things seem just a bit unreal. Maybe it was the cocktail of adrenaline and worry soaking his brain. Maybe he had just gone too far into terror and become momentarily numb to it.

  All he knew was that as he used the last of his speed-boost gauge to avoid a set of claws that would have cut him to ribbons, Donald realized he was actually having fun. It certainly didn’t hurt that as his speed gauge went empty, the numbers in the upper right-hand of his visor ticked down to zero. Suddenly, the targeting system came online. Donald raised his gun and saw the now-hornless monster light up like it was the only thing in the room.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t just raw muscle and violence; it had learned what Donald raising that gun meant. The beast charged forward, determined to crush him before he was able to get off another shot. Donald’s heart was slamming in his chest so loudly that he could hear the blood rushing through his ears. He tried to think of a way out. No speed-boosts left, and if chair debris drained his shields, then they had no shot of surviving a direct hit from the rhino-monster. Normal dodging was out, and so was standing his ground, which left Donald with only one option. Granted, it was an option that had very little chance of succeeding, but after cheating death so many times in such a short span, Donald felt like he was on a roll. Might as well make the big bet while riding a hot streak.