Hail to the King (Part 4)

Sam's day had, in a nutshell, gone down the drain.

It had started out okay, really. Christine, as part of the plan to gather more members of the 44, had drawn up a map and told him to basically meander down a path whilst the others split up in search of more help. The reason she'd given was that they would be able to quickly gather forces, supplies and more, whilst Sam, who didn't really know the land at all, would just head to the place where they would all meet up and act as a signpost. Then they would all just head back to where they were needed and get ready to kick the Magpies out.

Sam was fine with that - meandering was something he'd done a lot, back in his home world. Often, he and his troupe would do just that, wandering between villages and looking for problems to solve when the Kingsguard wasn't badgering him to kill the latest maniacal warlord or whatever. And one of the nice things about meandering was that it didn't require life-or-death decisions or unnecessary pain. Nobody tried to randomly attack you

Or so he thought, until the quintet of strangers jumped him when passing by some ruins.

The first thing he knew about it was when a massive slab of concrete came hurtling out of nowhere at him. He didn't even question it at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight, he had to wonder just how it got here - he wasn't even aware there was anyone who knew how to make concrete! Regardless, he let his reflexes do the talking, pulling out the Grandius and swinging before he had time to even think about what exactly he was doing, or how ridiculous it was going to look. Thankfully, the latter never even crossed his mind - if it did, he probably would have been reduced to a jammy paste on the floor.

Long story short, he cut the concrete in half, and let the two halves crash to the ground on either side of him. Standard procedure - he'd done it enough times in his career that he'd got it down pat. Now, all he had to do was to find the guy responsible and lecture him about proper concrete-throwing safety, so he wouldn't have to do it again. Maybe it'd be just some big, dumb brute, like a minotaur or giant, who had been playing stepping stones. Or maybe it'd be some megalomaniac idiot testing his new concrete-throwing weapon - wouldn't be the first time.

So when the man dressed in the Kevlar-paneled bodysuit stepped forward, he was somewhat disappointing.

The man didn't look like much, in all honesty. Close-cropped brown hair, angular face and green eyes presented a rather plain appearance. All that really stood out about him was the way the ground seemed to quiver beneath his feet as he walked, as well as what he was wearing. And once again, hindsight kicked him in the butt as, only a few moments later, would he recognize the insignia of the spread-winged, two-headed crow-like bird upon the chestplate of the outfit. Really, it had not been one of Sam's days for quick thinking.

"Sorry about that," said the stranger as he came into view. "I wasn't really aiming for you."

"Well, I should hope not," Sam retorted as he straightened up. "You don't just throw concrete about like-"

"No," responded the man, patiently. "That was meant to be the signal. But my throwing's not so good, you see."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Signal-?"

And then something dashed by him in a speeding blur and socked him in the jaw, hard enough to send him cartwheeling through the air.

He hit the ground in a plume of dust, rolling a short way before managing to regain his senses enough to plant the blade of the Grandius in the ground. The blade acted as an anchor, bringing him to a skidding stop on his belly, before he began to scramble to his feet, casting his head about in search of the attacker. But no sooner was he upright than the blur came past, and this time the punch knocked him to the floor and sent him sliding backwards, kicking up dirt as he went, and this time he was too dazed to stop himself bashing his head on a jutting stone slab. That was gonna  hurt in the morning.

"Fuck," he muttered as he struggled to his feet - not the first expletive he'd uttered that day. Normally he'd be ready for these kinds of dumb ambushes - he'd had them happen to him more than enough! How the hell could he have missed any of this? And, more importantly, why the hell did he think that this was not a thing that could have happened!? He must have left some brain cells behind, somewhere on the road, for something like this to-

Okay, keep calm, said his brain. Get up. Clear that ringing from your head. Now, remember what it was they said in the academy...

Carefully, Sam adjusted his stance so that he was in a sort of half-crouch, one knee close to the ground and a hand on the hilt of the Grandius. His eyes closed, reducing his vision to blackness, and immediately his other senses kicked themselves into higher gear to compensate. The chill of the spring air magnified itself around his skin, the smell of dirt and grass grew stronger in his nose, and all sound suddenly became louder and sharper - all the hallmarks of Uber senses coming into play.

And picking up the distant sound of rapid footsteps blurring together.

Wait for it, muttered his brain. Wait...

They came almost too fast to track. Twenty meters, fifteen meters ten five two- 

NOW.

