Taylor. Just the hero I was hoping to see."
She stopped mid-step in the hallway, eyes narrowing at the sight of Cecil seated casually on the living room couch. "Cecil. What are you doing here?"
Cecil gave a slight shrug, not rising yet. "Relax. I'm here with a proposal."
Taylor didn't relax. Her arms folded tightly across her chest. "A proposal."
This time, he stood. "Fine. I'm here to offer you a job. The GDA wants to bring you in. Officially."
She blinked. That hadn't been what she expected. Not exactly.
"You'd be part of a new initiative to keep things running after the Guardians' deaths," Cecil continued. "Mission-based deployment. Disaster response, threat suppression, rescue operations. You'd be supported of course. The GDA won't be letting you run in blind. We pay well, too—not that I think that's your primary motivator."
Taylor frowned, resisting the reflexive no forming in her throat.
It made sense, unfortunately. Of course the GDA would want her. She was a Viltrumite, daughter of Omni-Man. People had noticed.
But working for an agency? Taking orders? She hadn't even considered it. This world didn't have the same cape culture as her last. No Wards, no PRT. No pressure to conform. She could do what she wanted. Be her own kind of hero.
But… going solo came with a cost.
Her mind ticked through the stark realities of a rogue hero: unreliable income, piecemeal intel, a lack of long-term stability. The only money she could count on was whatever she scraped stealing from criminals, and while she didn't mind roughing it, living off her dad's writing royalties wasn't her idea of independence.
More importantly, information was everything. The GDA was global. Connected. Eyes in places she'd never reach alone. With the kind of threats this world had… going in blind wasn't just risky—it was potentially suicide.
She exhaled through her nose. "Couldn't you have gotten someone else?"
"I'm working on that," Cecil said. "But what the world needs right now is an immediate solution. And you made enough of an impression that you will have to be it."
Taylor studied him. "And if I say no?"
"I walk away. No hard feelings." He paused. "But you keep making waves like you are now, and sooner or later, someone else is going to come knocking. Someone who won't bother asking."
Somehow, that sounded more like a warning than a threat.
Taylor's eyes narrowed. "And if I say yes, what happens if you ask me to cross a line?"
Cecil didn't blink. "You'll have to decide where that line is for yourself. But make no mistake—this job will test it. Sooner or later."
The honesty, she hated to admit, almost made her trust him more. Not like the ones back home had been. Not like the ones who'd said the right things to the public and still threw kids into meat grinders.
She didn't answer immediately. Let the silence stretch, just long enough to make it clear she was thinking.
"…I'll consider it," she said finally. Quiet, but firm.
Cecil nodded, not quite smiling, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes. He hadn't expected an immediate yes—he was too seasoned for that—but a "consider it" was better than most gave him on their best days.
"Good," he said, lowering himself back into the chair. "That's all I ask."
Taylor stayed standing, arms crossed, still eyeing him like she expected the other shoe to drop. She didn't trust him. Of course she didn't. And honestly, Cecil didn't blame her.
"You've got a sharp mind," he added, tone level, "and you're not afraid to use your power to its fullest. I need people like that. People who can make the hard calls."
"Hard calls," Taylor repeated. Her voice was flat. "You're talking about what I did to the Flaxans."
Cecil didn't flinch. "If it saves lives."
She looked away for a second, jaw tight. "Right."
A long silence passed. The television room played low in the background—some puff piece on debris cleanup efforts. Somewhere behind it all, the memory still looped in her head: blood, fire, cheering civilians, twitching Flaxans. Her breathing had slowed, but her pulse hadn't.
She glanced back toward him. "You do this pitch often?"
"More than I like," Cecil admitted as he sat back down. "Less than I should. Most people either want glory, or they don't last long enough to be worth recruiting."
"And me?"
"You're different." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're not in this for fame, or money, or approval. You didn't even seem to care when they were cheering. You're here because someone's got to do it. That is what I'm looking for."
Taylor frowned. "That's not really a compliment."
"It's not meant to be," Cecil said bluntly. "It's a job description."
She let out a humorless breath. Something that might've been a laugh if it weren't so hollow. "You've got the pitch down, I'll give you that."
"I've had practice." His gaze softened slightly. "Look, I won't lie to you. This isn't going to be clean. The people we fight? They're not all Flaxans. Most are human. Some used to be heroes. Some will probably be people you like."
Taylor's lips pressed into a thin line.
"But if you want to protect this world?" Cecil continued, "You need more than raw power. You need intel. Support. Coordination. That's what I'm offering you. You'll still make the calls—you'll just make better ones."
