Project Prometheus (Original Setting Superhero Quest)
Can't find "clearly", but you previously implied it's in New Dawn territory:
Which also implies it still exists, and wasn't where the Creatures Den is now, so I would guess it's in the University District?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
. . . that's what I thought. I originally had it in the Uni District, but that makes no sense. It's in the Worker's Mitt.
"But Bitterman, they why haven't we had the option to reopen The Bastion, given that the Mitt is the only territory we control? Are you going to make it a cheap GA option next Issue out of embarrassment?"
To which I say: check out this WIP from the great artist, Sethkiell!
"But Bitterman, they why haven't we had the option to reopen The Bastion, given that the Mitt is the only territory we control? Are you going to make it a cheap GA option next Issue out of embarrassment?"
To which I say: check out this WIP from the great artist, Sethkiell!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If it was anywhere other than the Mitt, it was the OID. But story-wise, it makes more sense to be in the Mitt. So if I'm wrong, consider this a retcon. My bad, guys!
- Pronouns
- Any
Look, it's been a busy few months, sometimes you just forget a whole superhero base you technically own. It could happen to anyone!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm gonna say that New Dawn still owned it and you couldn't access it until the merger. Now that you're "semi-merged" it's a option.
Yes . . . that was always the plan . . .
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
Oh my god they're so cute together. The way the black and gold reflect the colors of each other's hair and outfit is peak.
Bastion? What Bastion? I didn't hear anything! Must be a made up word, it certainly isn't in the dictionary. Trust me bro, I checked!
EternalObserver
eYe Gaze baCk
- Location
- The Void
I always had the impression that the Bastion was somewhere at Uni District because "it's a New Dawn base" or perhaps in NID.
- Pronouns
- Any
It had a sign on it that said "closed for repairs" and only just now has a stray breeze blown that sign away so we can use it again.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
So I mentioned a while back my idea called Emotional Punch.
Nox (6) + Eastwood (2) + Daggermaw (1).
Mental Manipulation x2, Transformation x2, Enhanced Strength x2, hoping a little bit for some sort of Three Enhanced + Transform + Regen synergy in the Peak Performance area. For Shelley.
I do like the idea, but I'm toying around with minor modifications, mostly involving swapping Daggermaw out for others. The two in mind are Millions and Mr. Hunch. Millions, naturally, enhances the energy blasts. Hunch leans into making a mini-psychic.
Nox (6) + Eastwood (2) + Daggermaw (1).
Mental Manipulation x2, Transformation x2, Enhanced Strength x2, hoping a little bit for some sort of Three Enhanced + Transform + Regen synergy in the Peak Performance area. For Shelley.
I do like the idea, but I'm toying around with minor modifications, mostly involving swapping Daggermaw out for others. The two in mind are Millions and Mr. Hunch. Millions, naturally, enhances the energy blasts. Hunch leans into making a mini-psychic.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Also, to hit where I want to in my outline, pt. 2 is going to be massive. Maybe the largest update yet. I've also got IRL stuff going on, so if I don't have it done this weekend, I'll post the first section which works as a stand-alone like I did for the Uiara flashback in Eidolon.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
. . . 9k and the banter just keeps going.
Nora blinks at you. "Yeah . . . ?"
". . . I look like this?" you say gesturing to yourself with all four of your arms.
She blinks again. "So . . .?"
"So . . . I look like a monster. I-I'm a freak."
She furrows her brow and frowns. "No, you're not."
"Yes, I am. I'm an eight-foot tall insect. How are you not freaking out?."
"I don't care?"
"I look like a giant bumblebee!"
"Some people are into that!"
"It's true," Eve says from a computer screen where she's playing solitaire, "You should see some of the dysmorphic groupie websites. Here, I'll pull some up!"
"Don't look, it's pornography," Nora warns, "It's always pornography with her."
". . . I look like this?" you say gesturing to yourself with all four of your arms.
She blinks again. "So . . .?"
"So . . . I look like a monster. I-I'm a freak."
She furrows her brow and frowns. "No, you're not."
"Yes, I am. I'm an eight-foot tall insect. How are you not freaking out?."
"I don't care?"
"I look like a giant bumblebee!"
"Some people are into that!"
"It's true," Eve says from a computer screen where she's playing solitaire, "You should see some of the dysmorphic groupie websites. Here, I'll pull some up!"
"Don't look, it's pornography," Nora warns, "It's always pornography with her."
- Location
- San Ramon, CA
...There's been some confusion over rooming here at Shiz.
StarSingerBlue
Zenryoku Zenkai !
