Queen of the Swarm (Worm; Complete)

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.06



There were very few people whom I truly hated, and the majority were already dead. That day, I decided that I hated Bonesaw. It wasn't enough for her to come into my city for the sole purpose of torturing and murdering innocent people; she had to further extend that to the truly innocent, having released a virus into the water. Animals – dogs, cats, rats, et cetera – who drank the standing water were subject to a transformation somewhat akin to Cerberus' power, becoming vastly larger, more durable and more aggressive. They didn't attack other infected, but anyone and anything else was fair game. There was no way to capture and study the animals to look for a cure without risking people being massacred; horrific as it was, I had to direct my critters to cull the mutated animals, guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.



It was a war in the back alleys and sewers, an endless orgy of blood and violence. I sobbed while directing my broodmothers to hatch more raptors, organizing my critters tactically to minimize losses. I created bottlenecks, taking advantage of my raptors' reach with their blades, and assembled firing lines of spikers to thin the numbers.



"Skitter!" Dragon's voice shrieked through my earpiece and I leapt off my bed, falling in a heap.



"D-Dragon? What is it?"



"Crawler's attack was a bluff! Mannequin is inside the Rig and he's after Armsmaster! I lost contact with him; his armor's been compromised. Do you have any critters that can help?"



I clenched my eyes shut, forcing my mind to stretch its range to the absolute limit. "Yes, there are a couple of raptors. One's near Armsmaster's lab."



I added that raptor to my list of controlled critters, following Dragon's directions. Using one of its little finger-claws, the raptor punched in the emergency override code. While Armsmaster had his weaponry locked with biometric security, Dragon had convinced him to include an override just in case he was ever incapacitated and in need of equipment. My raptor took the halberd Dragon indicated and rushed to Armsmaster's side. Mannequin tried to kill it with a poison, but it was just painful rather than fatal. I got the satisfaction of watching a mass-murderer killed by his own intended victim.



Instead of triumph, however, Dragon's response was a keening sob. "The Director...why was she out in the field? Why did she..."



My blood ran cold. Something had happened to Piggot? I'd come to think of her as a good friend. "Dragon, be specific. What happened?"



"I'm sorry. Emily was fighting Jack Slash, and winning. Then the Siberian...killed her."



I swallowed hard. "If you have video of the fight, send it to Foresight. Maybe she can come up with a plan. Where did Jack go?"



"They were headed southwest of the Rig before I lost visuals."



"Alright. Focus on coordinating a counteroffensive. I'm going to try to find them."



While it was taxing on my brain, I forced myself to look through the eyes of every single bug in my range, all while still controlling my critters, and processed the images in order to locate the murderous monsters. I could feel something hot running out of my nose and over my lips; it tasted of copper.



There! One of my flies caught a glimpse of a striped figure. I had it move as quickly as it could, perching on her long hair and hiding within one of the black stripes. Releasing the rest of the bugs, I focused to listen in. Ordinary insects weren't as good as earbugs, but I'd been getting better at hearing through them.



I heard someone slammed against a wall; the feminine grunt accompanying it was too old to be Bonesaw. "What the fuck was that!?" Only two of the remaining men in the Nine spoke, and Crawler sounded like a nightmare from the few audio clips I'd heard. Therefore, by process of elimination, it was Jack Slash who was shouting. "It was supposed to be a curbstomp!" A weird metallic slick-click; probably unsheathing a straight razor. More female grunting, open-mouthed. He was jamming the razor into her mouth; since she wasn't yet screaming, I presumed he hadn't started cutting. "Instead, we nearly lost Crawler and Burnscar and I was almost killed. By an ordinary woman! If the Siberian hadn't been there..." His voice became far sweeter, yet infinitely more menacing. "So I ask again, dear Cherish, what was that? Were you being a naughty little girl and backing up the Protectorate? Maybe trying to bump us off so you could welch on our agreement?"



"Blow me, Jack," Cherish protested, forcing the razor out of her mouth. "Somehow they weren't responding to fear or despair. Only other way I could back you up was suicidal overconfidence. And it worked, didn't it? You didn't get your head blown off."



"That doesn't explain why Mannequin hasn't been reporting back, or why my little Bonesaw is MIA. Have you been working behind our backs?"



"Maybe it's 'cause you got comfortable," Cherish spat. "You're so used to everybody panicking when you come to town, you're not prepared to deal with actual opposition. Fucking Hatchet Face was so arrogant he offed himself before even realizing he was being Mastered."