Taylor was quiet. She hated how reasonable he sounded.
Back in her old life—back in… whatever life that had been—she'd seen what happened to people who got swept into systems they didn't control. What happened when you trusted the people behind the curtain.
But… this was different. Wasn't it?
Cecil didn't pretend to be a saint. He wasn't trying to sell her on ideology. Just cold, brutal pragmatism. And as much as it disgusted her, part of her respected it.
"I'll want conditions," she said at last. "I'm not taking orders blind. If I think something's wrong, I walk."
"That's fair," Cecil said. "You get mission briefs ahead of time. You'll be given discretion in the field. And if you say no? I won't force your hand. Unless the world's about to end."
Taylor didn't smile, but her posture eased by a hair.
"And I want intel," she added. "Everything you've got on major threats. Earthbound or otherwise."
Cecil raised a brow, but nodded. "That can be arranged."
"Good." Taylor stepped back toward the door, pausing only to glance at him one last time. "I'm not joining up to be your attack dog. If I'm going to join, I'm going to join to stop people from dying."
"That's the job," Cecil said simply.
She didn't reply, so Cecil took the opportunity to teleport out.
Cecil stood still for a moment, exhaling through his nose. Then, softly, almost to himself, he muttered:
"That girl's going to be a problem."
Donald stepped into view behind him, tablet in hand. "A good one or a bad one?"
Cecil looked into the distance.
"…Ask me again in a year."
Her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, Cecil's words still echoing in her head.
Taylor let out a long breath and walked down the stairs, past framed photos—some old, some recent. Her dad posed next to a man Taylor now recognised as Art, fish in hand. Her mom with a wine glass and a smile. A shot of Taylor from last summer, grinning reluctantly with barbecue tongs in hand while Nolan loomed behind her with his usual heroic posture ruined by an apron that read "Grillmaster of the Galaxy."
She found them in the kitchen. Debbie stood at the stove, one hand expertly flipping something in a pan, while Nolan leaned against the counter, clearly doing nothing useful and pretending he was helping.
Taylor stepped inside just as Nolan said, "I'm just saying, I could technically cook this whole dinner in five seconds—"
Debbie rolled her eyes. "And burn it in four. Let me have this."
Taylor's mouth twitched. "I don't think cooking works like that, does it?"
Debbie glanced over her shoulder, a grin tugging at her lips. "Well, look who's back."
"Taylor," Nolan said, and crossed the space in an instant to pull her into a brief, tight hug. "You okay?"
She leaned into it, just enough to let him know she appreciated it. "Yeah. Just… a lot of thinking to do."
"What about?" Debbie asked, concern clear in her voice.
Taylor accepted a glass of water that Nolan handed her without asking. It was cold, the glass beading with condensation. A small, normal detail in a day that had been anything but.
"Cecil tried to recruit me today."
Nolan's face twisted in annoyance and anger. "What did he say?"
"He didn't sugarcoat it," Taylor said. "Said I'd have to make hard calls. That the job won't be clean."
Nolan grunted. "Just say no, then. He tried the same with me."
"No, I don't mind the hard calls," Taylor said, softly. "I just don't want to lose myself in them."
Debbie reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You won't. You've got a stronger compass than most people twice your age."
"Stronger than mine, sometimes," Debbie added, giving Nolan a sideways glance as she plated the food.
Taylor gave a breath of amusement and took her seat. The table was small—intimate. It was ritual for them, an uncanny reflection of the better days in her old life.
"I told him I'd think about it," she said. "Told him I'd need conditions. Transparency. Intel. Autonomy."
Nolan smiled. "Sounds like he got off easy."
Taylor grinned, just a little.
They ate together, the conversation drifting to lighter topics. Nolan told a story about getting stuck mid-flight because he tried to carry six grocery bags home at once, and one had ripped open mid flight. Debbie recounted a story about a house in a rough neighbourhood that had had its copper piping stolen right out of the walls while she was there. Taylor even found herself laughing when Nolan sheepishly admitted he couldn't tell the difference between coriander and cumin and had tried to bluff his way through a curry.
It wasn't the life she used to know. Wasn't the world she came from. But it was hers.
And as she looked across the table at her parents, one of whom had faced more than his fair share of gods and monsters, and another that had been with her every step of her life, she realised something.
She wasn't doing this alone.
Whatever came next—GDA or no—she wasn't just fighting for strangers.