- Location
- The City of Lights
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Space-Time Ghost
Tenebrism (4) + Zeno (9)
Space-Time Manipulation, Invulnerability, Construct Creation, Energy Manipulation, Solar Absorption, Enhanced Strength
Absolute Battlefield Control (ABC)
Zeno (9) + Millions Minefield (1) + Dragonsteeth (3)
Space-Time Manipulation, Invulnerability, Energy Manipulation x2, Construct Creation
One thing I've noticed with a lot of recent builds is that they focus on getting synergies we already know of, which I find kind of limiting as there's plenty of unknown ones out there.
Tenebrism (4) + Zeno (9)
Space-Time Manipulation, Invulnerability, Construct Creation, Energy Manipulation, Solar Absorption, Enhanced Strength
Absolute Battlefield Control (ABC)
Zeno (9) + Millions Minefield (1) + Dragonsteeth (3)
Space-Time Manipulation, Invulnerability, Energy Manipulation x2, Construct Creation
One thing I've noticed with a lot of recent builds is that they focus on getting synergies we already know of, which I find kind of limiting as there's plenty of unknown ones out there.
Very very cute !
Man, I know what it's what I was aiming for, but seeing this get marked Canon still hit like a punch to the gut.
I do get the temptation of such a focus but I agree! The exploration is so much fun and I hope we don't leave it to things like Wolong questions, when the (somewhat) blind leap into the unknown is so delightful.
Namer
ᵘʷᵘ
- Location
- Maryland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Given how poorly Novalight managed logistics and finance, it could easily be that it wasn't fit for habitation and was basically a semi-abandoned, backup storage location that needed work to make usable and Wolong only got started on it recently.
Temes1066
To Defy Gravity you must Let It Go
- Location
- Coleraine
- 2x Clairvoyance (Memoria, Mister Hunch)
- 2x Enchanced Strength (Frostbite, Daggermaw)
- 1x Teleportation (Memoria)
- 1x Elemental Manipulation (Frostbite)
- 1x Invulnerability (Frostbite)
- 1x Transformation (Daggermaw)
- 1x Enchanced Senses (Daggermaw)
- 1x Energy Manipulation (Millions Minefield)
DNA Samples used: Memoria [4], Frostbite [3], Daggermaw [1], Mister Hunch [1] & Millions Minefield [1]
Potency Cost: 10 (or 7 with the potency cost decreases)
This build has some nice synergys (that is without knowing if Elemental Manipulation would give one), a relatively decent cost and I have always felt that Elemental Manipulation & Teleportation is a good combo (you can Elemental AOE the area then leave before it effects you).
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
Now to be fair I keep trying to angle for that broad physical enhancement Synergy that we're sure exists but can't decide on what the specifics are (Enhanced Strength, Speed, and Senses, for sure, but then what's the other two? Fitness? Regeneration? Invulnerability? Transformation? Self-Enhancement?).
If there's multiple with some overlap, then I hope some of my builds achieve that. But I'm also the guy who had a theory when Bitterman mentioned that Battle Precog had "room for improvement" aka bigger versions, and who had ideas for Song getting a version with extra Enhanced Strength or Enhanced Senses to see if that would add something.
So, as a follow up to this post of mine, I wanted to calculate the energy Mona was firing off with her blasts. For this, I will be using the mass of her fingers. Is this the right way? I have no idea, Mona's construct body seems to be whatever option would be best between matter and energy. But to quote Dr Ibis:
So I will be working off the assumption it is indeed matter that is being fired. Assuming her construct body has mass figures equal to that of a normal human, I set out to figure out the mass of human fingers. Alas, there seems very little data. So I'll be using a range of 1 gram1, 11 grams and 22 grams2 instead. From there, we have to determine speeds. The above quote says "near-relativistic", while the following quote suggests it's relativistic:
However, since Mona seems to be able to control the speed it's ejected, I feel a range of speeds fits. So I will use 0.1%, 1%, 5%, 10%, 50%, 90%, 99.9%, 99.9999989% 99.99999999999999999999951% the speed of light.3
| 0.001c | 0.01c | 0.05c | .1c | .5c | .9c | .999c | .999999989c | 0.9999999999999999999999951c | |
| 1g | 44.94MJ / 0.0107t | 4.494 GJ / 1.074 t | 112.555 GJ / 26.9 t | 452.776 GJ / 106.22 t | 13.904 TJ / 3.323 kt | 116.31 TJ / 27.8 kt | 1.920 PJ / 458 kt | 605.9 PJ / 144.8 Mt | 28.71 YJ / 6.861 Pt |
| 11g | 494.3 MJ / 0.118 t | 49.435 GJ / 11.815 t | 1.238 TJ / 295.9 t | 4.981 TJ / 1.1904 kt | 152.94 TJ / 36.554 kt | 1.2794 PJ / 305.8 kt | 21.123 PJ / 5.049 Mt | 6.664 EJ / 1.592 Gt | 315.8 YJ / 75.479 Pt |
| 22g | 988.6 MJ / 0.236 t | 98.87 GJ / 23.63 t | 2.476 TJ / 591.8 t | 9.961 TJ / 2.3808 kt | 305.9 TJ / 73.11 kt | 2.559 PJ / 611.6 kt | 42.25 PJ / 10.097 Mt | 13.33 EJ / 3.185 Gt | 631.6 YJ / 150.959 Pt |
For references, 1 MJ is roughly the energy of a 2 tonne(~4400 lb) vehicle 32m/s (115.2 km/h, 72 mph). 63 MJ's is the theoretical minimum energy to launch 1 kg into space. 1 BOE(barrel of oil equivalent) is about 6 GJ. 1 gram of antimatter colliding with 1 gram of matter and annihilating/exploding would theoretically release about 180 TJ. The 2011 Earthquake in Japan was 1.41 EJ. Global human energy consumption per year is roughly 0.5 ZJ. The Sun emits about 400 YJ per second.
