by Drew Hayes
So far, things had been going well. In fact, they’d gone so well that Medley didn’t trust it. In the months since he’d been changed and joined the Alliance of Heroic Champions, there had been a great many lessons to learn; one of the earliest was that battles never went to plan. Out in the field, things were chaotic, messy, unpredictable. Plans were meant to be shapes of things, general guides to trust and use as a compass. Details always shifted on the fly. Yet somehow, while totally surrounded and trapped, it was all working flawlessly. The outer team was slowing the slew of entrants enough to where just three of their fighters could handle it, and apparently, none of the crooks considered the idea of taking another route inside.
No, something was definitely off. The only way things went this well if it was a piece of both parties’ plans. Except, Medley couldn’t see what gain there was to this setup. How did letting them whittle away at the troops help whoever had put this all together? Were the bodies booby-trapped, or rigged to suddenly regain consciousness and heal? They smelled normal enough, so far as he could tell, but with metas, there was never truly a way to be sure.
Unfortunately, Medley’s only current available tactic was the “wait and see” move. Once he knew what the point of all this was, he could start working more directly against whoever was pulling the strings. Until then, he had to play the game long enough to reach the end, which meant keeping up with Agent Quantum and Bahamut as they took down new threats.
Tachyonic appeared in the room, zipping in from another hallway. “You’ve got a team on the way. I took out two of them, but three more are still coming. A new group just entered—I’ll lead them around a bit until you’re clear.” As quickly as he’d arrived, the speedster was gone, back to running in-building interference.
That, like everything else, was working well. Medley had a hunch that things would continue to keep going their way, until the trend very abruptly stopped. Sooner or later, the synchronized plans would diverge, and these criminals’ real goal would come into focus. When that moment arrived was when the deadliest part of the fight began.
The Wrexwren ship was flying over a long stretch of ocean, searching for a viable landing target, when a message hit their comms system. It was from another Wrexwren vessel, reporting that they’d discovered an excellent find not far away. Little defense, ample resources, even natural features that would make a sustained occupation more viable; they were calling for reinforcements to help raid and hold their discovery. Redirecting course, the pilot angled for the other ship’s beacon, homing in and locking the location.
In a matter of minutes, they’d shot across the sky, arriving at what appeared to be a huge chunk of land surrounded by ocean—an island, as the humans called them. This island had a great many human-built structures, the most striking of which was a massive castle that gleamed wherever light struck, metal coating most, if not all, of its surface. The Wrexwren pilot looked to the rest of his crew; this was certainly not what the transmission had promised. Something was amiss, and with no backup anywhere nearby, the prudent call was to evacuate.
As he tried to steer them away from the island, however, it became clear that the ship was no longer in control of its own movements. Below, they could see energy lashes dig into the sides of their vessel, pulling it roughly down from the sky, onto a metal pad waiting below. They prepared themselves for combat, readying weapons to make a final stand and show these humans the might of the Wrexwren fighting spirit.
Sadly, such a fight was never to occur. When the ship got with fifteen feet of the circle below, a pulse shot up, delivering a tremendous dose of electrical current to everything inside it. Some of the Wrexwren initially survived, but they had no time to recover before the ship was pulled all the way down and the roof roughly opened. Mechanical limbs reached in, yanking out the pilot’s crew as he struggled vainly to reach for them, arms barely even capable of a twitch.
“Looks like we’ve got one that can still move. Put him in the observation tank. The rest are dead or dying—get them directly to our dissection room. Our leader wants these as fresh as possible.”
Above the Wrexwren, a human face appeared, looking at him with none of the typical sentiment they’d been told to expect from this species. The human examined him once, then moved its skull in a side-to-side motion. “Really, if you’re falling for tricks this simple, someone really must have fed you a lot of misinformation about Earth. Did they paint us a simple rubes in the backwater of the galaxy, huddling together out of fear of the unknown? Our planet is much like this place, the island built by Tyranny. Lovely to gaze at, yet so much more deadly than appearances would ever let on.”
The human made a noise, a light series of expulsions from its mouth—perhaps this was their version of laughter. “I’m sure that sounds ridiculous to a mighty invader like yourself, but in time, I think you’ll understand. You see, the ones currently being dragged away were fortunate. For them, this nightmare is already done. Fate was not nearly so kind to you.” He leaned back, motioning to someone unseen. “All right, get him moving. We need to reset the trap for the next batch.”
Metal reached into the cab, tearing the Wrexwren pilot out of his seat, dragging him into the damp Earth air as his screeching whistles echoed through the night.
Chapter 111
Where in the hell was he? All this work, weeks of scheming, planning, luring in an entire alien invasion to serve as a distraction, and now, when the goal was at hand, her employer was late? That didn’t track. No way would he miss this. Catching the New Science Sentries had been all he focused on, the lone goal driving every action. Something was up, and Lozora didn’t like it, especially when she’d yet to be paid.