She was fighting for them. For moments like this. For a world where dinner could just be dinner, and love was unconditional.
She reached for another helping, then paused, meeting Debbie's curious gaze.
"I'm not saying yes," Taylor said quietly. "But… I think I know why I'd say yes."
Debbie smiled a warm smile.
"Good," she said. "That's a better reason than most ever get."
And dinner went on.
Cecil was once more standing in their living room when Taylor went back downstairs. Sleep had been fitful last night, but she would make do.
"We picked this up an hour ago, moving fast." Cecil tapped something on his wrist and suddenly a blurry image of space was on their TV, a red and orange blur in its centre. "He's back. Fifteen minutes till he's breathing our air."
He paused. "I wouldn't ask, Nolan. But with the Guardians gone…"
Nolan floated off the couch. "I'll stop him."
"Who's he?" Taylor said, her words falling on deaf ears.
"Nolan's been home a week, and you want to send him to space?" Debbie stood in front of Cecil. "No. No way."
"I'll go."
"Okay." Nolan said.
"What?"
"He's not that tough. Taylor will make quick work of him."
"That's not my concern here!"
Taylor interjected before the argument could escalate. "Could you define, "not that tough"?"
"Just knock some sense into the guy and throw him back where he came from. Easy."
Taylor furrowed her brow as another issue came up in her mind.
"How do I breathe in space?"
"That's the neat thing." Nolan smiled. "You don't."
"Twelve minutes." Cecil interrupted.
After a quick rundown on what exactly she was supposed to be dealing with, and a short explanation on Viltrumite biology, Taylor was flying off into space.
She'd never tested her top speed, but going into space sure sounded like a good excuse for it.
A flex of her flight muscle and she flew. The atmosphere began to ignite around her, a corona of red and orange that she could just barely feel.
And then she was in space.
It was a weightlessness she could only partly capture with her flight, and she marvelled at it, free floating without having to constantly maintain her height.
And then an impact slammed into her back.
She shot off into the distance, reorienting herself in time to see the alien she was supposed to be fighting. He—if it even was a he—was muscular, orange, and sported a single, large eye.
In her mind, she heard his voice.
Hey, you're early! And you shaved your moustache… And grew out your hair. You're not the same guy, are you?
Taylor didn't waste any time flying towards the alien. She accelerated, faster and faster until she tackled him, the entire force of her impact jarring both their bodies, even as she continued accelerating.
The telepathy, if that was what it was, set her on in edge. The closest comparison she had was the Simurgh, and if what the alien had was even a little similar, Taylor would have to be very careful.
No. I'm his daughter.
The alien's eye widened slightly—and then they crashed into the moon, cratering the grey-white regolith.
Oof! Daughter? He repeated, chuckling. A strange experience, hearing someone else chuckle in her mind. Even better! Let's see if you've got what it takes.
His limbs tensed as he threw her off himself, hard enough that she skidded, leaving a comet trail of moon dust behind her.
He rocketed towards her, a blazing streak of red, white and orange. She met him head on.
They clashed hard enough to kick up more clouds of dust, and the alien was the one to be flung back.
Taylor didn't let up. She flew right at him, slamming him right back into the surface of the moon.
The impact was hard enough to form yet another crater, throwing up a dust cloud that hung stubbornly in the air.
You really picked the wrong planet.
Taylor feinted with her left, and jabbed with her right, then spun around to deliver a hard kick to the chest. She heard something crack as the alien grunted, striking back.
The punch bounced off her ribs and she skidded across the lunar surface, bouncing once, twice, before she reoriented herself. She noticed that the alien's hits seemed a lot more… toothless than her dad's had been.
Oh, I didn't pick it. Your planet was just next on the list.
You talk a lot. Taylor thought as they clashed again, her next blow finally hitting the surprisingly slippery alien.
Occupational hazard. He wheezed, dodging her next blow with a lazy sidestep. I'm an Evaluation officer. I talk, I punch, I file a report. Not necessarily in that order.
Taylor flew out of the way of his next flurry of blows, retaliating with a lightning fast elbow to the face.
He stumbled, disoriented, his brow leaking blood from the impact.
Ow, ow. Alright, time-out.
His telepathic "voice" sounded distinctly discombobulated.
Time out? What're you talking about?
Council mandated timeout. Everyone gets one. I haven't had to use it before yet—but- whoo! You did a number on me.
Why do we get timeouts? That sounds ridiculous.
He shrugged. Hey, I didn't invent the rules.
How are you talking in my head?