The smallest nuclear weapon ever made, the Davy Crocket, was 20 t. The 2020 Beirut explosion was 0.5 to 1.1 kt. Little Boy destroying Hiroshima was 15 kt. The B83, the most powerful nuclear weapon currently in the USA's aresenal, is 1.2 Mt. The Tsar Bomba, the most powerful bomb ever detonated, was in the 50-56 Mt range, with a theoretically maximum of 100 Mt. The total global nuclear stockpile is estimated at 1.46 Gt. The impact that wiped out the dinosaurs was 72 Tt.
Of course, the real question in all this is: how is she not lethally irradiating everything and everyone she fires at or is nearby to?
1Google answer for female pinky finger, I suspect it's wrong
2Quora answer for average pinky and middle finger, unreliably
Relativistic speed is generally considered to start at 0.1c, and those last four are, in order, the Relativistic Baseball, the worlds smallest particle accelerator, the LHC(roughly) and the Oh-My-God Particle(assuming proton).
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Traces —Suleverf (semi-canon)
New
Another wait, another omake.
You should not be alive. And yet here you are, breathing in the crisp air.
Turning your head, you see to your left a carpet of wayward trash dotting the beach and a monolith of decrepit, abandoned buildings rising up from the horizon. To your right, you see a dusty glass table standing unbalanced in the sand. And sitting on a wooden stool beside it is a masked person covered in a cloak. Unlike the cloth canopy that is full of holes and affixed to the table, their cloak doesn't flutter in the breeze. The empty eyes of their shadowy mask are pointed down at a steaming teacup in their hands.
You put a hand over your gut, failing to find any trace of your wounds. However your clothes are still torn in the places where you remember getting sliced up.
"Samuel. Or Kenji," says the person you once again remember as Babel.
You glance at the sky. "I've never been here before."
"It's a little corner of memory, one of the more peaceful spots I know of in this city."
There's no chair for you at the table, so you figure you may as well remain where you are. The sand makes for a comfortable enough bed anyway. Though you are distinctly missing something for you to fully feel at ease. "Where's my sword?"
"I had to pull it out of you and that old man you killed. I figured it served its purpose, so I buried it at sea."
A pang of paranoia pulses through your heart. Your chest bolts up from the ground as you sit upright. You were never sure what Babel's real motivation for helping you was. Do they just view it all as a game, like that sadistic bastard? "Don't tell me you revived him too," you say with a hint of lingering venom.
They reach into their cloak and toss out an empty vial for you to catch. "No. I don't know when a client will bring something like that to me again, and I doubt it fixes the heart being gouged out. Besides, history rhymes with itself enough as is."
The vial is unlabeled, but a whiff of an acrid odor reaches your nose. You let it fall to the ground to be lost with the rest of the trash here. "Sorry for not holding up my end of the bargain."
"Technically you weren't dead yet, and we agreed upon two days." They take a sip from their cup.
You suppose the proper thing is to feel grateful, but you feel nothing like that. Their frozen expression doesn't demand any gratitude either. "You must want something else from me."
"You're perceptive as always." They raise their teacup to make a toast to nothing before drinking deeply. "I would like you to describe what dying is like."
You furrow your brow. "They write tons of books about that. And surely you were there to witness it yourself."
"Yes, but that doesn't tell me what it was like for you specifically. Also, I know your experience is the real deal and not some fluffed up piece to move copies."
Did this person really save your life just for this? Though you decide to humor them for going through the trouble if so. You close your eyes and try to focus on the memory of what you believed was going to be your end. "Unimaginable white-hot pain from stabbing myself. The warmth rapidly left my body, leaving only a chilly nausea."
Thinking of it so soon after causes you to wince a little. The sensation of unyielding metal burrows its way into your flesh again, never to be taken out. You pause for a bit to collect your thoughts.
Babel dumps out the remaining tea from their cup. "I felt a bit queasy too. I didn't know people had that much blood in them," they quip.
You can't help but give a dry laugh. "Next I saw a vision of a hero I recently killed, standing over me."