The Grandius swung, and the flat end of it smacked into something that definitely wasn't air. The impact nearly jolted the blonde's arms from his sockets, but it was much worse for the green-dyed woman who took the weapon right in the stomach. She actually curled up around the sword, crying out as the wind was driven from her body, before shooting backwards about three or four metres away to collapse onto her back, dazed. If Sam were the type to make quips, he'd have made some pun about batting a thousand or whatever.

But he was not. What he was was annoyed and very bruised. So he straightened up, shouldered his sword and approached the dazed woman, intent on getting answers.

"Alright, you," he began to say, and then yelled as an arc of electricity scoured the ground between him and his intended target.

Looking up, he groaned with irritation as another figure came into the picture - a man, wearing the same kevlar or spandex-esque outfit as the other two, but much taller and muscular than his companions. His hair was a shock of white that stuck out from his head like a toothbrush from an insane asylum, and his eyes were still glowing from the discharge of power he had let off in Sam's direction. His hands continued to crackle with electric power as he advanced, and the air became thick and tingly at his approach into the scene.

"Oh, come on!" growled Sam as he turned to confront the newcomer. "How many of you are there?!"

There was a sudden rush of air next to him, and when Sam looked, the green-haired woman was gone. Ugh, obvious what had happened here - the other douche had come out to defend her. Well, wasn't that just peachy.

"That," retorted the man as he lifted his hands threateningly, "is none of your business." and he let off a hissing spark from one hand, just to make his point clear.

Remember that earlier part, when I mentioned hindsight? Well, it was just about then that it kicked in, as the spark illuminated the crow symbol on the stranger's chest, drawing Sam's eye to it even as he dodged the attack. Immediately, his brain screamed at him, a mixture of horror at recognizing it and anger at himself for not doing so at least a minute ago, when it would have helped out.

"You're with the Magpies?" he nearly shrieked.

"Correct," intoned the stranger. "And we are all here to kill you."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam's blood was up now - no way was he going to let himself be shoved around by a bunch of Magpie mooks. He'd taken on them before, when he was younger, and he'd do it again - only this time, he had an ace up his sleeve that he was sure nobody from the organization knew about. They probably never even expected the Destined Hero to be here at all, and they had no idea of the Asterokinesis that he'd learned on Porphyrion. Wait until they got a load of what he could do now!

Buoyed by such a thought, Sam quickly flung out one arm, palm spread open. He fully expected to see the fire gushing out, to hear the nameless Magpie cry out in horror as his body was scorched-

Instead, his free arm merely spat sparks that fizzled out on the ground below.

Sam blinked, then looked back at the Magpie, who was staring at him with an expression of complete boredom and disinterest. Sam noticed it, of course, and was driven by enough indignant anger to make a second attempt at frying his smug face off. All he got was the same results as before - an unimpressive splutter of flame that did nothing to impress. A third time, and nothing happened at all - merely a sort of jolt up his arm, but no results.

What was happening?

"Something wrong, Destined Hero?" The tone of his enemy was almost derisive.

"Fuck off," snapped Sam, not in any kind of mood for this shit. "How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?" was the almost innocent retort.

"Blocking my powers!"

By way of response, the stranger shrugged. "Trade secret I can't tell."

-------

"What did they call this thing again, Sparky?"

"Don't call me that!"

"Your surname is Spark and you have electricity powers. The kids at your school must have been douchebags."

"Leave him alone, Kimberly. Phillip, answer the question.

"...the locals call this a Millstone. Apparently, it's capable of blocking the powers of the superhumans who frequent this place."

"But does it work on Ubers?"

"That's what we're hoping, Nora. The boss tweaked it to try and affect the neurons that control Uberpowers. That way, we'll be able to block the Destined Hero from using his Asterokinesis on us."

"With any luck. I mean, how can we trust the reports that he's a Class A now? You know what our spies are-"

"Hey, I don't remember asking for your opinion, Lucas. You're only here for the distraction, remember? And not even a good one - what good's concrete manipulation, of all things, in a place like this?"

"...sorry I asked, Irving."

"Damn straight. Now, get into position, everyone..."

-------

"So, Class A, huh?"  
    
