Eye-catching and memorable. That was what I wanted. Something grand, something that made people stop and go Whoa, that's a hero. The problem was… I wasn't exactly an artist. My newfound neat-freak tendencies hated that my drawings were messy and uneven, no matter how hard I tried. Still, the image was there in my head, refining itself bit by bit, even if my sketchpad looked like an abstract tragedy.
I kept at it, though. And eventually, I had something passable. I started with something regal: a half-helmet, deep indigo armour, and crown-like ridges rising from the helm. Over time, that shifted into a darker navy, the kind that could look black or indigo depending on the light. The gauntlets, greaves, and chest plates shared the same colour, but what truly made it stand out were the golden lines. They traced every panel like veins of light, perfectly symmetrical, flowing across the armour with purpose.
On the chest sat an inverted triangle outlined in gold, a circle enclosing it where the golden veins converged. It represented the core of my charges, with each branch symbolising the powers I would one day unlock. The helmet was full-faced and armoured, with a black visor that hid my eyes. The ridges above the visor gave the impression of a constant furrowed brow, angry, focused, ready. The high collar was trimmed in gold, and behind it hung a detachable cloak, fastened by elegant clasps. It looked distinguished, practical too, since those clasps meant it could be yanked mid-fight and just detach.
It was the perfect uniform for a flier, and I was banking on eventually getting something that let me fly, or at least fake it convincingly. The fabric would be ballistic weave, the armour plates strong enough to take a hit, and honestly, it just looked damn cool. Every refinement made me grin a little wider. The final image was exactly what I'd wanted: heroic but intimidating. The kind of suit that said, you messed up the moment I landed in front of you.
Now I just needed to get it made.
Which was the problem. Made with what money, exactly? I had the design, but it was nothing more than a dream until I found some funds. That meant hitting gang dens sooner rather than later. My savings were thin, and every meal or "superhero expense" pushed me closer to bankruptcy. For now, I'd have to stick with hoodies and jeans. Cheap, replaceable. I already knew I'd only get one use out of each before tossing them. Holes, cuts, stains… my inner clean-freak couldn't tolerate any of that. The thought of blood, anyone's blood, on my clothes made me shiver.
Fine. The armour would stay a goal for now. Something to aspire to. Something to work towards.
So with my designs done, I packed the notebook away in its nice little designated spot and tried to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of the day. There wasn't much of it left, to be honest. Another late morning, thanks to how late I got back, and there were barely a couple of working hours left. I sighed. Would I go out tonight?
I thought about it for a while before deciding that I would. There was little reason not to. I needed the money, and I needed to make a name for myself, to get it out there that there was another power in the Bay. I was definitely a low-to-mid-tier parahuman right now, but that would change.
I had no intention of going against the heavy hitters, and I'd do my best to avoid parahumans altogether until I was in a more stable and powerful position. The thing is, that might just be out of my hands. What would I do if I came across a hate crime from an Empire cape? Could I really just ignore the deaths? What kind of hero would that make me?
But that wasn't the primary reason. I had to think about what being a hero meant to me. Why was I doing this, besides that distant goal of defeating Scion and saving countless worlds? Being a hero wasn't strictly necessary for that. I could easily be a villain, and yet even the thought stirred something uncomfortable in me.
I just wasn't the kind of person who could harm innocents for personal gain or enjoyment. The idea made me sick. Trying to picture myself hurting someone just to see them suffer... no. I was definitely tilted toward the heroic side. Even in video games, whenever I tried to play the "evil" route, it made me feel bad for the thoughtless two-dimensional characters. Yeah, I was a sucker for kindness.
Alright, back to the original question: why was I a hero? Not being able to stomach being a villain wasn't an answer, or at least not a good one. I wanted to help people. I wanted to show them that there was always someone who would look out for them. I wanted people to look at me and know that things would be alright.
It reminded me of that story about the boy on the beach, the one where a current had washed thousands of starfish onto the sand. An old man watched as the boy picked up one after another, throwing them back into the sea. The man asked why he bothered, saying it wouldn't make a difference, there were too many for one person to help.
And the boy replied, "It matters to this one," as he threw another starfish into the water.
That was the kind of hero I wanted to be. I didn't want fame or power. I wanted people to realise they mattered. That they were worth saving. I wanted to spread a little bit of happiness and hope in this cold, cruel world I now found myself in.
Damn. I was cheesy. But maybe that kind of hopeless, naive optimism was exactly what this world needed. I wasn't blind to it. I knew my idealism would probably come back to bite me sooner or later. But for now? For now, I could just do my best and try to live up to what I believed in.
It was with that resolution that I was blessed with another charge, almost as if my thoughts had stirred the cosmos itself. God, yeah, I was getting very theatrical today. I shrugged. It wasn't like my thoughts were hurting anyone. So, I pulled the invisible slot machine lever and rolled.
51 - Gold
[Psychometry]
|Rare Ability|
Saiki K. - Allows you to read the history of an object by making physical contact with it and expending energy. The more energy you expend, the more you can read about its history, giving you visions as to how it was made, what has happened to it or what it has seen; the more energy spent, the more accurate the vision is.
Oh, I could already tell this one would be useful for tracking stash houses. At least, I hoped so. If I could get my hands on a baggie of drugs, I might be able to trace its journey back to wherever it was distributed from. That was the plan, anyway. Maybe I'd just see the inside of some random apartment instead, but it was worth trying.
It wasn't a combat ability, sure, but it had potential. Utility powers were how you found people like Coil. He was still far beyond my pay grade for now; his mercs carried tinkertech rifles that would chew through me before I could blink. I'd either need to be tough enough to smash through his ranks fast, or stealthy enough to slip right to him without a trace.
Finding him was another matter entirely, but this new power could help. If I could get my hands on one of his soldiers' weapons or gear, maybe I could follow the trail back to his base. As for dealing with his power? I'd just have to plan ahead, attack him at a fixed time, days in the future. That would ensure that he had already closed and reopened his timelines, meaning that it wasn't just a decision made in one of the 'timelines'. If I struck at the same moment in both, he'd have no forewarning that I was coming for him at all.
I was getting ahead of myself again. That was a problem for later. More power first, planning second.
I looked out the window at the setting sun and sighed. My sleep schedule was completely shot. I was missing most of the daylight hours, but without school or a job, it wasn't like it mattered. Still, I should probably get out tomorrow and do something normal.
The boardwalk crossed my mind, but I hesitated. If this reality had any sense of irony, that would be exactly where I'd run into Tattletail, just like in every other fanfic. Go for coffee, meet her, get dragged into the plot. I shook my head. Maybe I'd meet someone interesting. Maybe I wouldn't. Either way, I couldn't let paranoia about "plot gravity" dictate my choices. It would happen, or it wouldn't. Simple as that.
My patrol took me through merchant territory again. I was dressed in my other hoodie, a red one. My jeans were still fine, having not been punctured. They were my casual pants, not my work jeans, and I was hesitant to even look at those stained things. Still, I was at least somewhat comfortable in what I was wearing, though that curse was practically salivating at the thought of having my own supersuit ready for use. Ah, a man can dream.