The tinkling of glass. "Watch what you say, little girl," an accented voice threatened. Shatterbird. "Or I may just carve out your eyes."



Good, they were arguing, caught up in petty squabbles. I could zero in on my bug, bring in the sprayers and every other critter in my arsenal, and–



My orange vision vanished. I couldn't feel my critters. Even Atlas disappeared from my contact. Hatchet Face! But wait, wasn't he dead? It didn't matter. I bolted down the stairs. While I trusted my critters to protect themselves, they couldn't organize themselves like I could, and if the Nine were coming to call I needed to confront them before they got to my dad. Of course, Atlas was guarding him in the basement, but that wouldn't be enough against something like Crawler.



The hideous roar of gear chains revving up became audible and the door splintered inward, battered down by some bizarre axe/chainsaw monstrosity. The creature wielding the weapon was every bit as monstrous. It was as though someone had taken Hatchet Face, shoved his head down into his ribcage, and piled on an entire person's worth of additional muscle. The immense hunched back flexed, muscles designed for swinging that axe demonstrating their power as he drove that weapon into the wall for intimidation's sake, easily cleaving through pipes, wires and a support beam. The ceiling above groaned in protest. The beast's glassy, unfocused eyes turned toward me.



The rest of the team was prepared to join in, but without their powers only Grue would have a chance, and even that would be a remote one. Instead, I motioned for them to stay back, my gaze fixed on Hatchet Face. "Oh, I've got a lot of anger and self-loathing I need to work out," I snarled, unsheathing the claws from my fingers and toes. "Thanks for volunteering." I dropped into a low stance, fingers curled not quite into fists, hoping that Brian had drilled the fighting style into me well enough. I pushed off toward him, dipping down my left shoulder and digging my claws into the floor to suddenly pull my upper body parallel to the ground, sliding like a baseball player to avoid the next swing of that axe. I tucked my right leg under myself and sprang back upright, digging my claws into his back. Getting a grip on a clump of muscles, I put all of my weight into continuing that momentum and threw him back out the doorway.



I tried to hock up some bursters but my creep refused to transform; apparently his power kept me from controlling my internal creep as well as my critters. Oh well, doing this the hard way. I broke into a dead run, aiming a palm strike at his shoulder. All of my strength and body weight focused into the heel of my hand and I sent him sprawling again, the mound of muscle forcing himself back upright before I could capitalize on his stagger a second time.



With surprising dexterity for an undead Frankenstein/Igor hybrid, Hatchet Face spun his axe-saw and whipped it back and forth, warding me off. Even a glancing hit from that could deal major damage; while he wasn't swinging it that hard (comparatively, given how much force he could exert), speed took priority over power.



"Skitter! Pull back!" Grue's voice simultaneously filled me with hope and despair. Hope, in that I wanted to believe he and the others could help. Despair, because it was unlikely. The big man came sliding in, legs spread, and clamped them like scissors around Hatchet Face's own legs, twisting and pulling the abomination backward. Hatchet Face landed hard on his back with a heavy thud and Grue immediately scrambled away, but not fast enough. That mutant axe caught him in the leg and I could hear the meat churning between those vicious whirling teeth, Grue falling forward with a scream of total agony.



"Motherfucker!" It was bad enough that they turned innocent animals into weapons. It was bad enough that they killed and tortured people. But they'd killed one of my friends, and were hurting another. It ends now! Before I realized what I was doing, I'd closed the distance and was grabbing the weapon. The blades tore against my costume, ripping through it like it had Grue's, but I squeezed tighter. The chain stopped moving. I could hear the metal screeching beneath my grip, protesting its abuse, but I didn't feel any exertion: I didn't feel anything except pure animalistic rage. I squeezed and wrenched the weapon and tore it from Hatchet Face's grasp. The behemoth seized me by the neck and squeezed, those thick, sausage-like fingers squeezing off my air supply.



I wanted to respond in kind but his head was sunken in and surrounded by those immense muscles. So instead I extended my claws and drove them deep into the flesh, digging for his skull. I was going to tear it off his spine!



Apparently, while I didn't need food or drink, I still needed air. The fury of the fight was turning against me as I felt my energy draining, my body running out of oxygen to power itself. This only spurred me further to end the fight before I gave out, bracing a foot against his shoulder and pulling harder, my claws hooking beneath his jawbone, trying to get as much leverage as I could.