Sam turned, and his heart almost sank to his feet when he saw another Magpie soldier standing upon the remains of a crumbled wall. This one was built like some prize fighter from an underground MMA circuit, lean and tough, his head shaved and his piercing eyes gloating down at him from above. He was also wearing the biggest shit-eating grin he'd seen in his life, which meant that A) he must have had something to do with his powers being blocked, and B) he was enjoying every second of it

Son of a bitch, how did they know...?

"How's that working out for ya?" crowed the newcomer - there were a lot of those showing up now, weren't there? "I thought you were supposed to be strong, but I reckon I could take you on, no trouble!"

"You and what army?" snarled the blond swordsman, lifting the Grandius and advancing. The wall didn't look very solid, having been worn down a lot by the passage of time, but obviously the cocky little bastard was standing on it just fine, so Sam reckoned he ought to have no problems with it. It would only take a quick leap to get up to his level, and then he could-

"This army!"

Before Sam could get exasperated by the sound of a fifth voice, the ambush was sprung. Limbs that should not have been able to stretch as far as they did suddenly lashed out from somewhere, reaching the blond in a matter of seconds, and Sam gave a cry as his arms and legs were promptly entangled. Then a sharp yank pulled him backwards through the air, making the Grandius drop from his hand and clatter to the ground, too far for him to try and retrieve. To cap off this indignation, Sam's back painfully introduced itself to what remained of a stone pillar, knocking the breath from his body and stretching his limbs backwards and away from him as he became pinned to the structure.

At this point, the swordsman was dulled to the near-constant surprises this event was throwing at him. So when a young woman's head, pigtails dangling and childish grin on her face, lowered down in front of him on a neck that stretched like a snake's he had no witty retort on hand. Even if he could think of one, he didn't really have the motivation to say it anymore.

"Hi," trilled the woman, cheerily. "Name's Springback! Nice to meetcha!"

"Good work," called the stranger on the wall, jumping down from the wall and approaching the trapped Nicodemus. "Now, where'd Rushdown go?"

"Right here, Foundry!" came the voice of the green-haired speedster, the rest of her catching up as she screeched to a stop next to her commander. The one known as Tempest joined them, and together the trio gathered around their ensnared captive, glaring with less-than-friendly intent. Galvanized by the ominous atmosphere of the whole situation, Sam began to struggle and pull at the rubbery ropes keeping him pulled against the pillar - but to no effect, as they remained strong. Moreover, the pressure the tugging put on his chest left him short of breath, forcing him to stop before he could make any headway.

"Where's Metro?" Tempest asked. "Still keeping watch?"

"Yep," responded Rushdown. "He'd be no use here, anyway. Big wimp."

"Right then." Foundry cracked his knuckles, grinning, as his skin suddenly began to morph - a metallic gray coating bloomed all over his body with an accompanying scraping sound. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the change, recognizing his foe for a Class E+ - dubbed "mutants" for their unusual powers that didn't fit the standard "kinetic" label of most Ubers. Of course, he knew that calling him a mutant was liable to get him punched in the groin, even if he was going to get punched in other places.

"Let's play a game," grated Foundry with sadistic glee, "of Punch the Destined Hero. Everyone ready?"

Then Metro flew over everyone's heads, screaming like a baby.

He landed in a bush somewhere, but nobody was paying attention to him. All the others, minus Sam and Springback of course, had whipped around in the direction he had come from, immediately on the alert. Tempest lifted his hands, letting the electricity crackle once more, whilst Rushdown began vibrating again, ready to move at a moment's notice.

"...what the fuck was that?!" hissed Foundry, at last.

-------

"Victoria will go with Walter here…the wolf will ensure their trust. Chastity will go here….Valse here…and I’ll go here. That leaves you to follow this route, Sam. You can follow a map with our compass, right? Normally I’d have you come with me…but the people I’m meeting with trust me and will NOT trust you. Better you go ahead.”

"Eh, no problem. Only what if something goes wrong, like one of us gets jumped or something?"

“Probably not going to happen…unless you think the Magpies would have sent those kind of forces out?” Christine said. Valse grunted. “Agreed.”

“He thinks that would end worse for the Magpies.” Chastity said, explaining to Sam.

“There’s worse places they could stumble over than Megan’s Woe. Worse people too. This is a very dangerous world if you’re not careful…and I don’t think those birdbrains will be careful.” Victoria said.

Sam nodded. "Gotcha. I'll try and see you at the rendezvous, then."

--------

Sam wasn’t quite sure where she came from. Behind one of the walls, maybe. All he knew was when he realized she was there, she was dropping out the sky.