The orange alien pointed to his temple. Oh, this? Neural implant. Lets me speak in space.
Why didn't you use it to attack me?
The alien looked like he was about to reply, and then paused. Huh. I didn't think of that. I don't think the implant can do that much, unless I could somehow… I dunno, think fast enough and hard enough to pop your brain like a grub.
Taylor balked at that. What?!
He just smiled benignly. Oh, but you don't need to worry about that. I don't think anyone's managed it yet. Otherwise fights would just be a contest of how fast the fighters can "splat" their opponents.
He made a popping gesture with his hands to emphasise his point.
Ah. Taylor replied. Who even are you?
The alien paused at that. You… you don't know?
All I got was that you were an evaluation officer of some kind. And that you weren't here to conquer our planet or something.
He managed an approximation of a released breath. Oh. No, no. I'm not that kind of alien. You're gonna want to sit down for this one.
Taylor shook her head. I'll stay stand-floating here, thanks.
He shrugged. Your loss.
And then the alien gouged out a piece of the moon, sitting down on the boulder-sized chunk of stone.
Alright, um… As you know, I'm an Evaluation Officer for the Coalition of Planets. I drop by little dirtballs like yours to make sure there's someone capable of defending them, against, you know, planet-conquering monsters, things of that nature.
And why are you here? How did you even know we were here?
The alien shrugged. I don't know what to tell you, your planet signed up for the program. See?
He pulled up a small device, on its screen was a planet that somewhat resembled Earth, though the name above it spelled "Urath".
Request from Urath, for evaluation.
Putting aside how the alien was speaking and apparently reading English, Taylor threw her hands up in frustration. It seemed the English language defeating people's comprehension skills was universal.
Urath? This is Earth!
Earth.
Yes.
Not Urath.
No.
He face palmed. Oh I'm in so much trouble.
The alien stood up, dusting himself off.
Well, thanks for letting me know. I'm Allen, by the way. He reached out a hand to shake.
Taylor took it. Scion.
Scion? Of what?
Don't worry about it. It's an inside joke.
Alright. Well, as long as I don't get fired, I'll see you around, Scion.
Taylor waved an awkward goodbye as Allen leaped off the surface of the moon, kicking up yet another dust cloud as he flew away.
"The Flaxans are back."
Taylor shot to her feet. "Again? Where?"
Robot's voice filtered through her phone. "The same place they attacked last time. At the memorial."
She clenched her fist. "I'll deal with it."
"Scion-" Robot's voice buzzed with static. "I would recommend you to wait for the team. We have no idea what the Flaxans are capable of anymore."
"I said," Taylor interrupted, already tearing through the sky. "I'll deal with it."
This time, she didn't bother slowing down when she broke the sound barrier.
The Flaxans had come back in force this time.
When Taylor arrived—in costume of course—three portals stood at the heart of the city. Three monuments to aggression, humming and swirling with alien energy, each one spilling out fresh squads of armoured invaders in a ceaseless tide. This time, their tech wasn't just better.
They had optimised.
The tanks weren't just sleeker, they were faster, more destructive. Machines that manoeuvred with the speed and control of mountain bikes, pivoting on the asphalt and sending blasts of searing red plasma into and through buildings, tearing through concrete and steel alike with effortless precision.
Soldiers in blue and white exosuits marched in formation, coordinated with eerie precision. Some of them even had shields now—hardlight constructs that looked like they might deflect Rex's blasts, or even Eve's.
But not her.
Taylor crashed into the first squad before they could even register her arrival, so busy firing into the fleeing crowds of mourners and memorial visitors as they were.
The air around her ripped into a hurricane gale as she came to a sudden stop, bowling over the nearest soldiers, even despite their enhancements.
She grabbed the nearest one by the ankle and swung him, his body whipping through his comrades like a flail.
Behind her, the Teen Team arrived—Eve shielding civilians, Kate splitting into a dozen duplicates to flank the line, Rex going for the most closely packed squads. Robot hovered overhead, drones launching in every direction.
But none of them matched her.
Taylor ripped through the Flaxans like they were paper in a storm.
She didn't need time to assess.
Her fists were the strategy.
One soldier raised a rifle. She was already there. She punched through the hardlight shield—it shattered like stained glass, shimmering fragments evaporating before they hit the ground—and then her hand went through his helmet. The faceplate caved inward with a sickening crunch, and the soldier crumpled, lifeless.
She flung him aside, landing on the next squad before his body hit the ground.
They fired.