My musing was interrupted by both screams and gunshots. That sounded bad. I hoped no one had actually been shot. I immediately let my tentacles unfurl behind me and launched myself forward. I was on ground level, and the tentacles propelled me ahead with speed. I practically flew down the street, body leaning forward, tentacles whirling behind me like a wheel made of spokes. I tore around a corner, barely skidding a meter in the turn, and there it was.
Eight people. Five skinheads and three drug dealers. It seemed I had stumbled into a legitimate gang shootout. The merchants were badly outnumbered and looked to be retreating into an alleyway. They were pinned down by a dumpster, firing blind shots around the side. The Empire goons, on the other hand, were behind two cement traffic dividers, taking occasional peeks to fire potshots. With the sheer number of bullets flying, it was a miracle no one had been hit yet.
Oh, wait, no, there was a fourth merchant on the floor. Oh god. He was riddled with bullets. There was no way he was still alive.
I tried to ignore the horror of seeing a corpse for the first time and the sheer amount of blood surrounding him. But it seemed I had been spotted, as a bullet whizzed past me. I immediately raised two of my tentacles to cover my front. I might be bulletproof, but I had still gotten some bruising from previous hits.
My other tentacles launched me forward toward the Empire. As I got within range, one hand fired a sand blast toward the merchants while my tentacles and other fists lashed out at the Empire goons. I heard grunts and groans as they were quickly battered. I focused on arms and weapons, trying to disarm them. Wherever I could, I used my tentacles to crush or rip the weapons from their grasp. I was mostly successful, but not fast enough to disarm all five before they fired. One bullet pinged off a tentacle I was using to shield my face. Either a very good or a very lucky shot. That would have hurt.
I focused and grabbed the gun, pulling it toward me. Another shot went off as his finger was dragged against the trigger, but it went wide. Then there was a crack. Oh. Oops. I had broken his finger when it caught in the trigger guard. It was a minor injury, but I was trying to be as gentle as possible.
I continued the beatdown, and one after another, they fell under a barrage of small punches. I didn't have the time or focus to knock them out one at a time. They would just have to accept the bruises.
Once they were all disarmed and on the floor, I looked over to where the merchants had been. Yes, had been. They had used my attack as a distraction and scarpered, leaving their friend's corpse behind. I suppose they didn't want to risk my attention or a stray bullet. They had definitely escaped.
I looked over the groaning Empire members and started zip-tying them, stripping them of weapons or anything they could use. It was done quicker and more efficiently than yesterday. I was definitely getting better at this.
With them all down, the weapons in a pile, and everything handled, I called the police. They would be here soon, along with a wagon for the body. I sighed. It was a pity I hadn't been fast enough to intervene earlier, but that was the reality of it. I couldn't save everyone. All I could do was try, and do my best not to be buried by my inevitable failures.
I was subdued as I continued the circuit that would bring me back to my house. The memory of that corpse lingered, unavoidable and unchangeable, something I could do nothing about. He was probably the one who had screamed and drawn me into the fight. There was nothing I could have done to save him. He would have been dead no matter how fast I tried to reach him. I couldn't shake the feeling that it had been a failure on my part.
The police had told me I had done all I could and that my actions had saved lives. Gangsters' lives, sure, but saving a life was still saving a life. Some people were irredeemable, those with kill orders or remorseless killers. People, you could say, without doubt, you had done a good thing by taking them off the streets. People, you could say you had saved many lives at the cost of one. People like Jack Slash and the rest of the Nine.
I continued with my rooftop rotation, sprinting and leaping across buildings. It had only been my second night out, and already the scale of it all was pressing down on me. Gunshots echoed in the distance, and realising I had only stopped one of many made the city feel overwhelming. I had to trust the other heroes would handle what I could not. I could not take responsibility for everything. That way lay madness.
A scream and shouting broke through the night. It was close, so I moved quickly. No gunshots yet, but that could change; this was America, after all, and everyone had guns.
Peering over the edge of a building into a dark alley, I saw a woman being forced to hand her purse to a dirty man with a knife. Typical mugging. I dropped down behind the mugger and wrapped my tentacles around him, lifting him off the ground. His arms went up, legs splayed wide. He hung, spreadeagled, and I heard the knife clatter to the pavement. Surprised shouting followed, cussing and thrashing.
The woman looked at me, tense but composed. Her voice shook slightly.
"Uh… hey. Who, what are you supposed to be?"
I lowered my voice, trying not to startle her further. "Name's Archon, I'm a hero. Don't worry. You're safe now. Just hang tight."
She glanced at the mugger suspended in the air and muttered, "Well, I suppose that's… something. Not exactly how I pictured my evening." Her tone was calm, almost resigned, though I caught a flicker of tension in her hands.
Before I could say more, her eyes glinted with resolve. She lifted her foot and delivered a perfect kick to the mugger's groin. He screamed, and I thought I heard something pop. I winced, praying it wasn't what I thought it was.
I lifted him slightly higher with my tentacles, keeping him away from her. "Okay, that probably felt good, but maybe don't kick him when he's already caught?" I ignored the slight smirk I saw on her face. One of my tentacles picked up her dropped belongings and held them out. She hesitated for a beat, then snatched them, holding her head high.
"Thanks… I guess," she said, brushing herself off.
"You're welcome. Least I could do." I replied quietly, letting the words linger between us.
She gave a short, almost amused sigh. "Well, I suppose so. I just wish the city made it easier to go about your day without… incidents."
"Yeah. Me too," I admitted softly, tugging the mugger closer to the ground.
With a sigh, I zip-tied him and called the cops. As I patted him down, I found a small baggie of white powder, perfect for testing my psychometry.
I was about to focus on my psychometry when I noticed the woman walking around the corner. Apparently, she was done with this whole affair. It was strange and startling how she simply decided to leave without a word, but it also seemed like she was… used to it. Judging by her reactions, maybe this wasn't the first time she had been mugged. Knowing Brockton Bay, it most likely wasn't. Strange not waiting for the cops, but who knows what was going through her mind.
I shook off her behaviour and decided to just let it go. I then looked down at the baggie that sat in my gloved hand and focused. It felt like pulling at the thread of the object's past, like unwinding twine. Scenes unfolded in reverse: the thug's apartment, a handoff from another street-level dealer, all the way back to a run-down house boarded up and rotting. Inside, four people worked on the drugs, the powder coming from a block, weighed and packaged. This was exactly what I had hoped for. I now had a target, though that would have to wait until tomorrow. It was late and I was drained.
Returning to the present, the thug sat silently, dejected, on the pavement. I ignored him and confirmed that dispatch was sending another car.
The cops were satisfied with the handover, especially since I had video evidence and the drugs. Normally, a victim's statement would be required, but in this case, it wasn't needed. I gave them the recordings and watched the would-be mugger be shuffled into the squad car.
With the evidence and weapons secured, I made my way home, subdued but aware of another night's work done, and the lingering sense that there would be more to come. I also had felt a charge appear earlier and was somewhat eager to see what it contained.
It was only after I walked into my home, turned on the lights, and settled on the couch with a glass of ice water that I rolled.
76 - Diamond
[Shadow Storage]
|Elite Ability|
Your shadow can move and extend across 2d surfaces, allowing you to sink objects into it that are put into stasis, does not have a weight limit, and objects inside can be ejected out at any time.