"What else were they doing?"
"Staring." Baleful blue eyes come to mind and judge you once again. "That was you, wasn't it?"
"I did reveal myself, but I don't think I gave you a memory cue like that. Not intentionally at least."
"Hmph. Afterwards both my vision and my pain began to fade. All that was left was a quiet finality. An acceptance that I had played my part, and that it was time to bow out."
You see Babel give a slow nod and then turn their head to the side. They gaze out at the ocean.
Rolling waves fill in the silence.
"They say that death is the moment of ultimate solitude. For even when you die alongside someone else, it can never be shared nor taken from you," says Babel. Now wearing a mask of tragedy, they turn back to face you. "But I think this is the closest anyone has ever been to truly sharing it with me. Thank you."
You're not sure why they're thanking you, as your account wasn't drastically different from what could be found in a book. Unless what they were really after was something underpinning the words you were saying. Suddenly the standard price for their services makes much more sense. "Is this how you read memories?" you ask.
"Only after you've already agreed to talk about them." They tilt their head to the side. "People can only imperfectly convey their experiences with mere words anyway, and I want to be as faithful to the source as possible."
You could press them further about whether that constituted permission to read your mind, but frankly you do not care. It was an acceptable price for revenge.
"Anything else?" they ask. With a smooth motion, their mask tilts back into a blank face.
There is one thing that nags at the back of your mind, now that you think about it. "Your power is supposed to make people forget, but it failed at the very last second for me."
"It's weaker when cast on others. I have to tune it so that clients can still see people and not random blurs everywhere. Even so, a person who has strong memories of you will normally still fail to connect them with a distorted engram of you." They point a single index finger upwards. "Provided you don't walk up to them and rub enough reminders in their face. If you don't want that happening during your heart-to-hearts, better to stick to strangers."
"This was never explained to me beforehand."
Their finger waggles mischievously at you. "According to your memory, that is. Though it's true that I don't usually talk about the nuances of my power. People can't help but forget, so what's the point?"
Something about that last turn of phrase causes you to reflect on what you are doing here, sitting on this desolate beach and talking with someone who is nothing more than a stranger in the end. You've bared your secrets to them, but don't even trust them as you would a friend. They've saved your life, but seemed more interested in your death.
You've spent enough time here. "There isn't one," you respond as you rise to your feet. You turn your back on Babel and start trudging through the gray sands toward the ruined buildings in the distance.
Sounds of their footsteps trail behind you, and then stop.
When you turn to look behind you, little trace of their presence remains. Or to be precise, little that you can still see. The chair and table stand undisturbed.
"Going to follow me until the end?" you ask the empty winds.
"Only for one more day. But our agreement has already concluded, so there's no need to keep living for my sake," rings a voice from nowhere.
"I have the feeling you'll eventually turn up again long after that, like a stray cat."
"If you stay alive as mangy dogs tend to do, then maybe. Don't expect me to write your biography though."
With that, you turn around again and walk in your chosen direction. "Farewell then."
"To this moment, never repeated," echoes the voice.
For the first time in your life you find yourself walking down the rolling green hills of a cemetery. Your life's work has been to send people here, and you suspect that some of your victims would see it as the ultimate insult for you to step foot on these hallowed grounds and visit their graves.
An eerie quiet settles upon the soil, walled off from the rest of the commotion of the city. You ponder if even vengeful spirits would give deference to the peace of the others resting here. Rows upon rows of stone markers pass by you, occasionally dotted with vivid flowers and other visitors with solemn faces.
Additional walls partition off the graveyard into a series of courtyards, with different alcoves branching off them. Multiple sections lead into the entrance of what seems to be a grandiose mausoleum carved out from marble. You pay little attention to it as you amble through the grounds in search of one particular grave.
At last you spot a humble tombstone amidst many others like it, distinguished by a vase filled to the brim with freshly cut pink camellias. You kneel down on the grass to read the inscription engraved in the coarse stone.
Mila Salazar
She brought unerring courage to the fold
To gallop onwards toward stars untold
Weep not at her untimely death for long
But take up arms against a world gone wrong
An epitaph befitting her heroic persona. But as her murderer, what do you expect yourself to feel from reading this? No sudden swell of guilt rises up within you, nor sadness for a life cut short by your hands. Only cold recognition of all that you did to arrive at this point in time.
Rustling grass alerts you to someone approaching. You stand and turn to see a middle-aged man with a narrow face and a graying beard. He startles in surprise, but quickly relaxes.
"Here to pay your respects?" asks the man. The years of life he has over you are reflected in his sunken brown eyes. He strikes you as a close relative, one who is still grieving judging from the redness in his eyes.
You nod.
"I'm touched. You look as though you've traveled a long way."
"I have." You look away from his eyes for a moment. "I don't want to be in the way. I'll get going now."