Plasma bolts lanced across her suit—scorching deep gouges, burning flesh—they'd upgraded their arsenal, it seemed. But the pain didn't stop her from continuing, driving her knee into another soldier's chest so hard it caved. A tank spun towards her; she grabbed the vehicle's front, ripped it off its treads, and slammed it back down into a nearby squad. Blood sprayed from beneath as the bodies crunched under the unyielding metal.
They'd made it lighter, and more durable. That only made it easier to use it as a weapon.
Flaxans scattered in all directions, trying to form back up into some semblance of coordination.
She threw the tank towards the portal, splattering ranks of the aliens before they could so much as blink
She grabbed two by the head, smashed them together—both helmets cracked, and they fell. Another tackled her from behind, some kind of glowing crystal sword clutched in a hand.
She reached back, tore it out of his hands, and punched through his chest.
The sword, she shattered, whipping the pieces through the air and into the guts of another group on the other side of the plaza.
More and more of them were turning towards her, weapons lighting up the air with heat and power.
She blurred forward, grabbing one of the rifles from the owner's hands, before shoving it right back into the owner's chest. Both the armour and the rifle crumpled in unison, the plasma thrower overloading inside the armour with a whine.
It exploded, turning the Flaxan into a ball of coruscating fire.
Gore slicked her forearms already, her costume nearly soaking in blood.
Across the battlefield, the Teen Team fought hard.
Rex's bombs exploded into bursts of light and heat, blowing Flaxans off their feet. Yet their effects were noticeably weaker on the exosuits than they had been before.
Eve's constructs shielded what few civilians remained, all the while lashing out with spears of pink energy that sizzled against the shields, only barely breaking through.
Kate's clones swarmed a squad of Flaxans, ripping off helmets and bashing in heads.
But they were being pushed back.
A tank turned to Kate, firing a swarm of drones that punched through her clones in a rhythmic pattern, leaving twitching corpses in their wake. Rex shouted something, but was blasted off his feet by his own projectiles, turned back at him by a small device in a Flaxan's hand. He slammed into a building with a sickening crack, and lay there, unmoving.
Robot crumpled out of nowhere, no sign of interference to be seen.
Eve's barrier flickered—then collapsed as three different tanks fired in unison.
She tried to rebuild—another drone latched onto her spine. She screamed, frozen in place.
Taylor started toward her—but then they arrived.
A trio of Flaxans in massive suits of power armour, each one nearly eight feet tall. One of suits of white and gold ripped Taylor from the air and slammed her into the ground, cratering the already weakened asphalt.
"Die!"
He said, in English.
Before Taylor could make sense of it though, the Flaxan smashed a fist into her, and she felt something in her chest crack.
She ripped herself free of the thing's grasp, catching herself in midair with a gasp. She rocketed forward again, fists first.
He caught it, twisted, and smashed her straight back into the ground. The pavement cratered even more, and she coughed up blood.
The soldier brought his fist down, and she rolled, the blow obliterating the concrete beside her. The others followed suit, each one missing by mere fractions of inches as she rolled. Taylor kicked off, driving her elbow into the nearest one's side—denting the armour, but not destroying it as she'd hoped.
In response, he grabbed her throat, lifted her up, and threw her through a building.
Steel and concrete shattered around her as she crashed through wall after wall, finally ending up embedded in the wall of a conference room, blood smeared around her like a signature.
Her helmet cracked, the bottom half falling off entirely as it gave under the heavy punishment.
But Taylor still wasn't done, even if each breath came with agonising wheezes, if every movement sent fresh jolts of hell through her body.
She launched a piece of rubble, then herself back at the closest, mouth open in a snarl, pain drowned beneath adrenaline. He almost caught her again—but the rubble had done its job in disorienting him. Taylor slipped under his grip and grabbed hold of one arm.
With a roar, she ripped it from the rest of the suit, the limb already beginning to spark and heat.
The soldier tried to backpedal.
She hit him in the chest with the limb, cracking the armour and spilling out energy in glowing arcs.
He reeled and she slammed a fist into his helmet.
Another tried to rip her away, his grip squeezing hard enough to make her scream.
That didn't stop her from gripping, then crushing the helmet hard enough to flatten it.
Taylor turned just in time to catch two successive power armoured fists to the face, the first knocking her head back, and the second cracking against her cheek.
She growled, pulling the hand off her body, and bending it out of shape. That one pulled back, yelling in pain, but his comrade was fast to react, reaching out to grapple her.
Bad idea.
