The Push Chronicles (Book 3): Incorruptible
Page 16
"I hate to give Gassy any credit, but he's absolute right on this one," Wavelength purred as she shifted from her physical form to a rainbow specter. "You know, Doc, maybe we should just deal with the -"
I had started to move when it became obvious that the wind was shifting, but I was surprised when Voltage jumped the gun entirely and directed a tremendous bolt of electricity at Wavelength, jarring and disrupting the light form of the rainbow warrior. As much as I wanted to hear more, it certainly seemed like a brawl was inevitable.
My personal target was the one man who could turn this whole thing into a farce. Doc Bio seemed a bit alarmed that the entire thing had degraded to violence so quickly and the only resistance to my sudden lunge was a chest full of lightning from Gaslight's Tesla gun. You would think that a man so smart would have learned from our last encounter as I bit back the pain from the sharp static discharge, mostly unharmed as I drove a hard punch straight into Bio's chin. His head snapped back and the bald-headed master of biology fell, stunned momentarily.
As I stepped forward to throw a hard punt to the good doctor's temple and take him out as a threat, the foyer around us exploded with the sudden violence of superhuman conflict. This was going to spill out of here and then it was just a short matter of time before it was all-out war in the streets. Which side would be the one to panic and bring that dome down first? My kick turned out to be but a graze as a heavy form impacted me from the side.
The hard tackle brought me to the ground on my left arm, which twinged in pain before it was shunted away. The four-armed cybernetic insect on top of me had a retiring gray-haired man at its core and, despite the grandfatherly look, all four arms with wicked blades rose up to tear me to bits. Even if only two of those arms were real, there was enough strength behind them to put the hurt on.
The insect never had a chance as he was suddenly wrested up by his head, palmed in one of Hexagon's big hands, then blasted across the room by a double-armed punch. The big man winked at me as Quentin rushed past and pulled me up by an arm.
"Clear a path!" Ex shouted over the din of battle. Quentin shot me a knowing glance. The plan was obvious. Get me to Epic, fix him, it all ends. It sounded horribly like another plan we had a short time ago and that turned out for shit. Too bad it was all we had as I sprang to my feet. Quentin smashed a foot in an oncoming attacker's face as I started to beat feet.
Ex and Frost blasted a torrent of ice and snow, backed by a corona of concentrated winds from Twister, blowing a hole in the mass of combatants, straight down the middle of the foyer. What few Crusaders stood up to that torrent were swatted aside by one of Polymer's huge plastic hands. I found myself smiling as I ran. Even though it was the equivalent of running through a minefield during an artillery shelling, I had never felt safer. Archer gave me a cocky grin as he fired off another volley from his mechanical crossbow.
As I rushed out of the foyer, I passed Medusa grappling with several Battalion clones in various states of petrification. Sweeping her strange gaze around to turn an oncoming attacker to rock, she flashed me a thumbs up as I ran over the very door I had broken down in the first place. A large part of me didn't want to leave. I really had come to crave the action, the conflict, having my life on the line, but somehow always coming out on top. Besides, how could I make sure my friends would stay safe if I wasn't there?
Well, the obvious answer was by doing my job.
There was a greater duty, a greater responsibility and that spurred me on and up the steps, taking them two at a time in great bounds. I had promised a certain family to right this wrong. I had promised myself that I would rescue Alma and make it up to her for the mess my mistaken judgment had made her life. Most importantly, this might be the chance to fix not just the horrible violence taking place below and the torment of a city, but the turmoil of the Whiteout itself.
What could the possibilities be if Eric tuned into the hero he had truly wanted to be?
I rounded the last flight of stairs and burst out into the hallway. A few more steps and there I was, before the Senate chambers. Eric had made some remodeling choices, that much was obvious. Instead of the Victorian styling that both meeting chambers had previously been done up in, the exterior walls were now fine marble and the golden doors leading into the chamber itself were now flanked by Grecian columns. Someone, no matter how broken he was, still had his god complex going on.