Oh, that is useful. I looked down at the floor and saw my shadow wave at me. Well, it didn't do it on its own; it was just me making it wave. I smiled and thought about how I could use it. I picked up one of the books from my coffee table, held it over the shadow, and dropped it. It sank into the shadow, and instantly I knew its properties. It was like having an ever-present inventory in the back of my mind. I could always sense what was in my shadow and pull it out at will.
I tilted my hand so my palm was shadowed and then pulled. The book fell out of the shadow and into my grip. That was useful. This was a great utility power, and I was sure it would make looting much more viable. I could store whatever I wanted without being weighed down or leaving things behind.
I started moving around the house, putting my zip ties, pepper spray, and taser into my shadow, along with disposable phones and some cash. I planned to store my costume there too, but then I paused. I quickly ran up to my room, grabbed my pyjamas, and turned off the light. Darkness surrounded me, and with only a faint glow from the window, my shadow enveloped me. I put my costume into the shadow, and it shrank inside me. Then I pulled my pyjamas into the shadow and tried ejecting them onto my body. It worked. I smirked; instant quick-change function, as long as I was in darkness.
There were plenty of broken streetlights and dark alleys in Brockton Bay, so this would be perfect. No more fumbling with my bandanna and hoodie on the way home from patrol. I could just duck into an alley and, boom, instant outfit change. Even when surrounded by light, wearing a cloak was perfect, since it cast its own shadow. I could just reach behind me and pull items out of nowhere. Ah, I loved it when things worked out like that.
It had been a rough day, but that was a good ending to it, something to lift my mood after a chaotic night. I decided it was time to head to bed. I set an alarm, it was about 3 a.m., and I wanted to be up by ten. That would be a good time to head to the boardwalk. A coffee would be great, and if memory served, Parian had her store there. It would be the perfect time to show her my designs, see if she did cape commissions, and if so, get a quote.
I fell asleep with plans made, although my emotions still whiplashed from the night's ups and downs.
A/N:
Enjoyed the chapter?
If you'd like to support my writing and help me keep creating, you can do so over on Ko-fi.com/thesingingking. Every bit of support means a great deal and helps me continue bringing these stories to life.
Please know there is absolutely no obligation. All my chapters and stories will always be free to read. Your support is a wonderful bonus, but everyone is welcome to enjoy the stories regardless.
My night's sleep wasn't exactly haunted, but it wasn't restful either. I tossed and turned despite my exhaustion. My stamina was definitely superhuman, so I still had some juice in the tank after the night's activities, but that didn't make much difference when I thought about what had happened yesterday. I was still mulling over the death of that merchant. While many would dismiss someone like that, I couldn't shake the sense of a cheap and blatant disregard for life.
I knew I wasn't perfect, and I knew I would fail sometimes. Logically, I understood that his death wasn't my failure, but it still stung. I tried to tell myself he was a waste of a human, but that felt too callous, and I immediately scolded myself for forcing my thoughts in that direction. I just couldn't accept that he was a waste. Sure, he had been a problem, a net drain on Brockton Bay, but I couldn't reduce him to that. I was too much of a goody-goody for that, and that both comforted me and made me wary.
This wasn't the kind of world where those thoughts could last. And what would I actually do if confronted with that truth in battle? How would I react? I didn't know, and the fact that I couldn't guess my reaction meant danger. Still, being so opposed to killing was probably a boon. Brockton Bay had very low tolerance for killer capes, both for protecting civilians and for handling villains. I mused that Cauldron and the PRT had cultivated this situation to preserve as many lives as possible, both civilians and capes, for the final fight.
God, a therapist would be great. All these internal monologues were starting to grate. A therapist might help get my mind in order, smooth things out, but I knew I could never explain myself: 'Yeah, this body died, and a person from a different dimension appeared inside me.' That wouldn't go over well. I snorted to myself and got out of my car. I was at the boardwalk, somewhere I'd wanted to check out since finding my way to Earth Bet. There were a few places I wanted to see, like the Protectorate HQ.
I leaned on the railing and looked across the bay at the giant oil rig standing proud. The forcefield was shaped like a bubble, pearlescent edges swirling and glinting in the sunlight. It was inspiring, the built-up fortifications, the dominating structure barely resembling an oil rig after all its modifications. I smiled faintly. It was reassuring, in a way.
Then I frowned. It was also a long way away. The rainbow-bridge forcefield made it clear that those inside could isolate themselves at any time, untouchable, disconnected from the city. Was it designed that way intentionally? I doubted it. Most likely, they had just wanted the most defensible structure, and someone saw the oil rig and said, "I have a great idea." Still, the disconnection the heroes must experience had to be jarring. It almost felt like a deliberate statement. My earlier appreciation soured. The rig was visually impressive and a tourist attraction, but the message behind it wasn't good. It also delayed deployment times heavily. No wonder it took the capes so long to reach crime spots, having to traverse both the bay and half the city.
Whatever. I didn't want to ruin the rest of my day with brooding. A nice coffee and some pastries were exactly what I needed.
I tore my eyes away from the monument to the heroes and scanned the boardwalk for a coffee shop. I passed boutique stores selling overpriced garments, tourist traps with Brockton Bay merchandise, and even a comic book shop with a life-size Armsmaster cutout. Dang, there was a lot of cape stuff on this strip.
Eventually, I found a place with overpriced pastries and a pleasant outdoor seating area. I chose a spot under the shade of an umbrella. The day wasn't too hot; it never got scorching in Brockton Bay, but it was nice to be out of the sun. I waited patiently, maybe a bit longer than I should have, until a rather stressed-looking waiter appeared.
I peeked behind her to see the reason for the delay. A long queue at the takeaway counter and every seat inside under the air-conditioning was taken. I smiled and gave her a nod, letting her know I wasn't upset. She gave me a terse smile in return.
"What can I get you, mister?" she asked, starting the brief interaction.
I offered a polite smile. "A pecan plait, a double espresso, and some water, please."
She nodded, jotting down my order, and walked off. I hummed quietly, spending my time people-watching. Most of those around were parents with little kids or tourists. I remembered that Brockton Bay had a massive medical tourism industry. With Panacea here, healing whatever she was told to, it made sense that so many people would come hoping to be healed by the world's premier healer.
I sighed. The comparison was unavoidable. My desire to help everyone, paired with my guilt at not being able to, echoed hers, wanting to heal everyone and knowing you can't. I was a grown man, though, and I had to accept that I couldn't help everyone. That was a hell of a burden to place on a teenager, no matter how mature. Then there was her mix-up with her sister and the feelings involved. Messy. Maybe Vicky's aura had played a role, but I didn't know. I tried to think of a way to help, but came up blank. Maybe if I had some kind of healing power, I could work at the hospital, show her that it was okay not to be able to help everyone.
I sighed and turned my thoughts elsewhere. Just then, my order was placed in front of me. I smiled at the waiter, and she smiled back before hurrying off to help other customers.
I looked over the boats stuck in the bay as I sipped my coffee, dark and rich. Glorious. I had always loved bitter black coffee; it hit the spot perfectly. Paired with a sweet pastry, it was the best. My gaze wandered across the water, tracing the boats, before settling on the large tanker that blocked the shipping lane.