Women. Ash surrounded himself with them. His wife, his sister, Chastity…

None of them. Someone new.

…you silly bint, you’ll get scalped.

That was the first thing Sam noticed about the woman; her hair. Such incredibly long midnight black hair, going all the way down to the back of her knees. As black as her clothes…

The second notable thing. Sam had noticed that when it came to higher class armor, or Intricacies, there tended to be a mix of the old and the new in their looks. Ash wore treated leather with modern pouches; Chastity wore chain mail over skintight spandex (or what looked like spandex).

This girl though…she looked like she’d stepped out of Sine’s closet. Her armor was completely modern, all dull plastic and hooks and vests, the armor of people who expect bullets and explosions. Black hair. Black armor.

Cold black eyes. Not angry. Not surprised. Just an icy assessment, on a frozen, dully blank gaze. There was a sense of deep disquiet in the gaze…albeit not like the monstrous vision at Megan’s Woe. That had been a complete absence of humanity. Here, there was humanity, just…

Scabbed over. Covered in scar tissue. Eyes that had seen things.

Eyes that deemed the thousand yard stare to be beneath them.

She dropped down and rose up in one fluid motion, walking towards the group in a slow, measured step.

"Hey!"

Those were Foundry's first words as he stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. The other two bunched around him, all three presenting a solid wall of angry superhuman that vibrated on one side, fizzed and sparked on another and clanged horribly in the middle. Neither of them seemed fazed anymore - in fact, having identified the possible culprit behind the interruption, they were back in business.

"This is private business, lady!" the metallic man snapped. "Fuck off!"

She never broke her stride.

"Warned you!" hollered Rushdown. And before anyone had time to blink, she zoomed forward.

Sam wasn’t quite sure how he saw it. Lots of practice in battle, he guessed, and still being high on adrenaline. Things seemed to slow down for him.

The woman (Freaking Rapunzel) took a small, almost dainty step aside (It’s just a jump to the left…!).

The dull sound of Rushdown’s knee shattering as the woman lashed out with her foot and kicked her right as she ran past echoed through the ruins, Rapunzel spinning off the impact and resuming her stride, even as Rushdown screamed, crashed, and burned in that order, flying through the air before she hit the nearest wall. Face first.

Another dull crack.

(…wait, what?)

That was the thing about the 44, or at least Ash’s group. They didn’t like to kill. They were so often head and shoulders in strength above their enemies, and a lot of them had adapted a semi-benevolent mindset. Disable, defeat…only kill if you have to…

(She just…did it. She didn’t even glance back…)

The act didn’t scare Sam, he was no shrinking violet. But after all his current interaction, the sudden return of the dark side of the coin of battle and war was jarring.

But not as jarring as it was for the Magpies.

"Holy shit..."

Sam almost jumped when he realized the voice came from Springback. But this was soon replaced by blessed relief as she released him, and he staggered forward with a gasp as his aching limbs sang merry praise to heaven. Even as he gulped down air, though, he was still focused on what the other remaining two Magpies were doing.

It looked very much like they were shitting themselves.

"...fuck this," Foundry snapped at last. "I didn't sign up for this! Bail, BAIL!" And he immediately turned and began running, away from the stranger and the scene of battle. There was a commotion behind him as Springback disengaged herself from the pillar and turned to flee as well, and Sam wondered just how far she was going to get.

Tempest, wracked by indecision, stood where he was.

Daggers.

Twin daggers, in sheathes on her inner forearms. Somehow longer than the forearms, somehow drawn with fingers. Twin long lengths, lacking any sort of cross guard, black hilts, midnight blades.

Her stride never broke as she approached Tempest.

To his credit, the Electrokinetic had learned something from the demise of his comrade. Rather than simply rushing forwards, he actually leaped back about a metre, letting off a war cry as he fired another bolt of lightning at his incoming enemy. If close quarters wasn't an option, then maybe long range would be better.

Right?

Fair idea. He hit his target.

Or rather, he hit one of her daggers.

It flew out of her hand, and suddenly Tempest found himself in a pinball game. And he was one of the score-points switches, the dagger bouncing around like a mad thing, crackling with the power he’d fired into it. Even the best warrior would have been distracted.