"Wait. I'm Alonso, her adoptive father. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. What's your name?" He reaches out a hand.
Hesitantly, you accept his handshake. "Samuel." It would have been wiser to walk away. You struggle to think of the right word. "A colleague of Gallop," you lie.
His eyes instantly light up with an earnest curiosity. "A fellow hero then? Her rival Gallant perhaps? But the face doesn't match," he says, tugging on his beard.
"Nothing like that. She helped me once with a mission. We've never really spoken beyond that."
"Oho? You must tell me your hero name. I'm sure she has mentioned you in passing."
"She wouldn't have remembered someone like me."
"Nonsense!" He pats your shoulder with a reassuring hand. "My sweet Dulcinea remembered every noble hero who fought alongside her. Whenever she came back to visit I would ask her to tell me all about her adventures and every time she would mention some new ally and the fierce foe they defeated together."
That doesn't seem right to you. You knew Gallop's patrol patterns and they covered a fixed span of territory. While it wasn't unheard of for independent heroes to come and go, an established solo hero generally sticks to the neighborhoods they are known in to build rapport. You would've heard about such battles.
"Nightshade," you say. It sounds like an obvious villain name but you didn't want to risk picking a real hero's name by coincidence.
Alonso's face scrunches in recollection, but eventually droops into resignation. "Doesn't ring a bell. It must be my age getting to me, pity."
"Don't sweat it. I've long since quit."
"Still, maybe if you tell me what your encounter with her was like then it shall jog my memory."
"A sound like a booming gust of wind. Then she casually strode up to me on that horse of hers."
"Ah, she always liked her dramatic entrances." A nostalgic reminiscence colors his voice. "What happened next?"
"There were some petty thieves I had lost track of that were slumped over on her horse. She turned them over to me and I thanked her before we went our separate ways." Best to keep lies short, lest you contradict yourself.
The expectant look on his face persists for a while longer before morphing into clear disappointment. He shakes his head. "Sorry, that was very rude of me," he says while rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I asked too much of you. More than a memory, I just… wanted to hear one more tale about my daughter."
Any comfort you could give this man would just wind up as another deceitful dagger lodged into his back. Would that still be better than the truth? On this day at least your words will be forgotten to the winds, no matter what they are. "Write your own then."
"What?"
"Did you forget?" You point at the grave's inscription. "Continue her fight."
"If only I could." Alonso raises up an open palm and balls it into a fist. "My power still has not shown itself yet, and no one will give me a chance to demonstrate it."
"I wouldn't hold my breath for that. There's still things you can do though."
"No, no. It's not time yet. I just need to be patient," he mutters to himself.
"How long will you keep waiting? Her killers are still out there."
"What good would rushing to cut down a few curs do? Evil killed her, and it is a hydra!" he exclaims with arms outstretched.
You close your eyes and try to envision what will happen next.
"I killed her," you declare with eyes wide open.
Alonso blinks, failing to comprehend at first. You can hear the exact moment his breath hitches. His pupils dart about, desperately trying to find some excuse to dismiss your words.
"You?" he asks. But instead of a familiar contempt, you see a strange sympathy written on his face. "My friend, please do not blame yourself for not being by her side in the end. If anything I–"
"I was. I watched her die," you coldly cut in. Such is the life of heroes, scrambling to fall on the sword for the sake of others.
He stumbles over the rest of his words. After a brief pause, he resumes with renewed vigor. "Even if you were a coward–"
"Gallant paid me to pull the trigger."
Finally he loses all steam and falls silent. A whisper quiet breeze rolls over the graveyard.
He does not lift his head for a long while.
Worse than selfish, it was a pointless cruelty you inflicted. It will only be natural if he retaliates.
Eventually, he moves a hand to cover his eyes. "How could I have been so foolish?"
The next thing you hear from him is a pointed laugh, bitter but triumphant. "I see through your vile tricks. You are a villain, sent to turn me against Gallant," he says.
Your face remains as stone. "I don't deny being a villain. But I swear on my life that he is no hero."
"Your word is worthless. You came to me as a false friend, harboring nothing but betrayal in your heart. Was despair your only weapon?" His fists clench. "The likes of you could never have felled Mila."
You cock your head. "Try me."
"Have at you then!" Indignation burns brightly within his eyes, a look you are far more familiar with.
The punch he winds up can be seen coming from a mile away, and you watch as it lands a solid blow against your jaw. Raw, untrained, and weak. Much too weak.
You pretend to stagger backwards, and wipe the blood from your lip.
"I give up," you say, raising your hands in surrender.
His muscles twitch, eager to ignore your plea. "A villain should not start a fight he cannot finish."
Another punch flies, this time aimed squarely at your stomach. You reel backwards after the hit to gain some distance, then collapse on your side.
Down on the ground, you think of how silly you must look for dragging this out so long. Before Alonso can approach, you push off the ground with your hands and feet. You leap up and sprint away.