The logistics of removing it were staggering. Very few capes could do anything about that. Alexandria was strong, but was she 50,000 tonnes strong? And the pollutants it contained, how to prevent them from spilling if the hull was breached? It was a massive problem, a stark reminder of decay and hopelessness in this city.
At least the coffee was good.
As I finished my coffee, another charge appeared. I didn't want to activate it in public, so I just banked it for when I was alone.
I paused to ask about Parian's store, ignoring the many signs vying for attention. She was at the far end of the boardwalk, where a small auditorium hosted her shows. I wondered if one was happening now; it would be interesting to see her power in action. She would be the first parahuman I would meet in this world.
I made my way through the crowds, dodging tourists and doing my best to weave forward. The closer I got, the denser it became. This side of the boardwalk was more popular, lined with fancy restaurants and interesting stores. Good for Parian, but a real hassle for me.
Eventually, I reached the end and was rewarded with the sight of a kid perched on the knee of a giant teddy bear, waving at a camera. There was a line of kids at least twenty strong. It reminded me of a mall Santa, children eager to share their wishes. It was heartwarming to see someone with powers normally meant for fighting subtly use them to make people smile. Parian was really something.
Seeing her standing next to the bear in the frame was sweet. Her doll-like smile was slightly eerie, but not unpleasant. Her fake blonde hair looked natural, and it was only my meta-knowledge that told me she wasn't white. Her goal of becoming famous and then unmasking to challenge race-based prejudice was inspiring. I watched the kids come and go until she called a halt, raising the bear to wave goodbye. The children let out small groans of disappointment, but accepted it. She slipped through the back door of her store, and I figured it was a good time to talk to her.
The front door led me to a young woman behind the counter. College-aged, neatly dressed, her hair and makeup immaculate. I smiled softly at her.
"Hi. I'm hoping to speak with Parian about a possible commission, if she's interested," I said.
"She's not interested," the teller replied briskly, "She only does her own work and doesn't have time to talk to everyone who wants… superhero clothes. If that's what you're after, everything in here was made with her power; you can find something that suits you." She glanced me over, unimpressed by my casual attire, but withheld comment.
My smile was polite, if a little strained. "I just want to know if she does extra work, high-durability, resistant materials?" I gave a deliberate wink. She looked puzzled at first, then reconsidered me.
"Ah… I see. Normally no, but she has accommodated others before. Tell you what, I'll ask if she'll see you, but that's it." Her tone softened slightly.
"Thank you," I said.
She nodded and disappeared into the employees-only area. I waited patiently for about five minutes before she returned.
"She'll see you, but I have the PRT on speed dial. Anything suspicious, and they'll be here immediately. They should actually be patrolling the boardwalk right now, so… don't start anything," she warned.
"I won't. You have my word," I promised. She hummed, still cautious, and led me into the backroom.
The backroom was a large seamstress studio. Bolts of fabric lined the walls, needles of all sizes sat on desks, and large shears rested on the central table. Mannequins along the back wall displayed clothes in various states and designs. In the center, behind a large square worktable, sat Parian. I nodded respectfully, and she gestured to the chair across from her. The table was too wide to reach her hand, so I didn't attempt a shake.
I surveyed the room, impressed. This was the heart of her power. If she wanted, she could incapacitate me in seconds. I returned my attention to her and nodded politely; she mirrored my gesture.
I started cautiously, politeness my default. "Good evening, Mrs Parian. My name is Troy. I was wondering if you might be open to collaborating with me on a project. I'll be wearing it under rough conditions, so it needs to be quite durable."
"You're a cape, and you want a costume. That's what you mean," she replied deadpan.
I shuffled slightly. "Erm… yes, pretty much. I just didn't want to blurt it out. I have some designs I've been working on and would like your opinion. Also, if you do cape costumes, I wanted to ask your pricing."
She hummed as I slowly retrieved my sketchbook from my jacket, keeping it in the shadows. She stiffened briefly, and I thought I saw the shears twitch, but once she realised it was just a book, her posture relaxed. I slid the book across the table.
She flipped through it. "Hmm, your first designs aren't great, but I see how you refined and collated the best parts. Impressive. Intimidating, but heroic enough. Tell me honestly, are you a hero?"
"Absolutely," I said without hesitation. "With these powers, I want to help others."
She appraised me, then nodded.
"Fine, I'll help. I'll require a down payment of $1,000 and another $1,000 upon completion."
I blinked at the price. She noticed. "I don't advertise cape costumes, and I don't want you telling anyone where you got it. The price is because I use tinker materials from Toybox, strong fabrics and bulletproof materials. I'll knock off $300 because you already have a complete design. Normally, I help clients design from scratch. Do you agree?"
I winced but nodded. "I agree. I don't have the cash on me right now, but I should in a couple of days. Can I return to settle it then?"
She nodded. "I won't start work until I have the down payment, but I'll take the job."
I stood. "Thank you, Parian. I truly appreciate it. I wasn't sure how I'd get a professional suit without joining the Protectorate."
She inclined her head. "Out of curiosity, why didn't you join them?"
"I don't want to be told who to help or who to fight. I want to help people, but if I'm forced, is it truly my choice? Is it good if I can't say no? I know I can do better on my own, and that's what I want to do."
Parian nodded. "A good answer. Lastly, what is your cape name?"
"Archon," I said firmly, standing tall and putting conviction into the word. She leaned back slightly, seemingly pleased.
We nodded to each other one final time, and I left the store. One more thing remained on my agenda today.
I was in a discount store. That was the last errand for the day. I needed clothes for my other life.
I rummaged through the racks, picking over plain white shirts and a few black hoodies. Then some black cargo pants. Simple, efficient, and exactly what I needed. I grabbed five of each. What? They were practical, and I had no idea how long I'd be going full ghetto before my super suit was ready.
It was a frustrating dent in my funds, but I was banking on that stash house I planned to hit tonight having a decent pile of cash. It was desperately needed at this point.
The cashier gave me a look when she saw my armful of near-identical clothes. I just shrugged and left without comment. Next stop was the pharmacy for some surgical masks. My inner neat freak didn't like the idea of reusing sweaty ones, and between the masks and my glasses, my identity would be safe enough. Honestly, better than most of the Protectorate.
The masks were cheap, and before long, I was back home. I'd thought about going to the PRT to register as an independent hero, but decided it would make a better impression to show up in my proper gear once it was finished.
I was tired from the day, but ended up cleaning anyway. This curse had really changed how I lived. Everything took longer: brushing my teeth, making the bed, wiping counters. Not because I'd been messy before, but because now I had to do everything twice just to feel satisfied.
I sighed, wondering what would happen if I ever rolled a mental or discipline-type ability that 'cured' the curse. Would it disappear completely, or just quiet down to something bearable?
Either way, that train of thought reminded me, I still had a charge waiting. And if I was going to hit that gang stash house tonight, a new power sounded like a very good idea.
So I did what had become my new normal. I rolled.