Tempest was not exactly the best, and as Sam watched, Rapunzel walked right up to him and planted her other knife in his chest. No sooner had the first sound of pain escaped his lips then she seized his hair, and then began rapidly ramming the dagger into him, again and again, stab after stab, like she was using an ice pick to break up an exceptionally large block of frozen water. Blood splattered and sprayed.

Besides the slightest pinch of concentration, her expression never changed, finally letting the corpse drop as she stepped over it, a flick of her wrist casting blood on the ground as her other dagger flew back to her, finding her empty hand.

Then she fired them both off in a snapping throw, and Foundry and Springback found they hadn’t gotten far away enough to avoid playing the mean pinball.

For the moment, Sam stood there, as if fascinated by what was happening.

Then one of the daggers careened towards him, and he noticed it too late. But rather than skewering him, it merely bounced off his chest and made him stagger backwards, feet slipping on the dusty ground. Thank goodness for... Whatever the hell his shirt was weaved from, he forgot exactly. But it was more than making up for looking like Jackson Pollock ate some dodgy seafood.

Just as quickly, he came to his senses and dashed for the Grandius. No way was he going to risk himself getting into trouble.

It was around then that Foundry noticed something. The daggers were flying all over the place, and poor Tempest was a good measure of the kind of damage they ought to be doing. But they weren't - every single time they struck him, they merely bounced off of his skin, leaving no mark or cut whatsoever. Enchanted or computerised they may have been, but they couldn't hurt him at all. Springback, on the other hand, was dancing for her life. Well, sucked to be her.

With a cry of triumph, he snatched one out of the air as it came at him, turning to the advancing woman.

"Nice, try, bitch!" he crowed. His fist clenched around the dagger, squeezing.

It didn’t break.

So he tried it with two hands.

Still nothing.

"Fuck!" he cursed, throwing the weapon down. If he didn't think of a plan soon...

"Irving!" Springback, having missed her companion, had turned to witness this confrontation. "You said to bail! The fuck are you doing?!"

"Her daggers can't hurt me!" Foundry roared back. "Keep going, I'll hold her off!"

“WHERE’D SHE GO?!”

Foundry didn’t get a chance to answer. Rapunzel, it turned out, was behind Springboard. She reached up an arm and snaked it around the woman’s head, grabbing…her forehead.

Yanking her head back.

The dagger flew through the air, slicing true through the offered throat. The woman shoved Springboard’s thrashing corpse down, holding out a hand as the dagger bounced off another rock and back into her grip, the woman kicking the ground and causing the second dagger to fly up into her hand.

“SHIT!”

That was all Foundry could say in response to that. Now there was genuine fear on his face, a rictus of terror finally pushing it's way past his bravado and callousness. He took several steps back, torn between running to collect his slain comrade and vacating the premises.

It was a costly moment of hesitation.

The daggers flew, taking Foundry right in the chest. Good news: his metal form held.

Bad news: his stance didn’t. The impact sent him flying backwards, crashing through numerous walls of stone, even as the daggers spun back into the woman’s grip.

She didn’t walk this time, instead breaking into a series of quick leaping dashes after her target.

Sam returned just in time to see all of that happening.

"Hey, woah!" he cried. "Wait up, I'm confused and more than a little unnerved!" He knew how ridiculous that sounded as he took off after the fleeing stranger, but it was the best explanation he could think of.

He didn’t just find the girl and Foundry. He found Metro, who had finally gotten out of the bush and, with an injured leg, was trying to crawl away.

The woman had deviated away from Foundry, who was banged up but still alive. She was heading for Metro.

"Please," he croaked out, averting his eyes. "Leave me alone... I..."

The woman hooked a foot under him, flipping him onto his back.

"No!" His feet scrabbled on the cobbles, failing to find purchase. "I don't want to die! Please!"

For the first time, the woman’s expression changed. No longer cold judgement. She seemed to be re-assessing something only she could sense.

Then in a swift move, she hooked the small canister out of one of her pouches, a small popping noise emitting from it as the greenish-white liquid sprayed down onto Metro’s hands, gluing them to the ground. Another spray as the woman stepped off pinned his feet down, and she tucked the canister back into a pocket as she walked on, heading for Foundry.

In her moment of deliberation, he'd recovered himself. Now he stood, clutching his side and heaving in great gasps as pain landed through his ribs with every movement. And upon seeing his situation, cornered in a ruined church with a murderous... thing, his terror morphed into something else. Something primal and instinctive, perhaps his only way out of the fate that was approaching him.