Flanking the doors were two marble statues, again with the Grecian motif, dressed in fitted bronze armor. My Push sense was in overdrive and there was a deep unreality seated in those statues. I managed to control the urge to vomit all over the nice carpet and decided to approach the situation with confidence. Taking a deep breath, I confidentially strode towards the double doors.
Survival instincts took over when the two statues moved in eerie synch and swung their bronze spears like crude staves at my poor, unprotected skull. I ducked and rolled forward in one swift motion as the blows cut the air above me. Eric had taken to heart what he had learned in our last fight: He couldn't really hurt me much directly, but damn if he could use everything else to do so. Those statues, outside of the animating force, were very real indeed.
I slipped another wild swing and danced to the side. The only advantage I had was speed; these things were a bit on the slow side. Unfortunately, that was all I had. Being solid stone, they had a big advantage on durability and probably strength. On top of that, the constant trembling and muffled sounds from downstairs put a premium on time. I could dance with these things for hours or I could make a play for the goal.
Intelligence also seemed to be something I had over them as I feigned paying attention to the nearest one, playing ignorant as the other moved to flank. My flanker sized me up as I made a leap back from a wide, swinging attack, raising its spear overhead in both hands, ready to swat me like a gnat. A blur of bronze glittered in an arc and there was a tremendous crash.
I was in mid-air, a straight vertical leap over the arc of the swing, as the spear tore a hole in the ground, sticking in the shattered wood under the carpet. That would only occupy Contestant One for a few moments, if I hadn't landed with both feet and all my weight on the spear haft. There was a groan of metal as the bronze shaft bent under my feet before I pushed off again, sensing my other sparring partner moving in for the kill. His wide swing slammed, instead, into his fellow's arm with enough force to split the marble, breaking an arm free, while I ended my leap perched on top of Number One's head.
They certainly didn't feel pain so that was only a moment's distraction, one I took full advantage of as I pushed off. Covering my head with both arms, I aimed myself like a human missile for those gilded doors. Thankfully, physics was on my side as I violently crashed through the doors, throbbing pain going up my arms only to be cut off by my force of will.
I hit the ground and tumbled for a few feet. The hit had been jarring enough that there were no cute acrobatics at the end, just a mad scramble to get back to my feet. In retrospect, I need not have worried. The guards stopped at the edge of the doors and returned back to their pedestals.
Around me was a room of sublime beauty. It was as if someone had tapped into the genius of the greatest Classical architects and ordered those minds to make a throne room fit for Zeus, Odin, or Ra. It was literally the stuff of imagination and every carving, every gilded mural, and every furnishing attested to that.
Foremost, in the center of the chamber, was a marble throne with velvet cushions and upon that throne sat my target. Eric Flynn, known to the world as Epic, sat wearily on that throne, hunched over, square chin perched on a fist, elbow on his knees, the other hand unmoving on an armrest. It really was as Archer had said. At his strongest, Epic was a mountain of a demigod, towering above mortal man. Now, he was now probably not much taller than my own five foot ten inch frame. There was still an unmistakable aura of power but there was a wash of cloying sadness that even sank through my own mental defenses.
"Welcome to my throne room, Indo
mitable," Epic slurred, his voice barely echoing unlike its usual boom. "Come to gloat at the king of nothing, have we?"
Chapter 21 Humbled
"So how is this going to happen, I wonder?" Epic slurred as he gestured in the air. A glass filled with something that was certainly alcoholic appeared in a sparkle of white motes. "Are you going to snap my neck mercifully, as if you were to put down a rabid beast? Or perhaps your original intent to stomp upon my head until my skull gives way will be the best bet to quell your furies?"
"I- No!" I shook my head. Certainly I had fantasized about it, but I had checked myself before and I had no intention of that now. "Eric, this has got nothing to do with hurting you."