She feinted weakness—an opening, a desperate, half-staggering lurch as if the last hit had finally knocked her out of the fight. The Flaxan surged in, powered gauntlets wide to seize her—
—and she twisted, rotating like a buzzsaw, both legs sweeping into his stance with bone-snapping force. One armoured knee inverted with a sickening crack and the Flaxan howled, stumbling as Taylor shot up under his guard and tore his jaw free from his helmet with a single upward punch.
The armour peeled back like soft metal. His mandibles flopped loose from shredded muscle as she reached into his throat and ripped it open. He gurgled once and collapsed, convulsing in place.
The last of the trio finally recovered, firing a point-blank plasma blast that seared through her left shoulder, cooking flesh and cloth in a burst of white-hot agony. Taylor screamed, dropped to a knee—then lunged forward, heedless of the pain.
This one was more cautious, backing off, letting his gauntlets spool up energy. Smart. But far too late.
She snatched up the corpse of his comrade and threw it, the mangled Flaxan becoming a bludgeon in death. The power-armoured bastard raised his hands too slow—Taylor followed it, slamming into him mid-deflection. He caught her arm—
And she bit through the thick joint of his shoulder, teeth crunching through synthetic alloys and bone as if she were an animal.
The shock made him drop his guard. She drove her knee into his solar plexus—twice, three times—until the plates shattered and caved inward. Something burst inside him, warm and wet. The Flaxan doubled over.
Taylor shoved him back, grabbed his head—and drove it, repeatedly, into the pavement. Each impact a brutal, rhythmic crack that echoed across the blood-slicked memorial plaza. Helmet first. Then helmet crumpled. Then helmet gone.
She lifted what was left by the stump of its neck and screamed, a primal howl that tore free from her throat as she hurled the twitching body into the nearest tank, crushing the cockpit and turning its pilot into a red smear on the controls.
Bits of bone, teeth, and armour scattered across the battlefield like shrapnel. Yet after it all, Taylor stood. Steaming, blood-soaked, and in agony, but alive.
The Teen Team had managed to regroup, barely, without her help, so Taylor began making her way over to the nearest portal.
She grabbed a Flaxan, snapping him in half over her knee before tossing the halves right back at his squadmates. A tank tried to run her over, but she simply grabbed it and used it as a weapon against its allies, carving a long scar of destruction through their ranks.
The Flaxans faltered. Momentum lost.
Taylor grabbed a tank from behind and hurled it into a crowd of retreating soldiers. Their limbs spiraled through the air, jagged bone stabbing up through ruptured flesh.
The surviving units broke rank.
And that's when he arrived.
A sonic boom that cracked the sky, and streak of red and white resolving into a familiar figure.
Omni-Man.
Taylor's father smashed into the battlefield like an angry god. He ripped through the flank, grabbing tanks and hurling them into the sky, where they exploded like fireworks.
Another swung at him, and he knocked the alien right into a building.
And as the last of the Flaxans retreated, the portals swirled shut, one, then another.
The last portal began to close, and Omni-Man shot towards it. Taylor had a split-second to react, and chose to use it by throwing herself in after him.
The portal roared around her like a living being—a thing of searing heat, twisting light, and a gravity that threatened to tear her flesh from her bones.
And then she was through.
An alien city-scape stretched out before her, reaching spires against a crimson backdrop. The air reeked of plasma and blood already.
Below her was a scene of carnage.
Nolan was already at work, diving through the remnants of the assault force like a missile and ripping a command skiff in half with his bare hands, tossing the broken halves onto two nearby gun platforms. They detonated in tandem. raining debris across the city.
A hailstorm of plasma bolts screamed toward him. He vanished—then reappeared inside the firing squad, grabbed two soldiers by their helmets, and smashed them together with a wet, cracking boom.
A third tried to run. Nolan grabbed his spine, ripped it out, and used it to beat another soldier to death.
Limbs splattered against the black stone.
More troops surged toward him in desperation even as their officers screamed orders in harsh, chittering Flaxan speech.
Every blow obliterated something. Heads crushed into paste. Ribcages caved. One unlucky soldier caught a midair kick so fast it split him in half, his top half tumbling end over end like a thrown ragdoll.
Taylor hovered above, her heart hammering, breath caught somewhere between awe and horror.
She dropped down beside him, boots crunching into a pile of shattered armour and entrails.
Nolan turned. Blood covered his arms up to the elbows, viscera dripping from his beard. His eyes widened when he saw her.
"Taylor?!"
She straightened, tense, breath fogging in the cold Flaxan air.