As the saying goes...

"SHITFUCKER!"

The cornered rat will fight the cat.

Although most rats don't reach for the skull with the intent to crush it.

And most cats don’t think the rat will fight back. The woman dodged aside and sliced, sparks flying from the blow. But no blood.

Foundry took a few more shots, all missing. The woman responded with slices, stabs, and kicks. None of them worked. His metal form, it seemed, was too damn hard.

So was the fist that slammed into her ribs, knocking her off-balance. It put her head in range to be finally grabbed, but it seemed that the Uber had decided to let some spite flow into his actions. For instead of crushing, he simply dragged it down, ramming a knee into her face with enough force to ring around the chapel. She jerked back from the impact, and it was a miracle nothing had broken or splintered.

"Hah!" laughed Foundry, and went for a haymaker. That one knocked her end over end, the woman crashing through a stone wall that collapsed on her.

"Yeah, you like that, bitch?" Foundry roared and beat his chest, the metallic clanging like anvils on a gong. "That's what happens when you fuck with the Magpies! Now get on your knees and-"

Crunch.

Foundry stopped. Realization came over his face.

And he turned to find Sam, glowing with fiery power, holding up the remnants of the Millstone in one hand and grinning sardonically.

"I did wonder," the blonde explained as he dropped the shattered device, "why my powers weren't working earlier. I mean, I don't usually get my ass kicked by a girl made of rubber, or a guy who throws concrete. So I decided to have a quick look around whilst you were distracted, and presto. Really, I shouldn't have expected anything else from you Magpies - blocking powers just isn't kosher, you know?"

The world around him turned to burnished gold.

"Now, let's get this shit over with."

And the fire that lashed out, striking Foundry and engulfing him in blazing star-heat, was probably the biggest and best Nicodemus the Destined Hero had put out so far. He was, in fact, quite proud of the way he could see the metallic Magpie beginning to glow from the sheer heat of it - a visible effect was always nice. It meant your awesome, last-ditch heroic comeback was working-

...wait.

Was he laughing?

"Hah! Asterokinesis!"

...fuck, he was.

"You stupid little twat," growled Irving Taylor, not even budging an inch. "Ever heard of convection heat? Your girlfriend and Metro the Useless are gonna fry first, not me! I'll just be sitting here, toasty warm, whilst you all suffocate to death! And don't even think of trying to punt me through a wall - I'm ten times your weight, even if you are a Class A!"

For a moment, Sam faltered. He obviously hadn't thought this one through, had he? Was he really the kind of guy who'd put other people at risk to win a war of attrition like that? Not exactly your best decision, Sam.

He quickly turned the fire off, and waited for the light to dim down. And then realized the light was coming from Foundry, and swore. A Ferroderm was bad news - a Ferroderm that was several thousand degrees hot and not even feeling it was arriving at work to find a sacking notice from your boss on the desk.

"You tried, I'll give you that." Foundry continued to sizzle, obviously enjoying the moment. "But we don't need any more Destined Heroes. Not where Godfather's taking us, anyway. No room for ‘em, you see. Which means..."

The rocks shifted, the woman finally forcing her way out from under them. No longer coldly judgemental. Now she looked coldly angry, a drip of blood running from her forehead across her right eye.

"Oh, look who's back." Foundry turned, clearly not impressed that his other adversary was still standing. "Want some more, huh?"

The woman slowly raised her daggers, holding them both in front of her, framing the molten man between them, seething with heat.

An ugly laugh rippled through the Magpie at the sight. "I'll take that as a yes."

Charging forward, he swung one white-hot fist at her head.

Dodge. A faster dodge. And…

The woman swung the daggers outward, like she was making a swimming butterfly stroke.

And just like that, Foundry was no longer burning hot. The heat was yanked from his body like a wrapper off a candy, the sudden shunt of temperature cramping his muscles and bringing him to a dead stop. Sam, trying to figure out a plan or spot an opening, goggled.

That’s…Chastity’s trick! Heat manipulation via Stream…!

Chastity used said trick to help manifest her fire. Rapunzel, on the other hand, called the shimmering clouds to her, the wavy miasma shifting and twisting into crackling electricity.