62 - Platinum
[Telekinesis]
|Elite Ability|
Allows you to grab and manipulate objects afar with your energy. Telekinesis acts like an invisible force field that you can shape and move to your liking. Your telekinetic strength starts off as equal to Fubuki from One Punch
Telekinesis? Hot damn. I immediately raised my hand and reached out to the coffee table. The TV remote rose smoothly and zipped into my palm. It felt weird. It felt like using my tentacles. It just happened smoothly, exactly as I wanted. I had an instinctual sense that this was a scalable power that would improve with practice.
I knew of Fubuki. While not as strong as her sister, she was still, by Earth Bet standards, a terribly powerful telekinetic. She could easily lift trucks and launch them, manipulate the earth to close in on Saitama like jaws of death. Definitely lethal, and not something I intended to emulate. For fine control, she could create force fields strong enough to block bullets, raise small hurricanes, and manipulate huge amounts of debris like it was nothing.
I smirked to myself. Eat your heart out, Rune. You are the discount version of me now. Let's not even mention Whirlygig. I could make tornadoes and debris fields that would put him to shame. I would need to get used to this power and make it instinctive in battle, but even alone, it bumped me into the strong-tier parahuman bracket. I was going to enjoy this. Dealing with the average gangster would be a cakewalk. I could see their bullets bouncing off my force field, whipping guns out of hands, then casting a small tornado to disorient and sweep them into piles.
Now I just needed to work on fine control. I wanted to be able to simultaneously rip a group of guns and weapons away from my enemies. Ah, what a lovely power to have. I could not wait to experiment and practice.
I still had a few hours of daylight and I was not far from the trainyards. It would be the perfect place to practice: plenty of debris, tons of heavy things to test my carrying limit, and no one around to bother me. I knew there were likely cameras dotted around the place that the gangs used to spot fresh capes, but if I went deep enough that should not be a problem. Even if a gang member turned up, I felt a lot more confident about handling one or two of them. It was not like Kaiser himself would crawl out of the woodwork for a random scruffy guy with a lineup of E88 members. So yeah, I was feeling pretty good. Now I just needed to make sure I was not rushing into anything.
Apparently, my caution paid off with the appearance of another charge. It came fast, like, ridiculously fast. Only a few minutes after my last roll. Still, I had gotten that charge earlier in the day, so maybe the system was balancing things out? It seemed like I was averaging two powers a day, which was an insane rate of growth. That's not even counting the first day when I rolled four.
But nonetheless… please don't curse me. I've been good.
Clack, clack, clack.
30 - Silver
[Bear Manipulation]
|Trash Ability|
Allows you to take control of all bears within a 50-meter radius around yourself. Good luck finding so many bears.
Okaaaay, well, it's not a curse, but it's definitely… useless? I mean, where the hell am I supposed to find bears in the middle of the city? Maybe if this were some fantasy world and I could wander into the wilderness and stumble across a few magic bears, then sure, it might be cool. But here? Not so much.
It honestly sounds like a pretty crappy Queen Administrator knockoff, but hey, I'm no expert on powers. So I guess this one will just… sit in my soul and gather space dust.
The trainyards were as I remembered them from my first outing. There were train cars, piles of rotten refuse, and loads of pieces of scrap. It was the perfect spot for me to work. I had caught the bus to the furthest north stop and found a dark alley to change into my "work clothes." The rest of the way was spent moving over rooftops, sprinting and leaping. As always, it was very enjoyable.
As I reached the trainyard, I kept my eyes peeled for cameras but saw none. They were most likely well hidden to spot tinkers and vulnerable parahumans available for a "recruitment" speech. I did what I could to stick to the shadows and made my way as deep into the trainyards as possible. There were many areas that had been picked clean by others, either homeless people looking to make a quick buck or tinkers searching for scraps. But the trainyards were large, and there seemed to be an endless amount of refuse being dumped by the city here. It wasn't actually a trash heap, but it was treated as one.
Once I was deep enough and confident that I was away from prying eyes, I started to set up what I wanted. First, I gathered a collection of gun-sized pieces of scrap and set them on piles of trash at about body height. I made sure there were around twelve of them. I really wanted to make sure that I could multi-disarm people at a moment's notice. So that's what I did. I turned my back to them, focused for a second, then spun around, raising a barrier that I felt confident could withstand full-auto fire from multiple sources. While it was active, I unconsciously made a grabbing motion.
All of the piles of scrap came flying at me, and bam, they hit my shield. Oops. I really just wanted to pull the "guns" toward me, and I had only put the shield up as practice for being shot at. I hadn't intended it to protect me from my own impromptu projectiles. Still, this was somewhat helpful. Sadly, I was Manton-limited, and this wouldn't work on people… Although, it would work on their clothes. It would be useful to pull them into melee range where I had a fair advantage, but with telekinesis, I felt like I was now stronger at range than up close, not that I was a slouch there either.
As fun as that was, I figured it was time to try again, and I could practice my multitasking while I did so. I raised my arms and started gathering all the trash into the air at once, then tried separating them into twelve body-sized piles before setting them back down. Phew. That was harder than I expected, and I was left feeling a bit mentally sore. Apparently, multitasking with this power wasn't as easy as I thought. But nonetheless, that strange mental twang faded, and I was left with my twelve piles with the "guns" on top.
Okay, take two. This time not just a grab and pull of everything in that direction, but an actual seizing of control and then a pull into my orbit. I turned my back to face them again to make it seem like I was caught by surprise, then spun. One arm came up in a boxer's block, initiating a shield, while the other stretched out in a claw motion and swept to the side. This time only the "guns" were ripped from the tops of the piles and flew around me in an orbit before landing at my back. I smirked. That went perfectly. But again, I had that mental twinge, now just short of a full headache. Maybe it would be better to focus on fewer numbers at a time in combat until I practiced more and got used to it. I didn't want to be incapacitated by my own powers in the middle of battle. Still, I was very pleased. My plans for mass disarming were a go.
Next, I wanted to try a tornado. Pick up all the scrap and use it as both a defensive and offensive weapon. Keep it small, though; I didn't want to be visible above the large trains and junk piles that kept me anonymous.
I took a deep breath, squared my feet, bent my knees, and pulled my arms up into a boxer's defence. Suddenly, all the refuse and debris came flying toward me, and I swished my left arm in a wide sweep. The debris followed and began to spin around me in a counterclockwise motion. I kept it low, but there was still a massive grin on my face as I stood in the eye of the storm. It was a heady feeling, having such power over my surroundings.
I kept it up for a bit, trying to focus on the drain. If there was one, I didn't feel it. This took less concentration than focusing on the twelve individual items. Maybe it was because all of them were just loosely grasped and under the same command? I wasn't sure, but if this was easy, I wasn't about to complain.
With the items flying around me, I loosened my shoulders and decided to try the next idea. I started flicking my fingers forward, and one by one, pieces of debris were launched forward like bullets the size of cans. Okay, cool as hell, but also lethal. I tried again, this time toning it down. I managed to reduce the power so that instead of "ripping through your chest," it would just break bones. Another attempt slowed them further. Yeah, those would leave bruises. I just had to be careful to only launch fist-sized objects. I didn't want to accidentally send shards of steel flying, since those could still slice through someone easily.
