by wildbow
The blood that was flowing wasn’t his.
“Shit, I can’t believe you made it,” she said.
“Nuh,” he responded.
Not so sure.
Weaver hopped down, then kicked Murder Rat off.
He wanted to hide, to crawl away. They’d put so much time into it, but in the moment, eye to eye with his enemy, he hadn’t been able to manage it.
He’d failed to kill Jack.
“Can you fight? Do you need me to get you help?”
He shook his head, not sure which question he was answering.
But he was able to raise his hand, then lower it into the rooftop. He pushed himself to a standing position with his power.
Bitch was present, along with Tecton, Parian and Foil.
He felt the painted steel panel, sensed Hookwolf. So little of Hookwolf was usable, his power needing sufficiently thick material to use, but he could track the man.
His least favorite of his dad’s old lieutenants. Kayden had been kind, if not quite a mother. Krieg had been respectful. Hookwolf had treated him as the fat, scared little boy he’d been.
He pointed in the direction that Hookwolf was.
“Jack?” Weaver asked.
Golem nodded.
“You stay. I’ll call for help, and we can go after Jack.”
“Nuh,” he managed. He set a hand on her wrist.
“Okay,” she said.
“Golem,” Tecton said. “I know I’m not your team leader anymore, but—”
He realized how hunched over he was. With excruciating effort, he managed to pull himself to an upright posture, meeting Tecton’s eyes.
“You’re too hurt. You’re dead weight.”
“I could use my power,” Dinah said.
“Nuh,” he said.
“We let him come,” Weaver said. “Parian?”
“On it.” Parian hopped down from the dog’s back. Spools of thread unfurled, each tipped with a needle.
* * *
The dog landed on a rooftop. The pain was bad enough he considered throwing up, or throwing himself off. Either would probably tear stitches.
They approached one spot at the edge of the roof. Golem accepted help in dismounting, then eased himself to the ground. The others hunkered down to get a view of the scene on the street below.
“Nostalgic,” Weaver said, her voice barely audible. Rachel grunted.
Jack was atop Hookwolf, giving orders to his minions. The Siberian was on the ground.
Foil lowered her crossbow, aiming.
Weaver placed a hand on top of the weapon. When Foil looked her way, Weaver shook her head.
“It’s not him,” Weaver whispered.
A monster that looked to be one of Nilbog’s creations, outfitted with one of Bonesaw’s control frames crawled along the edge of a rooftop. It perked up and looked at them, tensed.
Foil shot it before it could open its mouth. It died without a sound.
Chevalier approached. Nearly blind, he crouched in the center of the roof.
Hoyden and Revel were conspicuously absent.
“He…” Golem started to speak, winced.
Heads turned his way.
“He’s… like Weaver. Some… other power.”
“Another power?” Tecton asked. “People have speculated, but—”
“But… few survive meeting him. Minor. He… probably doesn’t know. But… reaction too fast. Too efficient.”
They fell silent.
“A thinker power?” Tecton asked.
Golem considered, then nodded slowly.
“I believe it,” Weaver said. “Like me?”
“Senses things… that kind of reaction time.”
“Tattletale?” Weaver asked.
At first he thought she meant like Tattletale.
No. It was a question.
“Yes,” Tattletale said. “Can’t say much more than that. Sorry. Drawing blanks.”
“Trump card,” Golem said. “Dinah.”
Heads turned.
“She’s talking to you,” Weaver said. “We can give ourselves optimal odds.”
“Yes,” Dinah said, but from the reactions, she spoke only to Golem. “Seven questions, Theo.”
Seven questions. Seven chances to make this count.
Red or blue wouldn’t cut it.
“We called for reinforcements. Chance of assistance from outside?” he asked.
“I can answer that for you,” Tattletale said. “You’ve got capes converging on your location.”
“I’m not asking,” Dinah said, “You’ve still got seven questions. But the more time that passes, the worse chances are getting. I can see a lot of dead ends coming up. You need to act.”
“If we attack Jack right now, what’s the chance of the world ending?”
“Ninety-seven percent chance, but the alternative is worse, and it’s getting worse every second!”
He barely had time to register the thought.
This was it. The moment.
“Go,” he said.
The defending capes moved in. Foil slid down, her cleats digging into the surface of the building to afford her some drag, then leaped off to stab a Crimson through the skull.
Tecton jumped. His intact piledriver-gauntlet punched the ground, breaking his fall by making the surface almost fluid.
He struck the ground again, and the shockwave destabilized every one of the Nine in the enclosed area.
Foil threw darts, killing two more.
Parian’s stuffed creation landed atop Hookwolf’s head, and the two dogs used the opportunity to leap down.
Jack’s defending group of minions was thin at best. The one atop Hookwolf moved to stand—
And was promptly shredded as Hookwolf stirred into action. He shook, and the illusion was turned into a cloud of smoke, billowing out towards Foil, Tecton and the dogs. The two young capes staggered back, covering their noses and mouths.
“Where’s Jack?” Golem asked. His entire body ached, and a heavy feeling, like a bruise multiplied in intensity a thousand times over, had settled in his abdomen, making it hard to breathe. “Left or right?”