"You just left, Dad," she said, jaw tight. "You didn't say anything."
"You shouldn't have followed me." he growled, turning back to swat a screaming soldier aside like a fly.
Taylor flew forward as Nolan pulped another alien between his fingers. "What else was I supposed to do? Stand by while you—"
"This isn't Earth," Nolan cut her off, voice like thunder. "This isn't just a battle, Taylor. And you're not ready for something like this yet."
She bristled. "You don't think I can handle this?"
"That's not what I'm talking about." he snapped, eyes hard.
He motioned around them, at the weapons being pointed at them, the Flaxans already mobilising at the city's far edge, at the vehicles and tanks setting off in columns.
"This is their home, Taylor. Their planet. You don't know what they'll do to protect it."
He clenched his fists.
"You don't know what I'll do to stop them."
Taylor stared at him.
The weight of his words dropped like a boulder in her chest.
"…What do you mean?" she asked, quietly.
Nolan's eyes didn't waver. "I mean I'm going to end this. Permanently." He turned toward the skyline, where warships were rising like stormclouds from armoured silos. "This planet has had every chance to back down. And Earth can't afford to keep playing defence."
Taylor's throat tightened. "So you're going to kill them all?"
"I'm going to make sure they can't ever come back." His voice was calm now—cold and final. "You've seen what they did to Earth. What they'll keep doing. You know how much more dangerous they've become. You saw them nearly kill the Teen Team. Nearly kill you."
"I held my own—"
"They adapt. They come back stronger every time. Look at what they did in the span of a week. One day they won't just be a nuisance, they'll come through and start conquering. Earth isn't ready for that. But I am. You threatened to do the same yourself. I'm just acting on it."
The silence between them burned hotter than any plasma fire.
Taylor wanted to scream at him. Wanted to punch him, stop him, something. But the images came back. Rex insensate. Eve crumpled with a drone in her back. Those white-and-gold behemoths nearly snapping her spine.
They were monsters.
But they were also just… people.
Fighting for their home.
Just like her.
She ground her teeth. "This… this isn't justice. It's genocide."
"It's a necessity." Nolan's voice was low. "How many more times do we let them come? How many lives do we risk to feel like the heroes? Be realistic, Taylor. They're conquerors. They'll stop at nothing to get what they want."
She shook her head slowly. "They're people. You can't just decide an entire species doesn't get to exist."
"They decided that when they brought war to our doorstep. Again. And again. And again."
Taylor turned away, jaw clenched, bile rising in her throat. Her mind flashed with images—the dead civilians, the broken city.
But then—faces. The ones down there. Alien, yes. But more than that. They were soldiers, citizens, defending their homes. Fleeing. Crying out.
She could barely breathe.
"I didn't come here to help you slaughter people," she whispered.
"You came here because you care," Nolan said. "This is how we protect Earth. Not by standing on principles until they're burned down around us."
She didn't answer. Just stared at the ground, fists clenched so tight they shook. This wasn't justice. It wasn't even vengeance at this point. It was annihilation. And if she helped him… there was no undoing that.
"I can't—" Her voice cracked. "I can't help you do this."
But the thought of another invasion...
Kate's broken bodies.
Robot's blank stare.
And Nolan's voice, steady, persuasive, tugging at her guilt: They'll just keep coming.
Taylor turned, looking out over the sprawl of alien towers and glowing highways. Her fists clenched, blood from earlier still wet between her fingers.
She shot away.
Faster than sound, faster than thought, fleeing the battlefield like a bullet from a gun, hoping, foolishly—that if she moved fast enough, far enough, that she wouldn't need to make another decision like that again, that she could leave it behind in the dust.
It didn't work.
She hovered alone above the red-tinged clouds, a dark silhouette against a burning sky, hands trembling.
I've been here before.
Not literally. She'd never been to the Flaxan dimension. And certainly not this exact situation.
But this decision.
She closed her eyes, and saw it again—wriggling underneath the surface of her thoughts. The decision she'd made to become Khepri. To take control of everyone—hero, villain, rogue—and turn them into an army. Her army. The one that stopped Scion. The one that saved the world.
And the one that cost her everything.
"I didn't want to be a monster," she whispered, voice snatched away by the thin air. "Not again."
But was she already too close?
She'd followed Nolan through the portal. She'd come here. Because she knew—on some deep, ugly level—that she might have to make that choice again.
And she hated that part of herself. The part that saw the logic in it. That understood what Nolan was doing. Not because it was right, but because it might work.