Then his other hand, damaged from my destruction of his weapon, tangled itself in my hair and pulled me down into a piledriver. I felt his boot come down on my head, exerting as much pressure as he could, trying to pop my skull like a zit. I kicked and struggled, trying to push myself up, but he had leverage and I couldn't see where he was positioned. Hatchet Face's body shook a bit; presumably someone had tried to tackle the undead monstrosity, but to no real effect. Then, however, I heard a sound that gave me genuine hope: the loud buzzing of immense wings. Either Dad had released him or Atlas had simply pried through the garage door, but either way my boy was here. I could hear the meaty impact even through the asphalt, and the weight vanished from my skull.



Cerberus was on the ground, clutching her ribs. Foresight was administering her best first-aid to Grue. Hatchet Face was wrestling with Atlas, and losing.



While the dead villain was certainly strong enough to match or even overpower my bug, he didn't have Hookwolf's durability and Atlas' enormous blades were slowly carving through his arms, splitting them apart. I staggered backward until I was out of Hatchet Face's range and forced myself to cough up an uglybug; we'd need a cuddlebug to help staunch Grue's bleeding. The moment I was clear, I felt Atlas' mind touch mine once again. I took control and had him give ground, only for a moment, throwing Hatchet Face off-balance. I spread his blades wide and then scissored them together, neatly separating the murderer's torso from his legs. Hatchet Face's halves landed on the street with a meaty slap and then I brought down the blades again, hacking off his arms. I didn't know how much damage a reanimated corpse could endure, but without limbs it wasn't much of a threat.



My cuddlebug hatched and I lurched over to Grue, pointing it at his wound. Squee, it declared, spitting creep onto his mangled leg. It then turned and spat onto my hand, helping my wounds knit together. I could actually see the purple goop melding with my flesh, causing it to close up. "Alright," I panted, "is everybody okay?"



"I'll need a visit from Panacea if I want to keep use of my leg," Grue said, "but I'm not in danger of bleeding out and it doesn't hurt as bad anymore. Those cuddlebugs do good work."



Squee, the bug agreed.



"It feels like this was all a distraction, though," Foresight said while helping Cerberus brace her ribs. "Couple of these are broken," she commented while the stockier girl grunted in discomfort. "Like they were testing you, testing us," she returned to her previous train of thought.



"They were." Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sadness returned. "They attacked the Rig. Director Piggot was killed."



Grue looked up from the pavement. "Wait, what? How?"



"Apparently Cherish dosed the area with suicidal overconfidence," I answered. "I managed to spy on the Nine for a bit, before Hatchet Face negated my power. The upside, if there is one here, is that Piggot fucked Jack Slash up before she died." I couldn't help the hint of a cruel smile that blossomed on my lips. "From how he sounded, I think she came close to killing him."



Foresight had frozen in place, arms limp at her sides. "Uh, Foresight? Hon? You alright?" I reached over to poke her.



"Holy fuck," she whispered. "Holy fucking fuck."



From where he and Imp were jury-rigging stretchers for Cerberus and Grue, Regent spoke up. "Oh great, our Thinker's broken."



"This is the second time it's happened," Foresight said, standing and beginning to pace. She was talking a mile a minute, her motions frenetic. "Relying on my power is almost second nature. While I can't use it too much or it's migraine city, I base my further deductions on conclusions reached with my power. First it was Calvert somehow hiding an obvious connection from me, and now..." She turned to look at me. "Jack has a second power!" She answered my question before I could ask it. "It's how he's survived for so long: some sort of Trump ability that interferes with other parahumans!"



"Not that I doubt you," Grue said as Regent and Imp helped him crawl onto the stretcher, "but how'd you figure this out?"



"Because I finally wasn't using my power," she replied. "I've made it second nature to briefly activate my power whenever I'm faced with a puzzle: it helps me suss out the answers much more quickly. But just now, I was so stressed with everything that happened that I forgot to switch my power on. Everything makes sense: there's no way that someone like Jack could command a group of killers all so much more powerful than him. Charisma only goes so far, after all. Moreover, it's pretty much impossible that he's escaped more than one attack by the Triumvirate. Unless, he has some sort of fuck-up shield. But it must only work on other capes, like..." She paused. "Huh, that's something for later. I just figured out that Migraine's power only works on parahumans. But she was able to use it on Leviathan, even if it didn't work. But that's a problem for another time. Anyway, if we consider his secondary ability to be a Trump, then it makes sense that it only works on capes. So somebody like Piggot – admittedly a badass, but a baseline human – would be able to move around his defenses."