“Left.”
He turned, moving towards the edge of the rooftop. A Hatchet Face, Breed, Cherish and King made their way towards the entrance of the alley. Golem created hands to block their path.
The Hatchet Face raised his axe, then chopped at the hand. It cut a gouge into it.
Golem created a large hand at the roof’s edge, then pushed it off, dropping it straight onto the two villains.
The concrete fist shattered into pieces. Impossible amounts of dust billowed out from the hit.
Did I get him?
No. The Hatchet Face marched on, pushing at the hand and shoving it down.
On the other end of the alley, Hookwolf’s body of whirling, scraping blades altered, becoming more shapeless. No legs, no arms. Just a blob.
A blob capable of moving with surprising speed. It leaped up onto a building face, then dropped down towards Foil.
Golem changed tactics, using his power to block the blob. He failed, serving only to change its course. Foil was quick enough to leap to one side.
The second the blob landed, the sheer surface area meant the countless blades that all moved in the same direction were able to get a grip, like a monster truck tire spinning freely.
It meant that Hookwolf was able to reorient himself, veering straight for Foil.
Parian’s creation threw itself at him, sandwiching him between it and the wall. Blades and hooks scraped against fabric, but failed to deflate the creation. Momentarily, he was trapped.
Golem raised large hands to cup the blob, holding it in place.
Up until the moment Hookwolf deformed himself, flowing through the gap between the hands like a fluid. He perched himself on twenty or thirty stilt-like legs, raising himself above the ground, surveying the area.
A second later he lunged, and one of Rachel’s dogs intercepted hi
m. Blades shredded one muscular, bone-encrusted leg.
Chevalier, standing at the roof’s edge, took careful aim and then shot Hookwolf.
Hookwolf’s individual components scattered everywhere as a hole was blown into the shifting mass of metal blades.
But he reformed himself again, a wolf-headed serpent, too narrow a target to shoot.
The gang of lesser Nine members approached the periphery of the fight, but they didn’t join it. They watched as Hookwolf fought.
“Where’s Jack?” Golem asked again.
“Five questions left. To your right.”
He glanced left, then right. Tried to imagine the paths Jack might have traveled in the span of time Dinah had suggested.
Weaver was drawing her swarm together, and she attacked the least likely target.
Her bugs flowed into Hookwolf’s shifting mass of blades. Countless bugs no doubt died.
Silk thread? Golem thought.
Except Hookwolf wasn’t even slowing down.
Weaver drew out a line of bugs across the alley. Foil rolled, raised her crossbow—
Hookwolf slashed out, extending a long, wavy piece of metal to cut at the crossbow. Foil pulled it out of reach, but her shot went wide, sailing off into the distance.
She drew her rapier from its sheath, throwing it in the same motion.
It penetrated Hookwolf, sailed past him to impale the side of one of the tombstone like buildings.
Hookwolf wavered, then collapsed into a heap that looked like it would make for an exceedingly dangerous game of pick-up-sticks.
Where’s Jack?
Left, then right? He’d ask again, but he couldn’t help but think that he’d get an equally perplexing answer.
He hadn’t seen Jack move. Weaver hadn’t seen Jack move.
There was a crash as an Azazel landed at one mouth of the alley. Heroes deployed. A battered Cuff and Grace. Clockblocker, Kid Win and Vista…
“Defend the perimeter!” Chevalier ordered. He lowered his cannonblade, pointing it at the newly-arrived Nine. They tensed, but the King looked over his shoulder at the Cherish, and when he looked up again, he was smiling.
“Hold off!” Golem said.
Chevalier stopped.
Weaver was amassing her bugs, poising them for an attack on this squad of reinforcements. The bugs stopped as well.
No.
Something was wrong.
“Shit on me. I can see through Chevalier’s helmet-mounted camera. It’s a trap!”
He’d been right.
He reached down, using his power. The mouth of the alley was narrow. Easy enough to close off, trapping the villains within.
Two hands, positioned to divide this group of Nine from one another.
They reacted, backing away as giant hands rose like tall, narrow walls, separating them from one another.
Two remained untouched. The King and Hatchet Face.
Or, Golem thought, Jack and Siberian.
Weaver was already attacking, and it was a form of attack that suggested she knew exactly who she was up against. Bugs flowed past them, stringing thread, binding. The two in the back were the targets. Nothing she could do against Siberian or Jack.
Golem struck out, two hands reaching out from the walls on either side.
He felt a moment’s hesitation.
“Dinah. Attack?”
“Attack. Chances are getting better. Ninety-two percent.”
Monsters, but…
The training had offered something, at least. Or maybe the pain he was feeling with every breath served as a motivator. He managed to find the aggression inside himself, to strike out at someone who wasn’t even aware of him.
The illusions collectively shattered as he squashed the head of the ‘Cherish’ against the wall. Nyx.
Which revealed the other three.
Jack. No surprise. Hidden inside King.
Siberian. To be expected.
And Gray Boy, squashed against the wall.
His heart dropped.
He drew in a deep breath, feeling every sutured wound straining, very nearly coughed and lost the air he needed.
“Gray Boy!” he shouted.
