by Drew Hayes
Just when a few of the Wrexwren were pondering the prexle route themselves, something strange happened. The team was advancing on a dilapidated old building with dozens of vehicles in front of it, and as they drew closer, their pursuers started to fall away. Together, the aliens ran faster, and saw the trend continued. No explanation to be had; perhaps this ground was somehow cursed or sacred to the native species. After a day full of the worst sorts of surprises, none of the three was willing to argue with a turn of good fortune. Together, they raced up to the front and burst through the door.
For a moment, the first Wrexwren thought it was some sort of human design choice. Red splashes all over the floors and walls, bits and chunks spread around to create a messy ambience. It was a forgivable initial mistake; they were hardly familiar with much human anatomy. Upon spotting an arm, however, the Wrexwren reassessed the situation, along with estimating roughly how many humans would be required to create this much debris.
“What happened?” The whisper came from one of the others, communicated in the softest of their whistles as possible.
“Somebody didn’t live up to the hype.” This response came from deeper in the building, and while they had translation software equipped, it was unneeded. Whoever the mysterious being was, they’d replied in the native Wrexwren tongue. Footsteps rang out from further in the building, unseen in the thin strips of light streaming through from outer streetlamps. Darkness was in swing on this section of the planet, though all of the aliens suddenly wished they had a bit of sunshine on their side.
Raising their weapons, too aware that this might be a chance where they only got a single shot, the Wrexwren at the front called out. “Who goes there?”
“This was a meta-mercenary base. True war might be banned, but countries still have conflict, and this team was often hired to fill a given side’s ranks. They were quite renowned, especially their leader: a man wielding a magical sword, said to be one of the most skilled fighters on the planet.”
From the shadows an object came, tossed much too short to come within striking distance of the team, yet they all tensed just the same. It landed with a clatter—or rather, they landed. It turned out to be two objects which had once been whole. A golden sword, sparks of fading power crackling along the edges, sliced cleanly in two.
“I waited so patiently for a chance to strike in secret, a time when the blame could be put elsewhere, like an invading force. Such pains making sure not to lose Captain Bullshit’s veil, only for this absolute disappointment to be my reward. Not a good day. Not a good day at all.”
A spray of sparks came from the darkness, metal being run along concrete. For the first time, the aliens saw who they’d been speaking with. He appeared human, save for the twisted expression on his face. Mundane clothes, no visible armor, equipped with a single weapon: another sword, this one with a slight curve to the blade. The Wrexwren weren’t especially familiar with the names of Earth’s out-of-date weaponry, but there was enough context to expect it would be dangerous.
“I know you won’t be any better. I do. But after waiting this long for such a worthless taste, I can’t be satisfied with just this.” The sparks ended, and suddenly, the man was in front of the first Wrexwren. His blade moved a single time, and the would-be invader felt his upper body sliding, leaving the lower portion behind. There was just enough mental function to hear his next words in the alien’s final moments.
“After so long trapped in its sheath, my sword thirsts.”
Grantham was mildly surprised by the small army waiting outside the bar. They were not made of Wrexwren—in fact, everyone present was either human or meta. Sipping his beer, he bristled at the chill hitting his lips. Damnit, he’d held the glass for too long.
“Diego, what’s the deal with the battalion?”
His bartender, a svelte man with dangerous tattoos running up and down both arms, jumped slightly at being directly addressed. Thus far, he’d been one of the only people Grantham had bothered to learn the name of and occasionally talk to, largely because Diego also spoke English. Neither Diego nor the others were sure if that made him safer, or more in peril. All they knew for certain was that this was not a child to cross.
“They are from a neighboring compound and seek to lay claim on our holdings, attacking during the confusion. Word has probably spread about the prior owners being slaughtered.”
“Yet nobody thinks to wonder if the thing that did the slaughtering is still around.” Spinning on his stool, for a brief moment, it was possible to forget the absolute power this kid had used to rule them with since arriving; he looked like any other normal child. The effect ended as soon as he stopped, and Diego could see the icy-blue shining in his eyes. “What the hell—I could use a workout, and I doubt this will count as making a scene.”
