by wildbow
Jess would have figured it out, once she saw enough of the capes, or when Luke had gotten lost in his neighborhood. Even when they’d just climbed out of the apartment, she had asked why the Simurgh was here.
He thought back to the bird in the cage, and the bloody newspaper that it had been standing on. He’d only been able to read part of the headline. President Gillen orders…
It isn’t that Alexandria, Scion, the Simurgh and the other heroes somehow came here. We’ve been taken there. The Simurgh had brought them to Earth Bet. Earth B. It was the Earth they’d heard so much about on the internet and the news, stuff Jess had followed with such curiosity that they’d jokingly called her a cape geek. An Earth where Japan was in shambles, a different president led the United States of America, there were a thousand times the number of parahumans, and Endbringers threatened to crush humanity in a merciless, unending battle of attrition.
They were a long, long way away from their families.
Migration 17.4
They took a path that kept the fence to their right. It meant they stayed on the fringe of the Simurgh’s power, the volume of the keening song as low as they could hope to keep it, and it meant there was one less cardinal direction that any creatures could approach them from. There were soldiers stationed at the far end of any roads, a ways back from fences, but they weren’t taking shots at them. If the soldiers happened to shout at them through a loudspeaker, he considered it a bonus, something to draw others closer.
He cursed the heavy clouds of fog and dust that were resulting from the ongoing fighting and the snow that had evaporated or scattered on a massive scale. It wasn’t bad enough that there were monsters prowling around the city, but his key senses were being obscured. He couldn’t see more than one or two hundred feet ahead of him, and the noise… there was no absolute quiet. The screaming in their heads continued without end, low in volume and apparently low in effect, but there. Always there. Just as distracting and nerve-wracking were the rumbles and the sounds of gunfire, of distant explosions, of buildings collapsing, and of city streets being blasted to shreds.
It was during one of the quiet moments, one of the periodic breaks in the distant chaos where there was only the song in their heads, that they heard a shrill scream.
Krouse, Cody and Marissa stopped in their tracks.
“Was that in my head?” Krouse asked.
“No. Definitely a person. Or people. We should help them,” Marissa said.
“We’d be putting ourselves in danger,” Cody replied.
“No,” Krouse said. “We should go.”
“I feel like you contradict me to be irritating,” Cody growled.
“We should go because there’s barely anyone around,” Krouse said. “And we’ve got to find a doctor. One person with the right skills in an area with very few people.”
“And since someone’s screaming, we know there’s at least one person there.”
Krouse nodded. He didn’t wait for further argument from Cody, sprinting ahead instead.
His path took him to the foot of a set of tall buildings with stores on the lowest level. He was somewhat relieved that most of the fast food chains seemed familiar. Somehow it implied that home wasn’t so far away.
Tables and benches were bolted into the ground in a broad patio or plaza between the buildings. The fixtures that weren’t exposed to the winds and shockwaves that were rippling across the city in all the fighting were piled high with layers of snow and ice.
Krouse could hear the crunch in the snow as Marissa and Cody caught up behind him. He glanced back to verify it was really them, then gripped his spear tighter.
Screams, again. To his left.
He hurried toward the sound. He knew the singing in his head was making him more impulsive, rounding off the edges of his sense of caution and pushing him to act rather than plan. It didn’t matter. He had one goal in mind.
Eight people were gathered in a burger joint with the lights off. More daunting were the three monsters that were in the room. One of the monsters was holding a ninth person off the ground. The windows had been shattered and curls of snow flowed into the fast food place.
Krouse dropped low, crouching behind a snow-covered patio. He gestured for Cody and Marissa to stop.
The monsters included a man with a neck three times the usual length and a gnarled hump on his back that was plated in armor. His arms split in two at the elbow, with one set of hands and one set of limbs that ended in built-in scythes. He was perched on a table, cackling. His jacket was clearly borrowed, ill-fitting around his hump, and he kept having to push the sleeves up so they wouldn’t cover his hands or weapons.