Alonso's voice calls out after you. "Just as I thought. Begone snake! Do not show your face to me, nor disgrace this place with your presence ever again."
You wonder how long it will be until that man forgets you. Already you are finding it harder and harder to remember the fact that you made a deal with a disappearer for that power in the first place.
Once you are out of his sight, you slow your pace down to a silent walk. No one pursues you any further, but there is also nowhere left to run either.
<<Previous: Do Us Part | Traces
Traces
You awaken to the sounds of calm ocean waves and the sight of gray skies above you. Grains of cool sand coat your back.You should not be alive. And yet here you are, breathing in the crisp air.
Turning your head, you see to your left a carpet of wayward trash dotting the beach and a monolith of decrepit, abandoned buildings rising up from the horizon. To your right, you see a dusty glass table standing unbalanced in the sand. And sitting on a wooden stool beside it is a masked person covered in a cloak. Unlike the cloth canopy that is full of holes and affixed to the table, their cloak doesn't flutter in the breeze. The empty eyes of their shadowy mask are pointed down at a steaming teacup in their hands.
You put a hand over your gut, failing to find any trace of your wounds. However your clothes are still torn in the places where you remember getting sliced up.
"Samuel. Or Kenji," says the person you once again remember as Babel.
You glance at the sky. "I've never been here before."
"It's a little corner of memory, one of the more peaceful spots I know of in this city."
There's no chair for you at the table, so you figure you may as well remain where you are. The sand makes for a comfortable enough bed anyway. Though you are distinctly missing something for you to fully feel at ease. "Where's my sword?"
"I had to pull it out of you and that old man you killed. I figured it served its purpose, so I buried it at sea."
A pang of paranoia pulses through your heart. Your chest bolts up from the ground as you sit upright. You were never sure what Babel's real motivation for helping you was. Do they just view it all as a game, like that sadistic bastard? "Don't tell me you revived him too," you say with a hint of lingering venom.
They reach into their cloak and toss out an empty vial for you to catch. "No. I don't know when a client will bring something like that to me again, and I doubt it fixes the heart being gouged out. Besides, history rhymes with itself enough as is."
The vial is unlabeled, but a whiff of an acrid odor reaches your nose. You let it fall to the ground to be lost with the rest of the trash here. "Sorry for not holding up my end of the bargain."
"Technically you weren't dead yet, and we agreed upon two days." They take a sip from their cup.
You suppose the proper thing is to feel grateful, but you feel nothing like that. Their frozen expression doesn't demand any gratitude either. "You must want something else from me."
"You're perceptive as always." They raise their teacup to make a toast to nothing before drinking deeply. "I would like you to describe what dying is like."
You furrow your brow. "They write tons of books about that. And surely you were there to witness it yourself."
"Yes, but that doesn't tell me what it was like for you specifically. Also, I know your experience is the real deal and not some fluffed up piece to move copies."
Did this person really save your life just for this? Though you decide to humor them for going through the trouble if so. You close your eyes and try to focus on the memory of what you believed was going to be your end. "Unimaginable white-hot pain from stabbing myself. The warmth rapidly left my body, leaving only a chilly nausea."
Thinking of it so soon after causes you to wince a little. The sensation of unyielding metal burrows its way into your flesh again, never to be taken out. You pause for a bit to collect your thoughts.
Babel dumps out the remaining tea from their cup. "I felt a bit queasy too. I didn't know people had that much blood in them," they quip.
You can't help but give a dry laugh. "Next I saw a vision of a hero I recently killed, standing over me."
"What else were they doing?"
"Staring." Baleful blue eyes come to mind and judge you once again. "That was you, wasn't it?"
"I did reveal myself, but I don't think I gave you a memory cue like that. Not intentionally at least."
"Hmph. Afterwards both my vision and my pain began to fade. All that was left was a quiet finality. An acceptance that I had played my part, and that it was time to bow out."
You see Babel give a slow nod and then turn their head to the side. They gaze out at the ocean.
Rolling waves fill in the silence.
"They say that death is the moment of ultimate solitude. For even when you die alongside someone else, it can never be shared nor taken from you," says Babel. Now wearing a mask of tragedy, they turn back to face you. "But I think this is the closest anyone has ever been to truly sharing it with me. Thank you."
You're not sure why they're thanking you, as your account wasn't drastically different from what could be found in a book. Unless what they were really after was something underpinning the words you were saying. Suddenly the standard price for their services makes much more sense. "Is this how you read memories?" you ask.
"Only after you've already agreed to talk about them." They tilt their head to the side. "People can only imperfectly convey their experiences with mere words anyway, and I want to be as faithful to the source as possible."
You could press them further about whether that constituted permission to read your mind, but frankly you do not care. It was an acceptable price for revenge.
"Anything else?" they ask. With a smooth motion, their mask tilts back into a blank face.