As his feet touched the ground, his skin changed, turning the blue of one lost and frozen in the deepest tundra. Muscle bulged in his limbs as his height shot up, reaching and passing that of an adult’s stature in no time. A bushy beard of frost sprouted on his no longer childish face. He was out of the bar before fully transforming, largely because the door couldn’t accommodate his modified bulk.
From outside, the deeper, older voice thundered. “Look at this pathetic lot! Such a pitiful offering. Your bodies will serve as warning to those who come next. Only the strong can face Jokull!”
Groggily, the lone surviving Wrexwren struggled back to consciousness. He’d been with a team of four. One had been killed on landing, forcing them to flee. The forest had seemed like a good place for cover, until they reached a patch where the ground gave way. Between the fall and the blunted stone triangles at the bottom, the others died on impact. Only a bit of fortune had influenced the survivor’s fall, shattering a pair of legs and one arm rather than his head. It was a curious choice for a trap—sharp objects at the bottom would have a much higher lethal success rate.
Overhead, something new came into view. It appeared to be one of Earth’s native species, called a bear, except the alien felt almost positive bears didn’t have horns, or opposable thumbs on a huge, hairy hand. Most of the creature was off in some way, yet it moved with certainty as it grabbed the living Wrexwren and began to drag the captive along.
For a while, the ground was dirt, then slowly stones started showing up. Tighter and tighter they grew, until it was as if they were on some stone-cobbled path. Strange as that was, it had nothing on the door they reached: huge, dense, and a striking shade of white that stood out amidst the darkness of the subterranean lair. The bear-like creature knocked once, and instantly, the door gave way.
Inside was a room lit by electric lanterns. White shelves lined the walls, decorated with various knickknacks and pops of color. Chairs in the same white hue were lined up next to a matching table, not far from an actual bed. To the sides of the room, tunnels were visible, some smaller than what a human could fit through, others too large even for bear-sized creatures. Seated on a pillow in the center, preparing herself a cup of liquid from some sort of white cup-and-jug set, was what appeared to be a human woman.
She wore a lavender dress, barely fitting over her visibly emaciated frame. Frail, thin, he could see her bones moving through the skin as she reached for her cup and took a tentative sip, letting out a sharp squeak.
“It’s hot,” she said by way of explanation, the Wrexwren’s translator conveying the general meeting. “I suppose we should start with an apology. I’m afraid you’re going to find me a terrible host today.”
Bad as this was, perhaps all hadn’t yet been lost. If she was the meta controlling this beast, then killing her could set it free. That would put him alone with a wild animal, but that was still a better fight than having it puppeteered by someone with intelligence.
“I wish I could offer you some wonderful options to replace what you’ve broken. Unfortunately, laying low means I haven’t been able to collect any human or meta parts. All my lovies have come from the nearby forest.”
&nb
sp; At her words, new sounds came from within the tunnels. Few approached the flickering light of the electric lanterns; however, there were enough misshapen shadows to know that none of these creatures were currently in the same configuration as they’d been born.
“Even that might not be so bad, except Sissy doesn’t like to help me build anymore. I can’t do nearly as clean of work without her. Modern medicine helps bridge the gap, but her ability made things so much more stable. And far less messy.”
Deciding that this was his only shot, the Wrexwren slammed his remaining three arms into the ground, shooting up and kicking off with his pair of working legs. The effort was successful, in that he managed to get clear of the bear-monster’s reach. That was the end of the positive outcome, and the Wrexwren’s advancement, however.
From the table and each chair came a spear, molding from their very material, firing out and piercing directly into the Wrexwren’s flesh. Four lances where the dining area had been, skewering him in place, lifting up slightly so he was unable to even use the ground for traction.