His partner held their victim, the ninth person in the room. She was big, maybe seven feet tall, and heavy in a way that met some middle ground between being muscular and being fat. Big boned might have been the most apt way to describe her, in a literal sense. Her skin was thick, her features blunt: she had a porcine nose and cauliflower ears, her fingers were stubby and her lips so fat that they curled away from her comparatively tiny teeth. She might have weighed four hundred pounds, and the way she was easily holding her victim in the air suggested she was strong enough to kill someone with one good punch. She wore only a set of grays that looked like a prisoner uniform. He could make out the first half of the word that was printed across her shoulders: GWER—.
Rounding out the group was a young woman. Something was off about her, besides the obvious physical changes. Thick black horizontal lines striped her body, crossing her eyes like a blindfold, extending from the corners of her mouth, lining her chin and tracing down her neck. By the time they reached her fingers, her skin was more black than white. She wore the same prison grays, but had donned a jacket and boots. Her blond hair was straight, her bangs cut severely across her forehead.
She was off because there was a rigidity to her. She stood too straight, and every part of her except her clothing seemed to be drawn in horizontal and vertical lines.
Scythe-arms finished laughing, took a second to compose himself, and then snarled with a viciousness that seemed to be in stark contrast to his previous humor, “Ontige hie, Matryoshka.”
The massive woman turned to shove her captured victim towards the girl with the lines. Krouse could make out the rest of the word. Gwerrus. Her voice was deeper than any Krouse had ever heard. “Egesa riika se-ji.”
The line girl spoke in a thick accent. “Speak the anglo? This skin too far from myself for me to remember.”
“Mirzuty,” the large woman swore. “Egesa say you take her, Matryoshka.”
“I can not. Too far. I will lose myself. Begging you, Gwerrus.”
Gwerrus slammed her hand down on the counter next to her, demolishing it. The soft drink dispenser exploded in a spray of fizz and foam. Gwerrus looked momentarily surprised, and the scythe-armed one started cackling. Was that the Egesa that Gwerrus had mentioned?
Gwerrus growled, “There are guards, frail one. Many. There are fences and the… what you call them? Transportation.”
“Trucks,” Matryoshka said.
“Trucks. They hunt us. They have craft. Burn you by looking at you. Fly,” Gwerrus’s deep voice took an almost reverent tone. “We must escape. We use your craft to do it. Fold us. Fold them.”
Matroyshka glanced at the crowd of people that were huddled by the front counter. Her face was etched with anxiety. A distant rumble shook the city, and her head snapped to one side in alarm.
“Ofstede,” Egesa growled.
“Egesa says now,” Gwerrus translated.
“I guess that already,” Matryoshka said.
“Clever, clever,” Gwerrus said, with a cruel note to her voice, “Should use that clever mind to think. Longer we wait, longer we have to listen to this dwimor wail. More time for men hunting us to find us.”
Cody and Marissa crept closer until they were beside Krouse. Krouse winced as their feet crunched in the snow, but the monstrous people didn’t seem to notice.
Matryoshka reached out and bent down in the direction of the woman Gwerrus had thrown to the ground. Krouse couldn’t quite make out the view, but saw a flurry of black and flesh tone ribbons.
When she stood, she had a different face, her hair was darker, and the lines on her face and hands were thinner.
“How long?” Gwerrus asked. “To… what is word?”
“Digest,” Matryoshka said. Her accent wasn’t so thick as it had been. “Hours? Two or three. Can’t really remember.”
“Fold into me next,” Gwerrus said. “Then Egesa. Then them.”
Both Matryoshka and Gwerrus looked at the huddled captives.
“But if I take more than two or three hours to escape, I’ll digest you.”
“I’m a soldier,” Gwerrus spoke. “Tough. Hard to eat?”
“Digest,” Matryoshka said. “I don’t know. Not sure you can be tough against this.”
“Efeste,” Egesa growled.
“He says—”
“I get it. Fine. Kneel. Easier if I don’t have to climb.”