Elemental manipulation…

Then the woman kicked Foundry right in the jaw. It didn’t much move him, but it was enough to snap his mouth shut, even as a burst of electricity arced from the woman’s foot into his head, the woman spinning around, tossing her daggers into the air…

Grabbing her canister, aiming and firing it directly at Foundry’s face, the gunk splattering onto him. Not much left…

…Enough to block up his nose.

Foundry looked confused for a bit. Sam’s expression mirrored his. The daggers fell back into the woman’s hands.

Then Foundry realized he couldn’t open his mouth. After his jaw first refused to respond, and his attempt to pull it open also failed, it clicked for Sam.

Electricity. Electromagnetism. A metal man. Lockjaw. Fucking magnets, how do they work?

They work by sealing a metal man’s mouth shut, even as he tried and failed to claw guck off that was blocking his nose. He couldn’t breathe.

The woman stood and watched, Waiting. Cold. Angry.

I was at this moment that Sam, who had been watching from the sidelines for a bit, decided he ought to speak up.

"Um... Hello?"

He couldn't lie, he felt rather nervous. After all, this woman brutally slaughtered three people right in front of him, and most of the time he'd be okay with that. He was no stranger to brutal slaughter. But the cold, almost clinical way she'd done it was more than a bit unsettling. And this... Well, this wasn't the quick death a sword through the skull normally offered.

It was a bit much, to say the list.

"Hey, um," he tried. "Thanks for saving me and all. But... Maybe suffocating a dude is a bit too over the top? Like, I'm not a big fan of long, drawn-out death, you understand. It's the principle of the thing."

The woman ignored him. She just watched. And Sam realized that Foundry technically had two choices. Choke to death, or…

Well, if he wasn’t metal any more, he couldn’t have his jaw magnetically sealed shut.

"Oh, shi-"

That was as far as he got before, with an almost painful grinding noise, Foundry returned to normal. His jaw snapped open, a scream tearing from his mouth as he regained his breath and began snorting the gunk from his nostrils. Realising what would happen if he was given the opportunity to recover his breath, Sam raised his blade and charged-

-only to receive a punch that made him somersault backwards into a wall.

"YOU FUCKS!" screamed Foundry, once he had recovered his breath.

Then the dagger flashed out, and he had another reason to scream.

The woman could have killed him right then and there. She was fast, even faster now that her powers weren’t being blocked, and she knew what she was doing. Instead, she cut. Foundry yelled, the pain distracting him, keeping him from turning back to metal.

Then she cut him again. And again.

Sam could only stare for a few eternal seconds. Dear god, it was like she was trying to skin him alive. Cut. Cut. Cut.

Worse people too…silly bint, you’ll get scalped…

The next thing the woman knew, Sam was in front of her, and her daggers were glancing off the Grandius.

"Okay," he snapped, asterokinesis flaring again. "That's enough. You wanna kill a dude, fine. But this is just borderline torture and I am not fucking okay with that. I met someone who was as creepily into cutting as you are, and I spent days as a nervous wreck because of it. But at the end of it all, it taught me four really important words that got people to respect me a bit more.

"Not on my watch."

Foundry staggered back, bleeding from multiple places at once. His face shifted between agony and confusion, unsure of exactly what was going on.

She stopped.

She looked at him. Curious. Assessing. Blood dripping from her weapons.

Her voice was a sibilant whisper, under which spoke of a fury that was as intense as his own desire. But not directed at him.

“Look out behind you.”

Foundry had his moment. He turned back, wounds sealing shut, a scream of rage and hate bubbling forth from within as he charged.

The woman shoved him aside even as Sam started to react, her other hand snapping out and slamming the dagger into Foundry’s mouth.

Still can’t cut…

A follow up palm strike, slamming his teeth closed on the dagger. Another burst of electricity locking up his mouth.

Still can breath what is she…

She dodged the confused punch. She crouched low.

She jumped. She caught a great deal of air, Foundry’s head snapping up, the dagger’s hilt still extending out of his mouth.

Later, Sam would realize where he’d seen her kind of boots. Christine also wore them, Intricacies that allowed an ‘air jump’, kicking off nothing for extra momentum. Christine used them to go up…

The woman whirled around and used them to go DOWN, her body lancing down like a meteor…

The dagger wouldn’t break…

Curb stomp.

Sam could just stare dully as the aftermath played out, as Foundry’s body hit the ground, the woman slowly getting up, holding out her hand. Her dagger fell into it, and with a smooth motion she sheathed them both. She gave Sam one last assessing look. No judgement. No opinion on Sam’s choice. Just…some kind of analyzing gaze.