"So we arm the PRT for lethal combat and send them after Jack while we deal with the greater threats," I concluded, using spiders to weave cables and attach them to the stretchers. Atlas was ready to grab them up. "Cerberus, grab your dogs. Let's head to the Rig. We'll need to get some equipment of our own. Foresight, while we're in transit, I want you to think on the Siberian. We need a way to kill her."



"Even better if I can do it with my bare hands," Cerberus added, wheezing through her broken ribs. "I owe that bitch."



Atlas lifted off, airlifting my wounded teammates. "Everyone, be ready to kill without remorse or hesitation. It's time for a counteroffensive."

 

[Vherstinae]

Loss 8.07



The battles beneath the city were over. It was terrifying, honestly, to realize how much my humanity was holding me back. While my human mind let me plan more elaborate plans and seek out advantages not clear to an animal mind, my morality kept me from being as truly savage as I was capable of being. When my senses returned, I could feel that the majority of my critters were dead. But so was every infected animal in the city. Without my control they had gone into a blood frenzy and the resulting carnage made me sick to my stomach...if I still had a stomach, at least.



I leapt off Atlas, falling into a somersault. It hurt to drop from so far up, but haste was paramount. "I need to speak to Deputy Renick," I shouted at the nearest PRT officer. She didn't bother with red tape and just led me through the halls.



The Rig was hurting. I could feel the pain and sadness: the PRT's leader, the woman who had rallied our forces and dispelled the fear, was dead. Wilson Renick was a quiet and unassuming man, one who did a wonderful job acting as middle-man between heroes and ordinary people, but he wasn't equipped emotionally to take an outright leadership role. Everyone was lost and wondering what had happened to change the dynamic so drastically.



When I was led to Renick, I could see that he'd been crying and doing his best to conceal it. "Deputy-Director," I addressed him by his former title rather than Acting Director, hoping to briefly lessen the blow, "I have important information. We know how to kill Jack Slash."



That moved his focus from the confusion of the last skirmish. "You have my attention, Skitter."



"Slash has a secondary power, a Thinker/Trump sort of precog that basically gives him superhuman reaction time against capes: he literally knows what we're going to do before we do it. It could even extend to force of personality, which is why he's able to corrupt and lead villains far more powerful than he is."



The haggard man contemplated my words. "That would explain why Militia didn't just finish him off with a bazooka or something..." I could see the gears turning in his head. "And that's why Emily was able to beat him so thoroughly." He grabbed his communicator. "I'll get the PRT outfitted for war. Now we just need to hope you have a way to beat Crawler and the Siberian."



I gave Renick a reassuring smile. "If anybody can figure it out, it's Foresight."



(BREAK)



Down in the medical wing, both Steve and the emergency cuddlebug I'd made for Grue's wounds observed the bustle. Two nightmarish-looking female figures were strapped down onto tables, life-support systems attached to them.



"Jesus," Regent muttered. "What happened to them?"



Panacea tried to answer but had to clear her throat to get rid of the tears and phlegm. "That's Vicky and Mouse Protector. Bonesaw got to them... I'm keeping them in induced comas for now. It's horrible, but we can't spare staff to help them cope."



Brandish stood up from where she'd been hunched over Glory Girl. "I'm just waiting for the word. I'll unleash hell on these monsters."



Panacea finished her work on Grue and Cerberus. "You two ready to go again?"



The stocky girl nodded. "I'm gonna kill 'em all."



Foresight sat down and rested her palms on her knees, head tilted back ever so slightly. I recognized that pose as her ultimate Thinking position. "The remaining members are all pretty straightforward: Burnscar needs to be doused, Shatterbird can be taken out with sufficient small-arms fire, and Cherish? Either snipe her or send in the critters. Even Crawler's simple – not easy, but simple. Either hit him just once, hard enough that he dies before he can regen, or somehow turn his body against him. It's the Siberian who's the problem. She completely defies the laws of physics. Someone like that, who can bypass even...Alexandria's...invulnerability..."



My violet-garbed girlfriend leapt off the chair. "Somebody get me Clockblocker and Skitter!"



(BREAK)



I was honestly surprised at the sheer amount of offensive weaponry the PRT had at their disposal. "We'd stockpiled guns in the event of an outright gang war," Renick explained. "Not just the skirmishes, but outright war. And after everything came to a head between the ABB and E88, we decided to keep the stock just in case martial law was needed."