Krouse tightened his grip on the spear, waited until he saw the ribbons.
Then Krouse charged forward. Couldn’t afford to wait until that Matryoshka woman ate someone with the know-how Noelle needed. The window of opportunity here was small, anyways. Had to strike while two of the enemies were occupied.
His boots crunched over snow, and Egesa turned his way, raising one scythe before he even saw Krouse.
Krouse drove the makeshift spear into Egesa’s side. The shape of the head didn’t allow for much penetration, but it did bury itself in the monster’s stomach.
Krouse had never been in a fight. He’d been punched, but he’d never hit back. Wasn’t in him, he’d thought. How much of this was him, and how much was the song in his head? Was the Simurgh’s song pushing him to violence where he might have tried to find another way in other circumstances? Or was this what it felt like, doing what had to be done to help Noelle?
Egesa nearly fell from the table he was sitting on, managed to brace himself, and then swung one scythe-arm at Krouse. Krouse threw himself backward, tugging on his curtain-rod spear.
It twisted as it came free, doing more damage on the way out than it had with the initial thrust.
Egesa fell to the ground, landing with his knees, two scythes and one hand on the ground. His other hand pressed to the injury, where blood was spilling onto the ground.
The hump of a hunchback protected the man’s head, as he crouched before Krouse. Krouse looked at Egesa’s arched back, his legs and arms under him. He could have gone for the stomach again, but there were no guarantees. He jabbed for the armpit, instead. Limit his range of attack.
His body hummed with adrenaline, and he felt far, far too calm for what he was doing, as he thrust the heavy metal spear into the base of Egesa’s arm. This time he twisted it on purpose before pulling it free.
There was more blood than he thought there’d be, with that one. Egesa fell over, no longer able to prop himself up.
Changing his grip, Krouse brought the spear down like a bludgeon, cracking Egesa across the head.
When Egesa didn’t immediately slump over, Krouse hit him twice more.
“Ende,” Egesa growled.
Krouse swung to hit him one more time. Egesa disappeared in a cloud of black smoke that quickly dissipated and the spear hit tile.
Krouse glanced around to see if Egesa had changed locations. The scythe-armed freak wasn’t around. He did see Cody and Marissa looking at him wide eyed.
This next part wasn’t going to change that much. “Run!” he shouted at the bystanders. They scrambled to their feet and ran for cover.
He advanced on Gwerrus and Matryoshka, saw how Gwerrus was entangled by Matryoshka, wearing the ribbons like a second skin. Her left arm, completely encased, was compressed to only half the size, almost normal.
Gwerrus looked too tough to hurt, but Matryoshka… He slashed the end of his makeshift spear into her, and the ribbons of flesh cut and tore. Matryoshka began to pull together, unwinding from Gwerrus, and he clubbed her over the head.
Gwerrus was a bigger problem. The way her skin seemed to be three times as thick as normal, at least, and her massive frame, he suspected he wouldn’t be able to hurt her with his weapon. If he—
No, Krouse made himself stop, took an account of what he was doing. He was getting carried away. He turned to run.
A hand gripped the back of his coat, and a scythe blade extended around Krouse’s throat.
He felt another scythe tap against his spear, tapping again shortly after. He let the spear clatter to the tiled floor.
Matryoshka condensed the ribbons into onion-like layers. The cuts and tears he’d made weren’t continuous once she was put together. Rather, it was divided into a series of short cuts placed around her face and hands, with more probably hidden beneath her clothes.
“Brave,” Gwerrus growled. “Stupid brave.”
“Sculan abretoan cnapa,” Egesa muttered, just beside Krouse’s ear.
Gwerrus shook her head. “Na. Wac thurfan cnapa with huntians ferranan, Matryoshka cunnan fealdan cnapa.”
Egesa shoved Krouse so that he stumbled forward, finding himself in the middle of the three.
“English? Anglo?” Matryoska asked.
“We need the boy,” Gwerrus said. “You fold him.”