Ahh, this was so much fun. But now that I had the tornado going, I had another idea. I twisted my raised hand and started releasing sand into the whirlwind. Soon it became a sand twister, and I couldn't see out of the whirling death. If I activated my enhanced Naruto eyes, I'd be able to see lifeforms, but that was it. This would be great against laser weapons since they'd only glass portions of the sand, and I could use that glass as a weapon. Against bullets… maybe it would twist them away from me, but a stray shot could also get redirected into me.
I took a breath, tried to keep everything running, then closed my fist. I pictured an invisible bubble surrounding me, protecting me from harm, a solid and unbreakable shell of counterforce that would halt any attacks. I was somewhat successful. My head started to ache, reaching definite headache territory, and the tornado wavered, but I managed to keep it going. I'd definitely have to practice more, but I was happy.
I tried to maintain my focus, but when I saw the tornado beginning to decay, I figured I might as well go out with a bang. I took a deep breath and shoved my arms out to the sides like I was T-Posing. The objects orbiting me blew outward like grenade fragments, with me as the epicentre. My shield had fallen as I focused on this, but that was fine. Anyone who wasn't a brute would have been taken out by that.
I collapsed onto my back where I stood and began taking long, deep breaths. My head was not happy with me, but damn, that was one hell of a demonstration. I still wanted to practice my strength, though, and I was hoping my headache would fade soon enough to continue. So I did something I wasn't very good at: I rested. I just lay there and tried to recover.
It took a while, but eventually the headache became manageable. I pried open my tired eyes and stood. Looking around, I started trying to estimate the weight of the items lying nearby, but the sheer mass of some of the train cars was beyond my best guesses. Still, I figured a train car would be a good test for my macro control.
I walked over to one that was mostly free of junk and stared at the rusted heap of metal. One deep breath later, I slowly raised my arms as if I were trying to portray Atlas, holding up the sky. It started with a rumbling, and it was incredibly hard to even lift my arms. It truly felt like I was pushing from beneath the train. My muscles bulged, but this power seemed to synergise with my enhanced physique, and slowly but surely, the trash covering half of the train began to fall away as it started to lift.
I almost goggled at the display. This was multiple tons, and I was doing it with my mind. With one last grunt, the train broke free of the pile it was half-buried in and rose into the sky. Once it was up, it was much easier. It seemed that the initial displacement was the hardest part, and now I could simply manoeuvre it however I liked.
I really wanted to launch it as far as I could, but that was my impatience and recklessness talking. If this thing landed on someone, they'd be toast. So, with a grunt, I slowly lowered it back down. The sheer weight of it still made a bang when it hit the dirt, but not an ear-shattering crash. I smiled. Damn, this telekinesis made me feel powerful.
My head was sore again, but at the rate I recovered, I figured I'd be fine within an hour. That meant I was still on track to hit that Merchant safe house tonight. The hour was getting late now; I'd been out here experimenting for hours.
I felt almost cocky about the safe house now. I wouldn't act cocky; that's how you end up dead; but still, I felt like there was practically nothing they could do against me. I was still worried about being shot in the eye, for example, but with a shield now? I felt confident.
A/N:
So, this chapter got away from me quite heavily, and I'm not sure if I like it or not. I figure it's okay, but hey, I don't know what to do with it, so I'll just chuck it out there and see what happens.
Enjoyed the chapter?
If you'd like to support my writing and help me keep creating, you can do so over on Ko-fi.com/thesingingking. Every bit of support means a great deal and helps me continue bringing these stories to life.
Please know there is absolutely no obligation. All my chapters and stories will always be free to read. Your support is a wonderful bonus, but everyone is welcome to enjoy the stories regardless.
I was on the way to the stash house. I had fully recovered and was eager to put my new skills to the real test. I had a number of options for how to do this, and I tried to focus on the most effective and efficient approach that would cause the least damage.
I had left the trainyard in an even bigger mess than I found it, which was actually a hard thing to accomplish.
The street of the stash house was a typical derelict, abandoned residential district on the border between the docks and the trainyard, a bit east of where I had previously patrolled. The entire street looked deserted except for one house that had some dim light seeping around the edges of a blackout curtain. Clever. But that would not stop me from peeking in. I was at the far end of the street and made my way closer as stealthily as I could, sticking to shadows and cover so I would remain undetected if they had a watcher. I did not know if they had cameras. I doubted it, but they had a Tinker, and it would be foolish to disregard the possibility.
Over the course of ten minutes, I crept closer and closer. I did not see anyone, and once I was near enough, I activated my Byakugan. Life signs lit up, and sure enough, there was a lookout. From his shape and position, I could tell he was sitting on the second floor staring out the front window. There were five other people in the house, and I could only guess their rooms based on distance and grouping. Four were clustered in what I assumed was the main living room, most likely working on the drugs. One was horizontal on the floor upstairs, probably asleep, judging by the way he lay. The last was the lookout. Definitely doable. Hell, I probably could have stormed a much larger stash, but that was the power rush talking. This would be a good thing to whet my teeth against.
Now I needed to plan. I would work from the back of the house. I was thinking second floor downwards. This would be my first time using the slip-in ability, but it seemed perfect. I hoped one of the back windows was open and I could vault up or slip through a small gap. From there, I would try to take out the watcher as silently as possible. Either choke him out or give him a well-placed love tap. Hopefully the former. I had not given anyone any proper brain damage yet, and my strength made it a delicate balance. If I could sneak up on him, I would choke him out.
Next would be the sleeper. Knock him out too, then make my way downstairs. I had no idea of the interior layout, so I would have to improvise depending on the angle I entered the living room from. I had options. I could try to blind them with sand, but I did not want them firing blindly. Combustion near powdered drugs seemed like a terrible idea. Preferably, I could disarm them, take out three with my tentacles and then subdue the fourth. Hopefully he would be able to lead me to another house. I was eager to dismantle the merchants, but that did not mean just taking the capes off the board. It meant taking their drugs and money away, and I was sure I could make better use of the funds than they would.
All right. Get in on the top floor, silently fight my way downstairs, then barge in quickly and hit them all before they could get a shot off. I nodded to myself and started to make my way to the back garden.
The back garden looked to be devoid of cameras and, from what my life-sensing was telling me, I was in the clear. The windows were covered by blackout curtains, but the upstairs window was open a bit to keep a little airflow through the house. Perfect for my needs. I kept an eye on the others in the house and checked to see if they looked about to swap watch shifts. I had no way of knowing for sure, but everyone seemed calm. No benefit to waiting.
I bent my knees, coiled for a powerful leap, and focused on the small crack in the open window. I felt around for how Slip In worked and designated that as my entry point. It latched on, and I leapt. As I neared, I let out a flex of power. I was through. It was a very bizarre effect, like what I imagine Vista's power is like. The window did not open; the space simply stretched, and I slid through. Perfect. Quiet entry.
I found myself in a hallway with four doors, two at each end and two on the wall opposite my entrance. I kept my eyes open. The door on the right would lead to the sleeper, and the one ahead of me to the watcher. Now I just had to hope the doors and floor did not creak. I prowled forward, doing my best to spread my weight evenly and praying the old boards stayed quiet.
At the door, I eased it open. It was old, but slid smoothly. A sharp smell of weed hit me. The watcher was stoned and more focused on his phone than on the window. I suppose I had been foolish to expect professionalism from a merchant, but the caution had been good practice anyway.