Automatic rifles, grenades, a freaking TOW missile launcher, and siege armor manufactured by Dragon herself: our PRT agents were now bona fide soldiers ready to exterminate the greatest threat we yet faced. I couldn't help but think it was poetic and fitting, that normal people would be the ones to kill the leader of a villain group that enjoyed slaughtering those same normal people.



I'd coughed up three new broodmothers who were immediately put to work replenishing my swarm's numbers, Cerberus was working with K-9 units to prepare them for combat, and the PRT had armed Imp with some heavy weaponry for surprise attacks. In just a little bit, we'd be ready to take the fight to the 9.



And that's when an aide came running in, holding a phone. "Director! You need to hear this! Now!" Without waiting for permission, he hit the speaker option.



"Well, that frantic shouting sounds like we're here. Hi there, Acting Director. Did you manage to scoop up all the pieces of the last one?" Jack Slash's smooth, sinister voice grated on my ears. I wanted nothing more than to somehow reach through that phone and tear his head off. I thought I could hear whimpering on the other end and suddenly found myself wondering just whose phone this was. "Anyway, I was calling to check in, see how you're doing, and find out if you're planning to hide out on that oil rig forever. It's fine if you are; we'll just have our fun out here. To be less obtuse," the playful tone dropped from his voice and it became downright menacing, "we're going to start killing people now. No real rhyme or reason; wherever we decide to head, we'll kill anyone and everyone nearby. If you're fine with all that innocent blood on your heads, feel free to keep hiding. If not, just follow the trail of corpses to find us and try to stop us... Oh! Shit, I almost hung up. That'd sort of defeat the purpose of calling you. Y'see, we rounded up these people for a reason."



Jack Slash didn't speak any further; he didn't have to. The screams and pleading of his victims said more than he ever could have. The wet sklutch of human flesh being parted, the agonized shrieks transitioning into death rattles...we didn't dare hang up. It seemed that everyone was of the same mind: horrific as it was, to hang up would be to disrespect these poor people. They were dying, and we couldn't just shut that out and pretend it wasn't happening.



Once the noise quieted down, the Director hung up. He only spoke one sentence, calm and even. "We're going to kill them all."



(BREAK)



I'd made larger-than-normal spikers for transportation: there were only so many K-9 dogs available, so those who were left without flight or vehicles could hop piggyback on a spiker and make good time. Of course, the spikers were also excellent offensive weapons, so that was another benefit.



The remaining members of the Slaughterhouse 9 had kept true to their word: it was easy to follow the trail of carnage that wound randomly through the streets. They hadn't gotten nearly as far as I'd expected, though. Their rampage had been halted by two other cape teams working in tandem.



The Butcher tangled with Crawler, handling the immense Brute like a mantis fending off a bird. He charged Crawler, dropping into a baseball slide to duck under the monster's enormous jaws. The explosive teleport knocked Crawler into the air, then slammed him back down as Butcher appeared on his back, slipping behind him and catching Crawler by a back leg, hurling him through a building.



Gregor the Snail was providing support alongside another cape who manifested odd rippling spheres in the air, the two of them snuffing out Burnscar's fires. Working in tandem with that pair, Spitfire had teamed up with another of the Teeth, a guy decked head-to-toe in black with orange circles popping up on his costume. He crystallized the flames into tiny points, smaller than marbles, and then launched them like bullets of pure heat.



Spree was doing his best to keep the Siberian distracted, endless waves of clones spilling over her, blood and viscera obscuring her vision. In the air, Shatterbird darted back and forth, dodging storms of bullets while Vex's bladed forcefields blockaded her from rising too high. On occasion, a cape on the ground extended one of his arms, trying to snatch her out of the sky.



The rest of the Teeth lay dead or dying on the street: Hemorrhagia was the only one I recognized, her head having been separated from her body. Shamrock was in a standoff with Jack Slash. I had no idea how she was doing it, but she dodged every attack he sent her way. She retaliated with a massive cannon of a pistol, but he was always one step ahead of her aim. It was like they were both predicting the other's movements, too slow on the offense and too fast on the defense.



Of our own group, Scanner and Foresight hung back, studying the fight. My spikers overheard their conversation. "Holy shit," Scanner gasped. "The Siberian, she's...she's not showing up as a cape. She's...it's like when Skitter controls bugs!"



I could hear the smile in my girlfriend's voice. "Perfect. Skitter, Clock, you ready?"