“Uh huh,” Matryoshka said. “We’ll need more.”
“We’ll find more.”
“Soon? Women I just took will be all dissolved.”
“Soon,” Gwerrus said.
Krouse couldn’t help but notice how even her dialect had changed since she’d absorbed the woman into her. “You don’t have to do this.”
Egesa kicked him from behind, and Krouse fell to his hands and knees.
“Don’t hurt him,” Matryoshka said.
“They are enemies,” Gwerrus growled. “They hunt us.”
“We’re not hunting you,” Krouse said.
Egesa kicked him again for his trouble, driving a heel into Krouse’s kidney. Krouse grunted and writhed at the pain. The screaming in his head was bad, now, almost drowning everything out. It was almost affecting his vision. He couldn’t help but think about the pressure of being deep underwater, being so deep he was barely able to function, except this wasn’t imagined. It was real, despite being all in his head. That same pressure dimmed everything around the edges of his vision, made shadows darker and lights brighter. When spots appeared in his vision, he could almost imagine they were images.
Egesa pressed the tip of one scythe to Krouse’s eyelid. “Abysgian in eage? Yeh?”
Krouse slipped, so to speak. He hadn’t even realized he was resisting the song, but in the pain, in his momentary fear, he let himself listen, looked at the shapes that were filling the dark places he could see.
Am I giving up? This easily? The others need me. The others…
“Noelle,” he mumbled.
“Francis?”
He winced. “Call me Krouse. Everyone but my mom does.”
“Krouse,” Noelle tried the word. “Okay. You want something?”
“Just wanted to talk. When we were marking each other’s papers in class, I got yours. I just wanted to say I like the way you think.”
He could see her expression change, as though the whole paradigm of the conversation had shifted. What did I say?
“Thanks,” she said. Her eyes dropped to her lunch tray, and she speared a piece of lettuce on her fork. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, slowly, methodically, then glanced up at Krouse. The meaning was clear. With body language alone, she was asking, why are you still here?
“Comparing the way you write an essay to how you’d design a game, plotting things both on a mechanical and general level. It was interesting to read. Nerdy in all the best ways. That’s a compliment, in case you’re left wondering.”
“Alright. Thanks.”
He was turning to leave when he saw M
arissa Newland approach and sit down next to Noelle. They weren’t people he’d expected to see together. It wasn’t that Noelle was unattractive, only that Marissa was a swan, one of the better looking girls in the school, and Noelle was maybe best described as a sparrow. Small, nervous, plain. He hadn’t imagined they had any shared interest, social circles or friends.
Marissa moved a small plate with a square of pizza on it to Noelle’s tray, before looking up at Krouse. “Krouse? You need something?”
“Nah, said what I wanted to say.”
“Don’t pester her, ‘kay?”
“I”m not doing anything more annoying than distracting her from lunch, and I was already leaving.”
“You two know each other?” Noelle asked.
Krouse answered before Marissa could. “Our moms both do a lot of volunteer stuff for the school. Bake sales and crap. Been a couple of times where we both got dragged in to help and wound up working together.”
“So I know exactly what to watch out for with you,” Marissa said. “At any given point in time, you’re pulling some nefarious prank, you’re manipulating others to get what you want, you’re making someone else look bad—”
“Stop. All this praise is going to make me blush.”
“Sixth grade,” Marissa said, turning to Noelle, “He tells his teacher—”
“Aaand I’m out of here,” Krouse said, making sure to interrupt her, “I forgot Marissa knew about the more embarrassing stories.”
“Good riddance to you, then,” Marissa said, smiling lightly.
He wasn’t two steps away when he heard her saying, “The Ransack qualifiers—”
He turned, interest piqued.
“What?” Marissa said. “Do I need to get back to the story to scare you off? Or are you going to make some crack about girls and video games?”
“No, I’m not. You said qualifiers? As in competitive level?”
“Yeah. We have a club we organized through the school, to manage it. It was the only way I could get access to a computer without my mom looking over my shoulder.”