"I thought that man was dead to you." Down went the booze in one neat shot. "That is what you said, is it not?" If anything, the man under the preternatural shell was even more broken down than the demigod was, at least as haggard as I know I was. Worse, to be honest. "Maybe it is pity for the god I once was that you would stay your hand. After all, you have done nothing but hurt me for months now."
"Stop. Just stop." I walked up to him as calmly as I could. There was a muted explosion of some kind from below. "Look, I am sorry this happened but you gave me no choice."
"No choice? There has always been a clear and obvious choice, Irene." Epic rose unsteadily, more from depression than drunkenness. It hadn't just been a trick of the light or a false perception. He couldn't be more than six foot two now. "I always had a seat set aside for you at my table. Always."
"Sure, on your terms only. Your way only. It was a seat where my feet would be resting on the backs of all the normal people out there." I scowled. It was hard to wrestle months of anger down. I hadn't come here to argue and yet here I was. "You know, the people you said you wanted to protect?"
"Well, my dear, clap yourself on the back." He gave out a throaty, halfhearted chuckle. "You saved them from me, because I am truly the king of nothing. Oh yes, they scurry about, claim to act in my name, but I am just a figurehead. I care not to mingle with that I have created, because what I created was my own hell."
"No, Eric, please, you had every good intention -"
"The quickest path to Hell."
"Maybe, but that intent means something. It's a path to salvation." Between my own anger and the startling depths of his depression, I found I was grasping at any straws I could find.
"What is this now? My arch-nemesis now wants to prop up her punching bag? Did you not have enough enjoyment crushing me the last time?"
"I didn't enjoy a moment of that!"
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Epic crossed his still-impressive arms. I noticed, as Archer had said as well, that he was standing there, not floating, not hovering. "I know you well, Irene. After all, when incensed, your fury is boundless and, let us face the facts, I was the villain, wasn't I?"
"You wanted to take over this city. You hurt my friends." I clenched my fists. "But, all of that aside, you're not the villain."
"Why not, pray tell?" He slumped back into his throne, as if the act of standing had been too much for him. "You have made the points quite clear. I was a tyrant, a bigot, a suppressor of freedom, and a harsh vigilante. By every definition I know, I would never have been the great hero in any comic book."
"Dammit, Eric, we don't have time for your pity party!" I had wanted to assuage his guilt, to try to repair a broken ego, but I was tired and frustrated. More than that, he was right. By every measure, he was right and it was against my nature to fight my own arguments. Still, I had to try.
"People are going to die right below us if we don't get past this bullshit. At the least help me find people who can maybe help."
He let out a harsh sigh and snapped his fingers. There was a shimmering white light, as if the world was washed-out for a moment. A memory stirred for a moment ... the video was like this. Epic didn't film it himself, but ...
That thought was interrupted by the slow drift of a dust mote. It wasn't just slow; its fall was almost imperceptible, even to my accelerated senses. Another hard wave of nausea hit, one I barely managed to fend off.
"There." Eric smiled glumly. "We have plenty of time for my pity party. Now, where were we?"
I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how horrifically sick the constant wave of Push energy made me feel nor was I going to question how exactly his powers were affecting me. Maybe it wasn't me he was affecting but altering the flow of time for the world itself. The implications were staggering but I felt no time could be wasted in pondering them further. Gathering myself, I pushed onward with my argument.
"You getting off your ass and being a hero or, at the least, getting some more help to fix this."
"Your FBI friends I take it? Truly keen minds. Unfortunate that I have no idea what Battalion did with them." The topic seemed to bore him, but I pressed.
"Impossible. You're omniscient, right? Find out!"
"When I said I had no idea, I meant it, my dear." He sighed. "They are beyond my power to sense. Which of course means they are most likely dead. I cannot do much with the dead, as we have seen."
I wanted to hit him. No, I wanted to beat him from wall-to-wall. Rage and grief vied for control of my mind, working in tandem to corrode down my will and give in to what I so badly wanted. The thing that would probably seal our fates for certain. Somehow, someway, I found my center and managed to push on.