I tilted my head back and released a torrent of bumblespiders. The yellow-black bugs buzzed over to the pile of corpses that the Siberian was trying to wade through, laying down webbing over the gore. As Foresight gave the signal, I sent some of my bugs upward, trying to wind silk around Shatterbird. They didn't reach her before Vista closed the distance and Clockblocker tapped the silk. His time-freezing power took hold, affecting the bodies beneath the webbing, just as the Siberian pushed against them. There was an odd sound like cracking glass and the frozen pile went limp, caving in as the Siberian winked out of existence.



"No!" Jack Slash noticed the Siberian's disappearance, turning to us and swinging his razor. Atlas darted into the way, the cut harmlessly scratching against his carapace.



The world lurched and I fell away from reality, into my own mind. I saw my mother's car T-boned, my text message still on her phone as her neck snapped from the impact. I saw the face of Alan Barnes, the man I'd thought of as an uncle, as he took pleasure in fighting for Winslow and his daughter, betraying the man who'd been his brother in all but blood. I saw Sophia Hess spreading her poison, the corruption within the Protectorate that allowed a psychopath like that to be given free rein. I saw the Undersiders and Faultline's team being used as cannon fodder while the heroes hid within the Rig, emerging only to claim the victory. I saw my own monstrousness, my body mutating further and further until I wasn't even sapient anymore, a feral beast killing those I loved.



Mommy. It wasn't a word; more, a concept. I felt it more than I heard it. Mommy. What was this? Who was talking to me? Then I saw them: my babies. From the tiniest cuddlebug to Atlas, they were my children, my family. They still needed me. I couldn't give up.



Don't worry, babies. Mommy's here.



I clawed my way back through the abyss, feeling the tendrils in my mind trying to force me back down. Instead, I focused on those tendrils, tracing them back to their creator. I felt her, smelled her, knew her. But she wasn't mine to kill. One of my children slithered toward her, carrying his black-haired passenger.



The gladiator charged the bird, lightning crackling along his spear. She threw feathers at him but he blocked and dodged, striking again and again. She managed to keep him at a distance, forcing him to pay more attention to her feathers. But in her arrogance she forgot, just for a moment, about the frog on the tar. It shot out a long, five-pronged tongue and caught the bird around the leg. It didn't have time to shriek before being dragged down onto a bed of sharp stones, breaking its wings and moaning pitifully. The bird tried to gather her feathers, to flap away, but the gladiator dropped on top of her, driving the lightning bolt through her spine.



I blinked away the fog in my head, my thoughts coming more into focus as Dauntless wrenched his arc lance free from Shatterbird's back. "Nice hit," the long-armed Tooth grinned and shot the hero a thumbs-up. Dauntless gave an awkward smile and a little salute with his lance.



Jack Slash turned and ran. His team was falling apart and he wasn't the type to go down with the ship. Fortunately, there was a reason the PRT hadn't yet entered the fight: we'd been waiting for Jack to cut and run.



The military-issue personnel carrier pulled up, cutting off Jack's primary escape route. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to decide on which way to go, only to refocus on the APC when a panel slid loose. "Well, shit," he muttered, seeing more than a dozen assault rifles brought to bear. Jack Slash bolted, for all the good it did him. The storm of bullets hit him like a truck, knocking him back and shredding his skin. Every single PRT officer emptied their clip into him, then paused to reload. Half of them shot him more as he tried to crawl away, the other half exiting the carrier. They cuffed his hands and feet, but made no attempt to move him. Instead, one more soldier brought out a canister.



He stooped down next to Jack. "My sister was in Reno. You killed her. I've been waiting for this." He poured the odd metal powder all over the mass-murderer.



Faultline must have realized what was going on, because she grabbed Newter and Vista and rattled off a quick plan. The little Shaker warped space to put Newter in front of Burnscar, where he promptly spat in her face. Faultline then sent a crack through the street and Vista widened it, letting the mass-murderer drop into the hole, releasing her control just before her Manton limit would have torn it free. The street slammed shut, crushing Burnscar into a pulp.



With the pyrokinetic gone, the PRT had no worries in igniting the thermite and letting Jack Slash melt into ash and pink paste.



"Only two left now," I muttered.



"One, actually," Foresight smirked at me. I realized that Cerberus was absent.