Then she turned and walked away.

For a moment, Sam was silent as he tried to marshal his thoughts and come up with a response to that. On the one hand, she'd saved his life, like, twice, and that wasn't something he was going to regret at all. On the other, she was obviously crazier than a bag of hammers - a phrase he still didn't really understand. But he could see how it would apply here.

"...thanks?" he tried.

Real smooth, Sam, his brain scolded him.

She did not respond. Instead, she was heading back to Metro, still stuck on the ground.

Oh, crap.

"Hey, hey!" Sam ran forward, hoping he could intercept before she went knife-nuts again. Not that he really cared for the dude, but he'd stomached enough unnecessary violence for one day.

For his part, Metro had stopped his vain attempts to break free of the gunk since Foundry's untimely death. He now merely lay there, watching the woman approach him with obvious fear in his eyes.

She held out a hand towards Sam. Stop.

Then she crouched over Metro, drawing out one of the daggers. Black death.

“I’m stronger than you.” A more calm tone, though still with an undertone of edge. “This means I can do whatever I want.”

The tip of the dagger, laid against the cheek.

“Is that the kind of world you want to live in?”

Metro shook his head. Very rapidly.

“Neither do they.”

Stab stab…on the gunk around his hands.

“Remember. Or I’ll find you.”

And with two more steps and a leap, the woman was gone, vanishing out of Sam’s line of sight into the distant ruins.

Sam watched her leave, still unsure of what to make of any of the events he'd witnessed.

Then he turned to the still-prone Metro.

"Better do what she says," he offered. "Seriously, I dunno why she didn't shank you, but I don't think you want that to be a thing."

Metro clearly didn't. And whilst he ran from the ruins one way - where he had in mind, Sam didn't know or care - the blonde was continuing on his way. Except a lot more confused, with a lot of disjointed thoughts whirling around in his brain. And the most prominent ones were about that strange woman, stabbing tendencies and all.

He'd have to tell the others.

-------

“…Triangular blades.” Christine said.

It was a bit jarring, how the nice woman could so comfortably inspect a savaged corpse. Then again, she was a doctor, as she looked over Tempest’s remains.

“That mean something?”

“Knives are generally flat…means the wounds can close, or be closed…and used for other things. Triangular blades means the wounds they make are triangles…much harder to close. Far more likely to bleed out without proper medical attention. These are weapons made solely to kill.” Christine said. “They worked even when the Millstone was active? They were still bouncing around like crazy?”

"Oh, so that's what it's called? Yeah, they were doing that. Dunno why, I couldn't budge my powers an inch."

Sam looked at what remained of Tempest and swallowed back the bile. Yeesh.

“Yes…seems like your powers work a lot like ours. It nominally shuts down Stream abilities, Intricacies…the only thing it doesn’t affect is Stream exposure…you know, the condition that leads to Immersion. That, and Emotion Engines. Her weapons must have been Emotion Engines…”

Christine sighed and closed Tempest’s eyes.

“Don’t know her. Must be a new player on the field…the new generation. Post Xaxargas. And she already figured out how to make Emotion Engines…she either has contacts or certain things are happening I don’t like to consider.”

Sam swallowed. That didn't sound good at all.

"...so what do we do?" he asked. "I mean, she's out there, and we don't even know who's side she's on. Couldn't she be, like, a threat to what we're trying to do?"

“I don’t think I could track her, and by the time Victoria gets here from your cry for help, she’ll be long gone. I’ll put her in the back of my head, but…well, she didn’t try and kill you. Probably a good sign…but if she comes back and causes trouble…I’ll deal with her.”

Christine stood.

“Let’s take a moment to bury the bodies. Whatever they were in life, they’re dead now. Anything else is on us. How will the Magpies react to this, by the by?”

Sam shrugged. "Who can tell? I've never met their leader, but from what I know she's not entirely there in the head. Might just shrug it off, might throw a temper tantrum and send people after us. Maybe what's why the others follow her orders to begin with - they can’t tell how she'll react, so they just keep their heads down and hope for the best."

“…Then we need to stop her, for their sake as much as ours.” Christine said. “This is a dangerous world, and as these poor bastards found out, being superhuman won’t save you.”

Sam gave a sort of bitter laugh at that.

"So I've learned."