Finishing her coffee, she dropped a few bills on the table and rose, striding out to the street all other civilians were steering clear of. Shots rained down from the apartment building’s rooftop, receiving return fire that tore at the brick exterior of the building. Real guns would have little to no impact, which was why her crew was outfitted with more effective options. Given enough time, they could clear out the whole wall running along the roofline. Hence why the capes shooting back were being certain not to give the gang that kind of opportunity.
Lozora moved easily through the road, steering clear of the brawl like any normal person would. She slipped up a few streets, circling around and coming at the building from the other side. A few others could be spotted using the same tactic, though for the most part, everyone was sticking at the front. Well, they hadn’t been hired for their on-the-job thinking skills. Mostly, they were just intended to be fodder, though for what purpose still remained a mystery to her. Unlike the others, she went unnoticed until reaching the building itself. Using her strength, it was a small matter to scurry up the exterior to a second-story window, then smash her way inside.
She’d chosen a dark apartment, and it appeared to be currently unoccupied, which was perfect. Lozora wasn’t necessarily going to join the battle—that wasn’t what she’d been contracted for—but she had no intention of letting her employer get everything he wanted and then skip out on the bill. For as little as she knew about his plans as a whole, one way or another, it would end with the New Science Sentries. So long as she stayed near them, her employer would turn up.
Until then, it was a matter of laying low. When he inevitably arrived, there was truly no telling what might happen, save only that the New Science Sentries were unlikely to survive it.
Finally.
Doctor Mechaniacal reran the simulation again and again, testing external variables for differing results, yet none of it seemed to matter. So long as the meltdown process was started properly, minor details like position and active velocity had no impact whatsoever. They’d found their move, but there were still a few more details to handle. It wouldn’t do to give away the turn too early.
The first preparation step was to take control of the ship’s communications. Blocking the signals from Earth had been a minor chore to set up before they l
eft; this was quite a bit more comprehensive. From the Wrexwren version of cameras currently trained on Lodestar, to the actual signals being relayed between ships, Doctor Mechaniacal took control of every last scrap. As of this moment, the Wrexwren on the main vessel would see and hear only what he permitted.
With that done, he scanned the general chatter as Xelas dummied up a few programs to simulate the same amount of mid-battle noise. It wouldn’t fool anyone truly perceptive, and even the slower ones would catch on eventually, but it wasn’t as if this charade needed to stand the test of time. It didn’t particularly matter if they saw through it, really; the damage would be done, except this would give Fornax a more powerful tool to use when the time was right.
Control established, preparations in place, and the right sequence discovered. There was no need for he or Xelas to move their physical heads, not when they were already working together so closely in digital space. They did pause for a moment to confer, making completely sure that both were ready to proceed. Once they made the call, there was no turning back on multiple fronts.
Together, unseen by any of the Wrexwren who were still laughing as they watched Zerle Salvrin smack around Fornax, Doctor Mechaniacal and Xelas activated their creation.
It was, at its heart, only a signal. A signal carrying specific programming, one designed to bypass the Wrexwren security completely and cause a series of sequential activations within the engines. Just a signal, yet with it, the Wrexwren invasion functionally came to an end, even if it would take the aliens some time to fully understand the loss they’d incurred. Most would die with no idea of what had even happened—a small blessing that proved Doctor Mechaniacal wasn’t entirely heartless.
Since there was no more need to play nice, he and Xelas both raised their weapons, unnoticed by the Wrexwren who’d written them both off entirely. A few bright flashes and some whistle-screams, then they were alone, that annoying rabble of laughter muted at long last. It felt good, but not nearly so fine as the sensation of broadcasting a message to his friend’s ears, letting him know the first part of the fight was over. No more sandbagging.
“Fornax, this is Doctor Mechaniacal. Injury has been accomplished. You are free to proceed with adding Insult.”
Despite the distance, she saw them go. Lodestar was burning bright with power, operating at what most of the world thought to be her maximum. They were close on that front, as this was what she considered to be her terrestrial maximum—things got dangerous if she swung much more power than this around while planet-side. But the truth was, so far as she knew, a Lodestar had no true limit. There was always more power to be drawn. The only question was how much of the person would remain afterward.
Using her power was like stealing some primal force of the universe to make herself bigger, in a metaphysical sense rather than a literal one. The more she drew, the greater her capabilities, but the less of her there was in comparison. As the power flowed in, it became harder and harder to stay Helen. That was how Lodestars changed, based on the multiverse research they’d managed. One drew in more than they could find their way back from.
There was a time even brushing against her current level might have caused some concern, but that was very long ago indeed. She was, to her knowledge, one of the longer-lived incarnations of Lodestar, and had a very strong hunch as to why. Most Lodestars were cut off, their tremendous power and responsibility making it near impossible for them to feel truly connected with anyone else. Who could possibly relate to that kind of burden? But she was different. Friends, family, the simple thought of her daughter, all of it bonded her to that world, to the life she lived outside this costume.