I was about to ask where Butcher and Crawler had gotten to when my question was answered. The Butcher smashed through a building, his body apparently having taken out one support beam too many in the second floor. The third floor collapsed onto the first, crushing the entire structure. The Teeth's leader was missing an arm at the shoulder and a leg at the hip, his wounds seared with acid.



Crawler burst through the street from beneath me, catching me by the leg. "This is all your fault, little girl," the monstrosity bellowed at me, dozens of malevolent golden eyes focused on mine. "You took away my only friends, the ones who helped me hunt..." His tongue uncurled, covered in octopus-like suckers, dripping acid onto my leg. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to EAT YOU!" The other heroes were blasting Crawler, trying to pry him off me, but he refused to let go. He was dedicated to vengeance.



Wait, I thought, if he makes acid... I spat a burster into his mouth. The monster screamed in overwhelming pain, his mouth bubbling from the acid/base reaction. I wrenched my leg free, most of its costume and skin remaining in Crawler's grip, but I was loose. I scrambled back but Crawler's eyes were already back on me, the beast lunging forward. I couldn't get out of the way in time.



Atlas slammed into Crawler head-on, the two falling end-over-end until Atlas righted himself, trying to pry himself free of Crawler's grip. The Brute grabbed onto one of his blades, tearing it out of its socket and flinging it aside. Atlas didn't falter, staring deep into Crawler's primary eyes. I could feel the strength and determination emanating from my big guy.



I love you, Mother. I could feel the thought, understand it clear as day. And I understood why he sent it. "Atlas, NO!"



The beetle shrugged off my attempt to control him, spreading his wings and carrying Crawler into the air. He intended to fling the Brute into space. He never made it: Crawler punched a hole through Atlas' torso, pulling out his organs and killing my baby, my favorite son. He plummeted back to earth with my child's corpse, slamming into the street with enough force to leave a crater, the impact laying most of us flat.



"Trash," Crawler muttered, kicking aside my baby's remains.



My humanity fell away. With a roar louder and more feral than one of Crawler's own bellows, I charged on all fours. I impacted him with enough force to knock him onto his back, and opened my mouth wide. I felt my creation's clawed legs tearing my throat apart but that didn't matter. What mattered was that this creature suffered. It shot forward into one of his eyes, tearing it open and crawling inside. I leapt off Crawler before he could retaliate, and then the screaming started.



The monster rolled around in agony, wailing and gnashing his teeth, begging for the pain to stop. His flesh crawled; rather, things crawled beneath his flesh. His body tried to heal itself, but only continued to fuel the conversion. His flesh was turned to creep, the parasites multiplying within him, consuming his innards as food. He rose onto his back legs, screaming to the sky, and then the noises stopped. Thick purple creep bubbled up from his throat, spilling down onto the street, his skin sloughing off and his body melting into a conical, pulsating structure.



Crawler was no more. Regent's last tie to his family was broken. Cerberus had killed the Siberian's creator with her bare hands.



But my baby was still gone.



Foresight wrapped her arms around me and I snarled, nearly bit her. She touched my cheek.



I cried.

 

[Vherstinae]

Interlude 8.z



Welcome to the Parahumans Online Message Boards



You are currently logged in, Titania



+Topic: Slaughterhouse 9 DEAD!



In: Boards > News > Events > America



Snickersnack (Original Poster) (Boots on the Ground)



Posted on May 29, 2011:



It's the end of an era, people. Every last one of the Slaughterhouse 9 are dead, with very few (as in, I think less than 50) casualties total. Good ol' Jack Slash got the ultimate fuck-you from the normal people, as the PRT were the ones to finish him off. Burnscar was Vista's first confirmed kill, and I have it on good authority that she's getting counseling to deal with having taken a life, even one as wretched as Burnscar's.



I'm sure the PRT will do a press release soon [EDIT: They did. See here], but I wanted to get the news out as soon as I got my hands on a computer. Coming on the heels of Leviathan's most brutal defeat to date (Suck it, Lung!), it brings to mind two questions:



First, could this signal a return to peace and safety, now that we're successfully beating back or killing off the greatest threats to the world?



Second, just what's going on down in Brockton Bay that they could put up this kind of fight?



(Showing page 1 of 212)



>Brocktopus (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Holy shit, seriously? They're dead? As in, all of them, even Siberian? Am...am I smiling? I think I am. It kinda hurts from underuse. I think I'm actually proud of my hometown again.



>EyMaan



Replied on May 29, 2011:



So first they took Leviathan's arm, now they killed the entire Slaughterhouse 9 in, what, a day? Two? Fuck Scion and Eidolon, next time shit goes down I'm calling BB.