There is one thing that nags at the back of your mind, now that you think about it. "Your power is supposed to make people forget, but it failed at the very last second for me."
"It's weaker when cast on others. I have to tune it so that clients can still see people and not random blurs everywhere. Even so, a person who has strong memories of you will normally still fail to connect them with a distorted engram of you." They point a single index finger upwards. "Provided you don't walk up to them and rub enough reminders in their face. If you don't want that happening during your heart-to-hearts, better to stick to strangers."
"This was never explained to me beforehand."
Their finger waggles mischievously at you. "According to your memory, that is. Though it's true that I don't usually talk about the nuances of my power. People can't help but forget, so what's the point?"
Something about that last turn of phrase causes you to reflect on what you are doing here, sitting on this desolate beach and talking with someone who is nothing more than a stranger in the end. You've bared your secrets to them, but don't even trust them as you would a friend. They've saved your life, but seemed more interested in your death.
You've spent enough time here. "There isn't one," you respond as you rise to your feet. You turn your back on Babel and start trudging through the gray sands toward the ruined buildings in the distance.
Sounds of their footsteps trail behind you, and then stop.
When you turn to look behind you, little trace of their presence remains. Or to be precise, little that you can still see. The chair and table stand undisturbed.
"Going to follow me until the end?" you ask the empty winds.
"Only for one more day. But our agreement has already concluded, so there's no need to keep living for my sake," rings a voice from nowhere.
"I have the feeling you'll eventually turn up again long after that, like a stray cat."
"If you stay alive as mangy dogs tend to do, then maybe. Don't expect me to write your biography though."
With that, you turn around again and walk in your chosen direction. "Farewell then."
"To this moment, never repeated," echoes the voice.
For the first time in your life you find yourself walking down the rolling green hills of a cemetery. Your life's work has been to send people here, and you suspect that some of your victims would see it as the ultimate insult for you to step foot on these hallowed grounds and visit their graves.
An eerie quiet settles upon the soil, walled off from the rest of the commotion of the city. You ponder if even vengeful spirits would give deference to the peace of the others resting here. Rows upon rows of stone markers pass by you, occasionally dotted with vivid flowers and other visitors with solemn faces.
Additional walls partition off the graveyard into a series of courtyards, with different alcoves branching off them. Multiple sections lead into the entrance of what seems to be a grandiose mausoleum carved out from marble. You pay little attention to it as you amble through the grounds in search of one particular grave.
At last you spot a humble tombstone amidst many others like it, distinguished by a vase filled to the brim with freshly cut pink camellias. You kneel down on the grass to read the inscription engraved in the coarse stone.
Mila Salazar
She brought unerring courage to the fold
To gallop onwards toward stars untold
Weep not at her untimely death for long
But take up arms against a world gone wrong
An epitaph befitting her heroic persona. But as her murderer, what do you expect yourself to feel from reading this? No sudden swell of guilt rises up within you, nor sadness for a life cut short by your hands. Only cold recognition of all that you did to arrive at this point in time.
Rustling grass alerts you to someone approaching. You stand and turn to see a middle-aged man with a narrow face and a graying beard. He startles in surprise, but quickly relaxes.
"Here to pay your respects?" asks the man. The years of life he has over you are reflected in his sunken brown eyes. He strikes you as a close relative, one who is still grieving judging from the redness in his eyes.
You nod.
"I'm touched. You look as though you've traveled a long way."
"I have." You look away from his eyes for a moment. "I don't want to be in the way. I'll get going now."
"Wait. I'm Alonso, her adoptive father. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine. What's your name?" He reaches out a hand.
Hesitantly, you accept his handshake. "Samuel." It would have been wiser to walk away. You struggle to think of the right word. "A colleague of Gallop," you lie.
His eyes instantly light up with an earnest curiosity. "A fellow hero then? Her rival Gallant perhaps? But the face doesn't match," he says, tugging on his beard.
"Nothing like that. She helped me once with a mission. We've never really spoken beyond that."
"Oho? You must tell me your hero name. I'm sure she has mentioned you in passing."
"She wouldn't have remembered someone like me."
"Nonsense!" He pats your shoulder with a reassuring hand. "My sweet Dulcinea remembered every noble hero who fought alongside her. Whenever she came back to visit I would ask her to tell me all about her adventures and every time she would mention some new ally and the fierce foe they defeated together."
That doesn't seem right to you. You knew Gallop's patrol patterns and they covered a fixed span of territory. While it wasn't unheard of for independent heroes to come and go, an established solo hero generally sticks to the neighborhoods they are known in to build rapport. You would've heard about such battles.
"Nightshade," you say. It sounds like an obvious villain name but you didn't want to risk picking a real hero's name by coincidence.
Alonso's face scrunches in recollection, but eventually droops into resignation. "Doesn't ring a bell. It must be my age getting to me, pity."