It had taken everything in her to make the choice to become Khepri. Everything she was. And then, when it was done—when she'd dragged the world back from the brink—what was left of her hadn't even been offered forgiveness. Just fear. Rejection. From the world, from herself.
And to end it all off, she'd been given a bullet to the skull.
She'd made herself into a god to stop the end of the world, and still, still, people had only seen the monster.
Would this be any different?
Maybe.
Because no one would know. No one would see.
They were in another dimension. No one else would ever be able to know if they didn't want them to.
Her stomach turned.
But the part of her that once marshalled insects by the millions… that part understood the brutal calculus of it all.
It didn't care about morality, only paths and their outcomes.
And the outcome of doing nothing… was another invasion. Another war. More broken bodies in her arms. More blood on someone's hands.
She bit her lip until she tasted copper.
Was it really better to let them keep coming? To cling to the moral high ground while cities burned, hoping—praying—the next attack wasn't worse?
She wanted to scream. To tear herself in half and throw both pieces into opposite stars.
The wind howled, this high up. Taylor could almost feel it scraping at her like grasping claws. She hadn't moved in what felt like hours.
A distant boom echoed from behind her, a gale force wind blowing around her.
She didn't turn. She knew who it was.
Nolan hovered a few dozen meters away, arms folded behind his back. His silhouette was calm, composed. His eyes were locked onto her, patience within their depths.
Nolan floated closer, slowly. Like he was approaching a wounded animal.
"I'm not going to pretend that what you saw down there was… pleasant," he said. "You weren't supposed to see that yet. I was going to ease you into this."
Taylor's voice cracked out, dry and sharp. "Ease me into what, exactly?"
His expression didn't change. "The truth."
A long silence passed between them, stretched thin, a pulled thread.
He drifted beside her, gaze sweeping the untouched city.
"I know this must look… monstrous," Nolan admitted, eyes fixed on the horizon. "But you're not seeing the full picture. You're seeing a wound being cauterized, and it hurts to watch. But that pain—it's the beginning of healing."
She turned toward him, fists clenched. "This isn't healing. It's slaughter."
Nolan turned to face her directly now, his expression finally shifting—ever so slightly. Not softer. But… focused. Tired. "It's prevention."
"I've seen thousands of worlds fall," he continued, quietly. "I've watched peaceful civilisations turn to ash because people waited too long to act. Because they hesitated when the time for a choice came. Conquer or be conquered, Taylor."
She clenched her teeth. "That's wrong."
"That's reality," he corrected. "You're still thinking like a human. We live long, long lives, Taylor. We have to learn to look at the big picture, or we'll be stuck down there with them, slowly going mad from all the things we couldn't change, dealing with all the consequences of our inaction. When millions, billions of lives are on the line, and our opponents are the race of alien conquerors, prevention is our only option."
He floated to her side, placing a comforting palm on her shoulder. Her father opened his mouth as if to continue, but stopped, grimacing.
Taylor's breath caught. A part of her wanted to scream again—to push him away, to reject every word. But another part, deep and ugly, whispered:
Isn't that what you did too?
Not because she wanted to. She had to. For the greater good.
Her hands dropped to her sides, limp.
"…What if we don't kill everyone?" she said slowly. "What if we just make it clear that they can't do this anymore? Cripple their war effort. Wipe out their command structure. Flatten their factories. Leave the rest too terrified to ever come back."
Nolan turned to her, something sparking in his eyes.
"They won't forget this," she said. "They'll remember. And that's better than leaving a scorched wasteland. We make them afraid. Not extinct."
Nolan was quiet for a long moment.
Then—he smiled.
A slow, proud, dangerous thing.
"You're starting to understand," he said, smile gracing his features. "How about you take charge this time, Taylor?"
Taylor swallowed. "We do it right. No wasted time. No collateral damage. We go for the infrastructure. Leadership. Supply lines. Cut their throat, not their limbs."
Nolan nodded. "Then that's what we'll do."
Taylor inhaled sharply and floated a little higher, surveying the city again. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. But she focused, pointing to the looming warships on the horizon.
"Hit their airfields first. Cut the sky out of their defence grid. Then whatever they use to make their portals. They've been preparing to raid Earth for years. There'll be data caches. Coordinates. Tech. If we take that—"
"We shut them down forever," Nolan finished.
Taylor nodded, quietly. "For the greater good."
Nolan placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm proud of you."
She didn't say anything as she flew ahead.
And began the end of the Flaxan threat.