Just the act of shouting made him double over in pain.
“Run!” Weaver called out.
Tecton slammed his piledriver into the wall. The cloud of debris offered a small amount of cover. Too small. It wouldn’t be enough. He ran, and Bitch whistled, the dogs stampeding past her.
The corpse flickered, and Gray Boy reappeared, sitting atop the forearm of the hand that had squashed him. He hopped down.
His time loop power protected him. Any time he was hurt, any time he was debilitated, his power would kick in, taking him back as far as he needed, allowing him to maintain his position if he wanted. He’d remain conscious, retain any recollection, and with his offensive power, he could shut down any threat.
It was that same power that kept him from aging. Aging was a danger, change was a problem, so he continually retained his appearance from the very moment he’d triggered, reverting back several times an hour, or any time he even got dirty.
A multifaceted, instinctive defense. An offense that could trap Scion.
Parian’s creation blocked his view of Foil and Tecton. He froze it, looped it.
Jack, for his part, drew his sword. He cut, and the weapon sliced through the cloth.
“That’s spider silk,” Parian said.
Three questions left. Three moves. The last few had bought them time, had broken the illusion. They hadn’t been caught off guard, at least.
Foil threw darts. Gray Boy froze them in mid-air.
Weaver’s bugs dissipated through the alleyway, blocking Gray Boy’s sight. Cover, for her allies.
“Doesn’t matter,” Gray Boy said, his voice high. “Don’t really need to see. Just have to guess. Stop running!”
He used his power, and the area at the far end of the alley was frozen. A ten foot high wall of looped air. Tecton slammed into it, struck the air as if it were a solid wall.
He punched the wall, and it shook. Gray Boy proceeded to freeze the walls on either side.
A dead end.
“Shooting in the dark,” Gray Boy said. “Let’s see. There!”
One section of bugs were caught, trapped in a loop.
“A miss. Phooey. There!”
Another section of bugs frozen.
And Foil shrieked.
Shrieked again.
Shrieked again.
A loop.
Parian’s own scream joined Foil’s, but there was no loop there.
“Gotcha,” Gray Boy said.
Weaver hung her head.
“We’re going to walk out of here,” Jack said. “In… about five minutes. We’ll freeze everyone we see. Tell them to run if you want. It won’t matter.”
Foil’s screams continued. Each the same length, with variations on the tail end, as she managed to reassert control over the bodily impulse that was being performed anew each time.
Jack and Siberian advanced, passing Gray Boy as they closed the distance on Tecton.
“How much more damage can we do? Is it a question of doing as much damage to as many people as possible? Can we get a second trigger event out of one of you? Bring about the end of the world?”
Jack seemed so pleased with himself.
Jack has a thinker ability.
What? Not precognition.
“Or is it about doing something significant? Does killing Scion count?”
The heroes outside the perimeter were aware Gray Boy was inside. Had to be, by Foil’s voice. They were caught between watching for outside threats, of which there were bound to be few, and guarding against an approach from within.
What does Jack do?
He grasped for a thought and failed.
No. He needed to think about it from a different angle.
What does Weaver do?
“Dinah.”
“Three questions lef
t.”
“What’s the chance? For what I’m thinking right now?”
“Allowing for the fuzz I’m getting from Scion’s presence above you? Seventy.”
Seventy.
“The numbers are better,” she said. “You’re on the right path.”
“I know,” he said.
Jack had raised his sword to Tecton’s throat. The Siberian stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder. Gray Boy looked up and Golem leaned out of sight.
“Weaver, you have anything up your sleeve?”
“Yes and no. A way to stop Siberian, maybe. Or Gray Boy, maybe. But… I need an opening to do either. A distraction. And whichever one we don’t stop is going to destroy us.”
“Okay,” Golem said. “I’ll get you that distraction.”
“Was going to use my bugs, get Clockblocker. With him, maybe we can take out both at once.”
“Don’t,” Golem replied, tensing up despite himself. He’d nearly raised his voice to the point that Jack could hear. Foil’s continued screaming drowned him out.
“I… won’t. What are you thinking?”
“That there’s an answer. A stupid, silly answer.”
He stood, resisting the urge to groan, and he approached the end of the rooftop closest to the heroes who were defending the areas outside of the alleyway.
He gestured, signaling to one. When they didn’t move, bewildered, he created a hand, pushing them.
Others, he stopped. A shake of his head. Clockblocker was out. So was Imp. Grue, Vista, Kid Win, Cuff and Grace wouldn’t do.
Only this person would serve.
“Two more questions?”
“Yeah.”
“Left or right?”
“Right.”
The long way around. Not the way he would have expected.
“Now, or wait?”
No response.
He gestured, and he created hands pointing the way.
“Now,” she said.
He shut his eyes. This was it. Last question asked.
“Be ready,” he said.
This would be the moment everything fell into place.
The man made his way down to the end of the alley, and Golem created more hands; six hands in a matter of seconds, sticking out of the wall. Each pointing in the direction they needed. He created a platform and started raising it. Raising their potential savior up towards the top of the wall of looped time.
“You’re—he’s walking into a trap,” Weaver said. “They’ll see him. They’re looking right at him.”