“While I did say I was going to be a terrible host, I can’t believe I forget to introduce myself. My friends call me Cathy, but I guess you’d probably be more interested in my professional title. Before I got locked away and had my old lovies taken, people used to call me the Bone Mage.”
The shadows were slinking out from the tunnel, a menagerie of warped creations, each spliced together in a hideous hodgepodge. From her pillow, Cathy rose as well, stepping lightly over to take a closer look at her newly captured specimen. When she reached out, the Wrexwren tried to jerk its head back. That earned him a gentle smile, as well as a hand delicately running along his torso.
“There’s no need to fear. I’m going to take good care of you, or as much of you as I can. Alien physiology is tricky. Luckily, I’ve got the rest of your friends to experiment on first. Don’t worry. I’ll get all the mistakes out before it’s your turn. We’ll make you stronger than you ever were before. Relax, be at peace, and look forward to what the future holds.”
That gentle smile sharpened, and her wide eyes shined down like mad moons, like they couldn’t wait to unveil the horrors laying in store. “I just know you’re going to enjoy being one of my lovies.”
Clad in a scat-brown suit and bowler hat, no one would mistake this man as an icon of fashion… not that the gentleman clad in such an ensemble gave even the smallest of notions to the opinions of the masses on any topic, including clothes. Compliance with the herd was a practice for the weak. Those with power lived in whatever way suited them best. This was simply one more way he marked himself as above them. Although, not quite so far above them as the woman currently on screen.
Unlike the rest of the world, he had no interest in watching Fornax piss about—the man had been insufferable enough when they shared a prison together. Trying to view Lodestar with magic was a fool’s errand, so they’d simply found the Wrexwren broadcast and tuned in to that with the help of a peon. Other metas often looked down on those with powers focused more toward utility than combat, while those of wisdom knew it was always handy to keep such talents around.
“Worried she might not win?” This man wore simple garments with a high collar—almost a priest’s outfit, yet not quite.
“For a meta who uses the name ‘Faithful,’ you certainly express a great deal of doubt.” In truth, he knew why Faithful wore such a moniker, and the history that made it such a hideous joke. One did not align with Faithful unless there was good reason, and it was never wise to fully trust him. Yet Faithful’s power was so great, sometimes the risk was worth it to gain access to his abilities.
With a completely sincere expression, Faithful lowered his head in apology. “Consider me chastised. Against such a tremendous threat, I thought perhaps even the Lodestar might have some trouble.”
“A Lodestar, certainly, but not that Lodestar. She’s already ascended to greater heights than this. If she were dispatched by such a base, rudimentary threat, she wouldn’t be the prize worth pursuing.”
The bowler hat tipped back, revealing a face worn by the years, unlike Faithful, who remained young and spry no matter how much time piled up on top of him. “My mistake the first time was moving too fast. This is no ordinary cape to bring low; it was folly to think of her that way. One does not snare an apex predator the same way they catch meager prey. This will be a long hunt. Keep that in mind if you get any urges to make a spectacle and lose yourself Captain Bullshit’s veil.”
“My urges are entirely in check, until they aren’t,” Faithful replied, as if that settled the matter. “I’m more curious on how, precisely, you expect to snare her. Not even my ability was able to overcome that cape, and I was among the most offensively powerful in Rookstone.”
The bowler hat dipped down as its owner nodded in agreement. “The trouble was that you came at her head-on, as did I, as did almost everyone else. We all forgot a truth as simple as a nursery lullaby.” He hummed a few bars to himself, watching as Lodestar grew brighter, hitting her opponent over and over to no effect.
“If you seek to catch a star, first you have to make it fall.”
Chapter 119
This enemy should be beyond her. Lodestar understood that, as another attempt to even dissuade it from the current course failed to draw so much as a reaction. It existed on a scale beyond what humans were designed to fathom, let alone challenge. To stand against the Scralthor was like seeking to halt a sun’s meltdown mid-nova. These were not forces they were meant to have control over. And yet, for better or worse, she was permitted to break that limit. Human-shaped wasn’t the same as human.