He was filthy and grungy, slumped in a reclining chair. On a stool beside him sat an ashtray and a pistol. His eyes were glued to the screen and I swear I heard moaning from the tinny speakers. He was definitely distracted. I reached out with a sliver of telekinetic power and snagged the pistol. It slid from the stool without him noticing and I dropped it into my shadow for safekeeping.
I crept behind him and, quick as I could, snatched out. A tentacle wrapped around his throat and another locked him in place. He thrashed, but the couch muffled the sound. I kept pressure steady, careful not to overdo it. His struggles slowed and his head slumped. I released him and checked his pulse. Strong. He was out cold. Zip ties, a careful pat down, a knife removed and pocketed. I left his drugs on him for now. With him out of the equation, it was time to move on.
I eased out of the bedroom and down the corridor, cracking the next door a fraction before it creaked. I paused. I did not want to give them any hint. I activated Slip In again and watched the gap between the door and the frame stretch. A nice, wide entry opened, and I walked in, ignoring the way the space compressed back to normal behind me.
There he was, the other merchant, asleep on a ratty bed. The room was a mess of clothes and trash and my inner neat freak screamed, but now was not the time. Must. Not. Clean, I muttered. I moved low, center of gravity tight, and leaned over him. He slept on his side, facing me. I reached out with my tentacles. They were more dexterous and longer than my arms, perfect for this. One coiled round his torso to pin his arms, one wrapped his legs to stop kicking, and another slid to his throat. With a breath, they tightened. His thrashing was useless against my strength and soon his eyes swam and closed. He drifted back into unconsciousness. A couple of zip ties later and I was ready to descend.
This next step would be the hardest. I still did not feel in immediate danger, but anything could happen. No one could get away to call backup.
The stairs were blessedly carpeted. The carpet was threadbare and filthy, but quieter than bare wood and that was all I cared about. I swallowed my disgust and shushed the internal horror as I crept down. At the bottom the stairwell opened into the main room where the rest of the gang lounged. They did not have a view of the stairs to my benefit. I paused just out of sight and steadied myself.
I raised my hand and brought a force field up in front of me, then did a quick mental countdown and dashed around the corner. The wide-eyed expression of the first man to see me felt embarrassingly satisfying. He lunged for the gun at his side and his frantic motion alerted the others. Two glanced at him; the first and the fourth looked straight at me. I reached out and yanked the two visible guns toward me. They struck my shield and clattered to the floor. I had already leapt.
My tentacles lashed out. All six moved in a blur, a practised choreography of my tentacles' strength. They wrapped around all four throats at once, lifted the men clear of their seats, and held them suspended while their legs kicked uselessly. One tentacle threaded between a flailing arm and grabbed a pistol from a belt, pulling it from the man into my hand. I had dropped the shield and held the gun, watching their flailing slow.
The last man had grabbed a knife and tried ineffectually to stab a tentacle. I ignored the feeble attempts. One by one, they all went limp. I eased the pressure so they would slip into unconsciousness cleanly and then lowered them gently back into their chairs and stools. I let out a breath I had not known I was holding.
I did a quick sweep with Byakugan, making sure I had not missed anyone. No hidden bodies, no movement in the neighbouring houses. Clean sweep.
It took a while to make my way around the house and catalogue everything inside. I had gotten a charge a short while ago and had been thinking about activating it, but I figured I should finish this first, so I did my best and started checking out the house and every possible hiding spot. I took the cash from the merchants' wallets, found another stash hidden in the bedroom, and grabbed the big duffel bag from the main room. After a quick count, I was left with a whopping seven thousand dollars. It was more wealth than Troy had ever had at one time. This would do so much for me, both for my costume and for my standard of living. Not that I could suddenly go on a spending spree in my civilian life—that would be a dead giveaway. But hey, at least I was financially secure for a while.
I looked over the packs of drugs with mild awe. There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars just in those bricks of cocaine. The weed was worth less, but there was a lot of it. There were some pills I did not recognise, so I left them where they sat, just like the cops had told me to.
I carried the unconscious merchants to the front lawn and laid them down neatly, then placed the weapons to the side. I called the cops.
I gave a brief overview to the polite woman who answered and she promised a van would be sent to take the merchants off my hands. I thanked her and kept watch while I waited.
When the cops arrived, they pulled up quietly with no sirens. Announcing your presence in this part of the Bay was not a smart move. The first out of the van was a blonde man. He waved when he saw me and called, "Archon?"
I nodded and waved back. "Hi officers. I have another collection of merchants for processing. This was a stash house, so there's plenty of drugs to get off the streets."
That got some smiles from the cops, and the blonde man walked forward with his arm extended. "Hi. I'm Officer Scholtz. I don't know if you remember-"
"You're the officer I first spoke to, who helped me learn the ropes. Yeah, nice to meet you face to face," I interrupted with a smile.
Officer Scholtz grinned. "Good to meet you too. So, you have a recording for me?" I nodded, turned away, removed my glasses, swapped the SD card, then put my glasses back on and handed the card to the officer.
"Here you go. One friendly B and E to clean up the Bay," I said.
"Heh. Won't hear me complaining about cleaning up the merchants and getting this poison off the streets. Keep up the good work," he replied. I nodded and smiled.
Soon after, the officers climbed into the van and drove back to the station with drugs, weapons, and merchants in tow. I told them about the amount of money I had taken and earned some friendly grumbling about a hell of a payday. We all laughed while they loaded up the merchants, and then I was alone again.
I gave a small sigh when I realised I should have used psychometry to trace where the drugs came from, but you can't think of everything all the time. I shrugged and started a fast jog back toward my usual patrol area. The night was only half over anyway.
I was sat on a fire escape looking up at Medhall. I had decided that I would take a detour through downtown and was sitting here thinking over the bust I had just done. It had gone extremely well. Everything went to plan and the cops were certainly pleased. I smiled softly to myself. The drugs I had taken off the street were probably only a drop in the bucket, considering just how large the Merchants were as a group, but every gram made a difference; it may just be a single person not having access and deciding to quit. It was unlikely, but it was a pleasant thought. I shrugged and decided that I would climb the fire escape and get to the roof to get a nice view.
When I finally got there, I rested my back against an air conditioner unit and decided that now would be a good time to roll another power. So I pulled the mental lever and waited in anticipation.
28 - Bronze
[Minimap]
|Uncommon Ability|
You have a minimap in the corner of your vision that automatically maps where you go, and reveals the location of enemies in places you have seen as long as you know they are hostile to you. You can enlarge and zoom the minimap as you like.
Whoa, that's a great roll for a bronze ability! I can already see a minimap of the surrounding blocks, and I can adjust the size of it all the way up to a view of the entire East Coast. I didn't really have a bad sense of direction before, but I will never get lost now. Another utility power, but one that proves to be useful for keeping track of enemies outside my range of sight. Frankly, though, this feels like a background ability, something that will quietly make my life easier. I can already imagine how handy it would be to have a perfect map of Leviathan or the Simurgh's location. As for Behemoth? If you couldn't see him, you weren't in the same city.
I was silently snickering at my own joke when I heard a voice from above me.
"You know, you look kind of villainous."
I froze mid-laugh. The voice kept talking, completely ignoring my startled jump and the way my head whipped around.