She was Helen, who served as the Lodestar, while knowing exactly who she was. And right at that moment, she was furious. With Ivan and the guild, for what they’d just done. With the Wrexwren, for putting them in that position to begin with. With herself, more than anything. Maybe there was a way it didn’t have to be like this. A world where, if she’d been stronger, faster, or smarter, there would be less bloodshed. It was a very familiar anger, one that had burned in her since the first day she woke with these powers, and without her parents or brother.
Earth-maximum was clearly not going to cut it. Still, she had to press on incrementally. Trying to kill this creature outright because of her own fury would make her just as bad as the guild. But those increments were about to start increasing sharply, by necessity if not intent.
Truth be told, when she started using this kind of power, not even Lodestar could completely control it. For the Scralthor’s sake, she really hoped it was smart enough to run while it still had a chance.
Doctor Mechaniacal’s voice in his ear was both welcome and terrifying. Welcome, because even Ivan was starting to get weary of taking blow after blow constantly. Terrifying, because compared to what came next, that was the equivalent of sitting on a park bench on a sunny afternoon. He was going to have to do something genuinely horrifying, and there was simply no way around it.
With so many meta-humans and people watching at home, no subterfuge would go undiscovered, no trickery could slip the collective consciousness. The plan called for Fornax, which was why he’d donned the mask and name once more. Except, the reputation wasn’t enough. For this to work, for the message to get through, he couldn’t be Ivan playing pretend. Everything had to be real, so there were no loose threads to unravel.
Pretending wasn’t enough. Today, he had to be Fornax once more. And that was what made Ivan so scared, as the darkness filled his eyes and runes appeared in their place: how incredibly easy it was for that first mad giggle to come bounding past his lips, like it had been waiting just below the surface for a chance to rise.
It was a strange time to laugh, given that he was currently leaning against the wall, having been sent there by Zerle Salvrin’s mighty fists. The Wrexwren was struck by the sound, turning its head in some manner—though without eyes, it was hard to view any section as the “front” with certainty.
“Zerle Salvrin, I came here expecting to be disappointed, but you... you are worthy.” Fornax rose, not bothered by the blood dripping from parts of his face. That was what the mask was for, and anyway, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t fought through far worse pain than this.
“I need be worthy to kill one so pitiful as you?” He seemed insulted by the idea, charging right up with a fresh attack. Only, this one didn’t land like all the others. Despite the twisting madness of his movement, Zerle Salvrin found one arm caught by Fornax, while the red-masked man dodged the other strikes. There was brief moment as they looked upon one another, before Fornax’s fist sent Zerle Salvrin flying back to the other side of the chamber.
“You are worthy of being broken.” Fornax was smiling now, genuine glee as he took in the rasped, unsteady nature of the Wrexwren’s whistles. He might have hit whatever their version of lungs was. “Only the strong can truly be destroyed, you see. The weak have too much bend. They lack suitable pride to be humbled, confidence to shatter. Even the things they love, they understand might be stolen away by fate or another. Not like the strong, who believe we can push against the very will of the universe when what’s ours is threatened.”
Zerle Salvrin didn’t simply lay on the ground and suffer abuse. He was up in short order, but approached with far greater caution this time. The movements were closer to his initial attacks, before he’d felt certain in his victory: guarded, probing, a much more defensive tactic now that he knew his opponent was capable of hitting back. Fornax allowed three blows to land on various points of his body, and in return, he slammed a fist into the same spot he’d hit the first time, sending Zerle Salvrin flying again with a fresh round of rasping.
“You think you can kill me that easily?” Zerle Salvrin was already rising again. It looked as if he could take as hard as he gave—no wonder this being had attained such a high position among his species.
“Kill you? My good Zerle, you truly have zero grasp on what is happening. If someone wante
d you killed, there is no shortage of options available to us. We could have obliterated you from the ground weeks ago. You are not so fortunate as to get an executioner. I am Fornax, and my one true gift is destruction. Death is easy. Instead, I am going to break every piece of who you are. Then, if you ask very nicely, I may just grant you an ending.”
The whistle had a very snarl-like quality as it rang out, which matched the aggressive posture Zerle Salvrin was adopting, visibly prepared for another bout. “Empty threats. Even if you are stronger than I, my people have well prepared me for torture. I’ve endured it on missions more than once. There is no breaking of Zerle Salvrin.”
Fornax’s smile grew substantially wider. “Excellent. That’s right, tell me how pointless it is. Tell me how you will absolutely, unquestionably triumph. Show me your strength, Zerle Salvrin. Show my world your power, so that your shattering will be all the greater.”
This time, Fornax didn’t counter the attacks. He merely dodged them, stepping nimbly out of the way so the myriad of Wrexwren limbs struck only air. “But you know, I really can’t stand fighting in all this silence. Down on Earth, things are messy and chaotic. By now, we’d have people screaming and yelling, possibly even a few interlopers to deal with. Doctor Mechaniacal, would you be so kind as to give us a soundtrack?”