For even another Lodestar, this creature likely represented a final task. Tapping that deeply into the power would be enough to wipe out any trace of the person wielding it, all but guaranteeing that someone else would be burdened with the mantle. Under normal circumstances, this would be her last bout: going out in a final blaze of glory to keep her planet safe.
Except that Helen had a secret that not even most of the other capes knew. Over a decade before, she’d floated in the depths of space, squaring off against another seemingly unbeatable opponent: Orion. With his speed, power, and semi-intangible nature, even her abilities hadn’t been enough to fully stop the former scientist bent on destroying the world. At least, not at first. Not until the fight neared its climax, and she finally understood her place in the cosmos.
Not until she broke the rules.
“You’re just hungry.” She said it to no one but the vast monster. Even the Wrexwren ships that had been leading the Scralthor were gone now, blown up with all the others—no doubt the guild was somehow responsible. “This isn’t your fault, and I get that. Someone is using you. This was never a fight you wanted any part of. As much as I can, I’ll try to hold back. With what I’m about to do, there are no promises.”
She blasted off, soaring into space, tightening her focus as she moved. It was easier to access while active, gave her somewhere to channel the excess energy as it was building. Distance traveled didn’t matter. By the time she was ready, it would largely be a question of how fast she chose to move. Still, she had to be focused. This was only her second occasion going past the current limit.
Last time, there had only been the absolute injustice of the situation to focus on, and her own unwillingness to bend to it. That was the night she learned that roles were just words, and that even a Lodestar could be greedy. Today was different. She could already feel that as the heightened levels of power flowed into her, trying to drown out the woman at their center.
Between the daughter, friends, and history on that planet, there was no chance she was letting the Scralthor plunge it into darkness. Scorching through the void, Lodestar wasn’t just glowing anymore. She’d begun to shine.
Cyber Geek and Cold Shoulder arrived back at the hole just in time to catch the end of their mystery attacker’s threat toward Tachyonic. He wasn’t making empty overtures, either—those b
ony hands came grabbing for Tachyonic immediately. Luckily, he was still mobile enough to dodge, albeit poorly. He wasn’t as sluggish, though whether that was from the staff or the fact that the power-weakening attack had begun to fade was up in the air.
“What’s going on?” Cyber Geek asked as Tachyonic scrambled away from the claw-like hands.
“Mystery asshole says he’s going to kill everyone unless we guess his name, then probably kill everyone anyway.” Hephaestus didn’t look up from the glove she and Cliché were hunched over, the pair working in near perfect tandem. “Unless you have something more powerful than me and Plasmodia blasting at once, save the ammo. Delay and holding tactics would be greatly appreciated.”
To their surprise, it was Cold Shoulder who perked up. “Looks like that’s me.” She started for the hole, but Presto suddenly appeared in front of her.
“Shoot from up here. He’s strong enough that he can kill any of us with one hit. Ice-armor isn’t likely to change that, and I don’t think he’s going to react well if you actually do hinder him.”
Cold Shoulder hesitated, until Plasmodia jumped in, still seated and building her charge. “Presto doesn’t joke around when we’re losing, and he’s actually got a good head on his shoulders. That guy is toying with them. Let’s not give him any more targets, especially less durable ones.”
That evidently convinced her, as she perched at the edge and watched the battle unfold, swirls of frost dancing in her hands as she waited for the opportunity to strike. Plasmodia and Presto were by her side, neither of them paying proper attention to the green trespasser in their care, who was mostly poking her head over to watch the same show play out.
Meanwhile, Cyber Geek was hung up on the rest of the conundrum, trying to guess the attacker’s name. There were so many games where avatar names popped up automatically, and he knew that some interface components came over when he used head-covering items from specific games. Unfortunately, so far, none had name-revealing properties; otherwise, he’d have known who was really under Hephaestus’s mask. This was where he needed more item variety, the kinds of situations where his power could truly excel, if only he knew the right option to use.