"All black, standing on a rooftop, staring over the city at night. Very dramatic. You might want to speak up and explain yourself before someone calls New Wave."
I finally spotted the source and looked up. Floating about twelve feet above me was none other than Glory Girl. She was every inch the golden idol from the posters: tall, athletic, her white and gold costume gleaming under the city lights. Her long hair shimmered as if it had its own spotlight. She had her arms crossed, wearing a look of amused confidence and a smirk that screamed, I'm used to being in control.
I raised my hands, palms out, and called up, "Whoa, definitely not a villain! New hero. The all-black look is temporary until I finish my costume. Glory Girl, right? Nice to meet you."
She began to descend, her eyes narrowing slightly as if appraising me. Then came the strange feeling, subtle but potent. God, she was gorgeous. (Too young, my brain hissed.) She was strong, too. My instincts screamed that my odds of winning against her were low. (No, I could take her.) I can't believe she's actually talking to me! (She's evaluating whether to punch you through a wall, genius.)
I shook my head sharply, like I could rattle loose the thoughts she was pressing into me. I knew Glory Girl had that Shaker-style aura that could make people either fear or adore her. She must have noticed me fighting it off because she giggled, the sound light and infuriatingly pretty.
"Oops," she said sweetly, and just like that, the emotional haze faded.
I rubbed my temples, exhaled, and managed a fakeish smile under my bandanna as she landed in front of me.
"So," she said, tilting her head, "you already know I'm Glory Girl. Who exactly are you?"
"Archon," I said, straightening a bit. "New hero in town. Nice to meet you."
I extended my hand. She took it. Her grip was like a vice.
"Ow. You've got a strong handshake," I said as casually as I could while shaking out my fingers afterwards.
Her grin widened, clearly proud of herself. "Guess I do. Comes with the job."
Right. A power move. Literally. I rolled my shoulders, deciding to let it slide. The way she sized me up, from boots to bandanna, was both curious and dismissive. There was humour there too, but the kind you get from someone who's used to being the strongest person in the room.
"So, Archon," she said at last, "that's a bold name. What's the story behind it? And what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" She leaned back against the air-conditioning unit I'd been standing by. My air-conditioning unit.
Rude.
She caught my look and smirked again, then floated up to sit cross-legged on it like a queen on a throne.
I exhaled slowly. Picking a fight with the first hero I'd met would be a terrible idea. But I also wasn't going to let her push me around. The question was how much to tell her. Did I really want my abilities to be public? If word got out, I'd be mobbed by recruiters and lunatics convinced I was the next Eidolon. But keeping it secret would mean staying in obscurity longer. And I did want to make a splash.
Fine. It would come out eventually.
I met her gaze and said, "I'm Eidolon on crack."
She blinked, then burst out laughing. "Oh, that's rich. Eidolon on crack, huh? Then I guess that makes me Alexandria on steroids."
She grinned, clearly thinking I was joking. When I didn't laugh, her smile faltered.
"You're serious?" she asked, tone dropping.
"Completely," I said evenly.
"Right…" She gave a little scoff, brushing her hair back. "You could've just said you didn't want to talk about it. But fine, I'll let it slide. You made me laugh, so I'll forgive the attitude."
I sighed. "Believe what you want. As for what I'm actually doing here, I just finished taking down a Merchant stash house. Thought I'd enjoy the view for a minute. What about you? Shouldn't you be home? Pretty sure it's a school night."
The smirk vanished. Then I felt her aura flare again.
My thoughts clouded, my heartbeat spiked. Why did I say that? (Because she was being smug.) I should apologise. (She should.) I clenched my fists.
"Please turn your aura off," I said tightly. "It's really messing with me."
She folded her arms again, floating just a few inches off the ground now. "Maybe stop trying to mess with me first."
I glared up at her. "I was being polite until you tried to melt my brain."
Her lips twitched, then she sighed and let the power fade again. "Fine. Truce. I may have gone a little overboard."
"Understatement of the century," I muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Just appreciating the peace and quiet."
She rolled her eyes but looked a little sheepish. "Alright, maybe I was showing off. You're new, I was curious, and sometimes I… push people too hard."
I let out a slow breath, then offered her my hand again. "Clean slate?"
She looked at it for a second, then shook it. This time her grip was normal.
"Well," she said after a pause, "you did ask what I'm doing out here. Truth is, I just needed some air. Things with my family have been… complicated."
I nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Family can drive you crazy sometimes, but they're still family."
She gave a small laugh and looked away. "You sound like my mom."
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said with a grin she couldn't see.
She smirked again. "It was. Anyway, I should head back. Curfew and all that. It was nice meeting you, Archon. Maybe I'll see you around. Maybe I'll even show you how real heroes patrol."
Before I could reply, she took off into the air, the rush of displaced wind ruffling my jacket.
I stared after her for a moment.
Definitely not someone I wanted to pick a fight with anytime soon. Still, the whole New Wave group was basically one big soap opera. Something to keep an eye on later, maybe.
For now? It was time to head home.
My trip home was filled with the musings of my meeting with Glory Girl and the weight of the charge within me. Maybe it was a normal charge, or maybe I got it from actually chatting with and meeting my first hero. Regardless, I had a charge that I would use when I got home.
Overall, my feelings about Victoria Dallon were not that pleasant. Especially the brief burst of attraction. First of all, wasn't she like sixteen? Eww. So not happening. That power of hers… it was weird. But whatever. And her attitude? It just reeked of a spoiled kid who escalated whenever things didn't go her way. It also seemed like my lack of initial awe rubbed her the wrong way, and she decided to ramp it up. She really needed some more guidance on interacting with potential allies.
I did eventually put her out of my head and sneakily entered my home. It was early morning, and I was tired. My stamina was as good as ever, but the intensity of taking down the stash house and then the emotional whiplash of dealing with Mrs I-Am-Awesome was enough to whammy me into exhaustion. So I did what was needed, had an energy bar, and got into bed. This charge could be dealt with in the morning.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
77 - Diamond
[Fire Conduit]
|Epic Ability|
Conduit Ability from Infamous - Allows the user to absorb fire to harness its powers, does not consume mana, but instead absorbs fire. Allows the user to turn into, manipulate, and generate flames.
I was very pleased with this ability, as it would no doubt be invaluable for the inevitable confrontation I would have with Lung. Now that his flames couldn't hurt me, all I had to do was withstand his physical might and find a way to end the fight before he had the chance to ramp up too far.
Other than Lung, it would be an incredible boon for dealing with fires in the city. If I could just show up and absorb or snuff out the flames, I could save countless lives. Sadly, flames were dangerous and terrible for taking people down without causing extreme damage or killing them outright. So I guessed this would mostly be a defensive power against any flame capes I might encounter.
So, today? Time to pay Parian a visit and give her the deposit she's owed.
A/N:
Enjoyed the chapter?
If you'd like to support my writing and help me keep creating, you can do so over on Ko-fi.com/thesingingking. Every bit of support means a great deal and helps me continue bringing these stories to life.
Please know there is absolutely no obligation. All my chapters and stories will always be free to read. Your support is a wonderful bonus, but everyone is welcome to enjoy the stories regardless.