"Come on, Eric, you want to say you're the villain, but you can't be. We've both faced those, the real bad guys. Hell, think about Washington. Think about Reaper, the worst villain, the worst monster imaginable. How can you be the villain when he's around?"
"Come now. I thought I was the one with the black-and-white mentality. There are degrees of evil. In comparison to that devil I am but the lesser of the two, hence why we fought him together, alongside your other allies." I was trying to think of another approach when he raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Though ... I am struck by curiosity." He leaned forward a bit. "What game are you playing at, Irene?"
"It's not a game, Eric."
I let out a deep sigh. How was I going to convince him of something that I, the person who had the idea in the first place, was still uncertain? Sure, I had felt confident before I saw just how far gone Eric was. Now ... I still had to try.
"This world you made, it needs you. It needs its big hero to come in and save the day."
"Really? I thought you were filling those boots quite well." He leaned his chin on his fist again, looking amused more than depressed. I guess it was a start. "The unwashed masses have spoken with their beliefs if not with their voices. The people of this city look to you to be their savior so why do you not go save them?"
"You're no idiot. You're a genius, Eric. You know why I can't."
"Ah, I see now." He chuckled. "Where once there was a woman who wanted to wash this all away, who would have smiled despite herself to see the military march in and gun down the Pushed as enemies of war, we have a woman who now wants to save it all. Save everyone, Pushed and normal alike. Truly the soul of a hero.
"Don't bother, my lovely Irene. I tried to be a hero and look where it got me."
"You were never quite the hero you could be but -" I had thought he had paused to let me speak but it had just been for drama as Epic launched himself into his speech, seeming to ignore what I was trying to say.
"All my life I have thought I wanted to be a hero. Someone who stands up for what is right and just, protects the weak, and gives hope to the oppressed. But no one ever told me that trying to be a hero does not make people like you, and it does not make them accept your help. Most of all, simply trying does not always put you in the right.
"Sometimes, all trying to be a hero does is make you the villain in everyone's eyes but your own. And it's times like these when you have to ask yourself if you've failed, or if perhaps this society isn't worth saving?
"I say let it burn. Let man wipe out the Pushed as a bad idea and move on."
The answers were obvious, of course. It wasn't just that he was beaten. He was humbled, crushed, humiliated in front of his cronies and, because of our mysterious agitator, the city, if not the world. More than that, Eric had been beaten by an aberration in his perfect world, something he hadn't accounted for in his fancy equations, and that fact must have made that defeat hurt all the more. Finally, well, I had done it. I may not have loved him anymore, but he was still obsessed, or at least had been, with me. I broke more than his body. I had broken his heart.
I tried to rally my reason and come up with something, anything to say. To counter him. To at least patch that wound enough to at least start to fix things.
My efforts were interrupted by a strange vibration in the air, a vibration that permeated everything. Time suddenly wrenched back to its natural course, the world returning to its normal color. Even the floor four stories up seemed to shift subtly with the shockwave. My ears popped as if the air pressure had suddenly changed. Whatever had caused that shift made Epic stir from his throne, rising once more into the air.
"The dome." He scanned the edges of the room, as if he could see past them. Well, considering he actually could, it wasn't so odd. "Something has brought it down." The last word came out as a whisper. "Impossible."
"There's a lot of that going around lately." Broken record? Yes, I was. "We have to turn that thing back on before -"
"Too late." Epic floated up, diminished but still wreathed in power. Maybe some spark had lit in him or maybe, despite himself, Eric still felt he had to go through the motions. "We have to go. We have to stop him. Stop them." A panel of marble slid out of the ground, suspended by glowing white motes. I hopped on without hesitation.
"Stop who? The military?"
"Yes and no. Yes, no doubt the fools were responsible. No, not them directly."
We rose like a shot, the roof peeling back as if disassembled by the fastest workmen on the planet. The conflict below had seemingly quelled on its own. Perhaps everyone below felt the same thing we had.