"Don't sweat it. I've long since quit."
"Still, maybe if you tell me what your encounter with her was like then it shall jog my memory."
"A sound like a booming gust of wind. Then she casually strode up to me on that horse of hers."
"Ah, she always liked her dramatic entrances." A nostalgic reminiscence colors his voice. "What happened next?"
"There were some petty thieves I had lost track of that were slumped over on her horse. She turned them over to me and I thanked her before we went our separate ways." Best to keep lies short, lest you contradict yourself.
The expectant look on his face persists for a while longer before morphing into clear disappointment. He shakes his head. "Sorry, that was very rude of me," he says while rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I asked too much of you. More than a memory, I just… wanted to hear one more tale about my daughter."
Any comfort you could give this man would just wind up as another deceitful dagger lodged into his back. Would that still be better than the truth? On this day at least your words will be forgotten to the winds, no matter what they are. "Write your own then."
"What?"
"Did you forget?" You point at the grave's inscription. "Continue her fight."
"If only I could." Alonso raises up an open palm and balls it into a fist. "My power still has not shown itself yet, and no one will give me a chance to demonstrate it."
"I wouldn't hold my breath for that. There's still things you can do though."
"No, no. It's not time yet. I just need to be patient," he mutters to himself.
"How long will you keep waiting? Her killers are still out there."
"What good would rushing to cut down a few curs do? Evil killed her, and it is a hydra!" he exclaims with arms outstretched.
You close your eyes and try to envision what will happen next.
"I killed her," you declare with eyes wide open.
Alonso blinks, failing to comprehend at first. You can hear the exact moment his breath hitches. His pupils dart about, desperately trying to find some excuse to dismiss your words.
"You?" he asks. But instead of a familiar contempt, you see a strange sympathy written on his face. "My friend, please do not blame yourself for not being by her side in the end. If anything I–"
"I was. I watched her die," you coldly cut in. Such is the life of heroes, scrambling to fall on the sword for the sake of others.
He stumbles over the rest of his words. After a brief pause, he resumes with renewed vigor. "Even if you were a coward–"
"Gallant paid me to pull the trigger."
Finally he loses all steam and falls silent. A whisper quiet breeze rolls over the graveyard.
He does not lift his head for a long while.
Worse than selfish, it was a pointless cruelty you inflicted. It will only be natural if he retaliates.
Eventually, he moves a hand to cover his eyes. "How could I have been so foolish?"
The next thing you hear from him is a pointed laugh, bitter but triumphant. "I see through your vile tricks. You are a villain, sent to turn me against Gallant," he says.
Your face remains as stone. "I don't deny being a villain. But I swear on my life that he is no hero."
"Your word is worthless. You came to me as a false friend, harboring nothing but betrayal in your heart. Was despair your only weapon?" His fists clench. "The likes of you could never have felled Mila."
You cock your head. "Try me."
"Have at you then!" Indignation burns brightly within his eyes, a look you are far more familiar with.
The punch he winds up can be seen coming from a mile away, and you watch as it lands a solid blow against your jaw. Raw, untrained, and weak. Much too weak.
You pretend to stagger backwards, and wipe the blood from your lip.
"I give up," you say, raising your hands in surrender.
His muscles twitch, eager to ignore your plea. "A villain should not start a fight he cannot finish."
Another punch flies, this time aimed squarely at your stomach. You reel backwards after the hit to gain some distance, then collapse on your side.
Down on the ground, you think of how silly you must look for dragging this out so long. Before Alonso can approach, you push off the ground with your hands and feet. You leap up and sprint away.
Alonso's voice calls out after you. "Just as I thought. Begone snake! Do not show your face to me, nor disgrace this place with your presence ever again."
You wonder how long it will be until that man forgets you. Already you are finding it harder and harder to remember the fact that you made a deal with a disappearer for that power in the first place.
Once you are out of his sight, you slow your pace down to a silent walk. No one pursues you any further, but there is also nowhere left to run either.
And here we are at last. I've been wanting to tie in Alonso for a while. Though this will probably be the last chapter in the series unless I get a flash of inspiration out the blue. I'm satisfied with the place the characters are at in case they get picked up by the recruitment dice. Hopefully I didn't sacrifice too much for the sake of the concept ("murderer meets a relative of their victim in a cemetery"), but backstories can always change anyway. Gotta leave things open ended to have room for change, right?
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
Actually, given that JU controlled the Mitt, it probably was defunct. We'll go with that!
Powers, man. They're weird!
Very well written! +1!
- Location
- Florida
- Pronouns
- He/Him
To be fair, there has also been a decent focus on synergies we only have parts of or are merely assuming they exist, like the self enhancement or ACC synergies. There's just also the fact that when people are building out powersets based on things that work well together and they end up only one or two tags from a known synergy, there is an urge to fill it due to it being right there.
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