>LordBravery



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Agreed, Maan. Is there something in the water over there in Brockton? Seems like they're breeding badasses recently.



>Foresight (Verified Cape) (Yes, I'm psychic)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



This was a major victory but, like all things in this shitty world, came at great cost. We've lost good friends like Director Emily Piggot, and Skitter lost Atlas. She still hasn't stopped crying...



>Tin_Mother (Moderator)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Foresight's right – I don't mean to rain on anybody's parade, but we should remember the sacrifices made to stop these monsters.



>TheAngryJew (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



I'm still wondering just how they killed some of 'em. I mean, Siberian was known for being invincible and Crawler's power was basically "fuck you." Plus, y'know, Bonesaw.



I'm not disbelieving the good news; I'm just interested in how they did it.



>Brockton Bay PRT (Official)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



The PRT is putting together a press statement that will be read later today. In it, we will list those who died to earn us this victory, as well as a short description of each kill.



>Winged_One



Replied on May 29, 2011:



No, not Atlas! Poor Skitter; he seemed like such a sweet bug!



>IneedAHero



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Congratulations and hearty thanks to everyone who helped put those bastards six feet under. I know it took a lot of sacrifice to do, but the entire nation owes you its gratitude. Coming from someone who survived the 9 tearing through my town, I can't imagine how scared you must have been. Thank you all for having the courage to fight back against evil.



>Mockery (Verified Cape)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



The 9 got arrogant. They'd been around so long they thought they were the untouchable cocks of the goddamn walk, especially Jack Slash. Turns out he was just like Grey Boy: a big fish used to small ponds that suddenly found itself in the ocean.



Rest in pain, you bastards.



(Showing page 212 of 212)



>TheMagicWaffle



Replied on May 29, 2011:



God, I swear I can still hear her crying. It's like her child was killed. Maybe it was, in a way. I mean, we've seen how Skitter can spit up bugs, and people have stories of the critter production lines during the Leviathan attack, maybe she made Atlas like her other monsters. The way she reacted, though, I don't think she could control it. They had to literally carry her off.



>Bagrat (The Guy in the Know)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



And don't get me started with what became of Crawler. The thing's spreading her bio-goo and occasionally spits up those gross squirmy things, and it just sits there and makes weird noises and creeps me out. Sorry to say it but I'm not in the know on this one.



>DeeDeeBeeDeep (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



I still can't get over the fact that they're gone. My brother died last time they went through Shreveport. He was still on the phone with me. It's a relief, like a weight's off my shoulders, but also a disappointment of sorts. I'd always imagined that I might get the chance at revenge.



>SirNotAppearingInThisFilm (Aptly Named)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



At least the dead can rest. Even if it wasn't by any of our hands, they've still been avenged and nobody else will die to those monsters. Focus on the positive rather than feeding what-ifs or letting your grudges stew against people who're burning in hell right now.



>Leet (Verified Cape)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Wait, it's over already? I hadn't even finished my latest weapons! It was gonna be my big...ah, screw it. I'll find another occasion. Also, @Tin_Mother, what does one need to do to change a screenname? PM me and I'll give you the 411.



(BREAK)



+Topic: The Death of Fear



In: Boards > News > PRT Announcements > America



Brockton Bay PRT (Official)



Posted on May 29, 2011:



This statement is a companion to our Press Release earlier today, a summation of events as well as a statement of intent for the future. The Slaughterhouse 9 are indeed all dead and bounties will be issued accordingly: Bonesaw – Panacea. Mannequin – Armsmaster. Hatchet Face – The Undersiders. Shatterbird – Dauntless as well as villains Vex and Grapnel. Burnscar – Vista as well as mercenaries Newter and Faultline. The Siberian, aka William Manton – Cerberus. Cherish – Regent. Crawler – Skitter. Jack Slash's bounty will be split between the PRT troopers on-duty today, as they were the ones to kill him.



As those who saw the press release will know, it was discovered that the Siberian was in actuality an extremely powerful Master projection from Dr. William Manton. After being exposed to the Simurgh, Manton became obsessed with resurrecting his daughter. When that failed, the man who was once the world's foremost parahuman researcher determined to somehow acquire powers of his own and destroy the world he'd helped to create. While the Siberian was thought to be unstoppable, it was a projection that ignored the laws of matter. When put against something that ignores the laws of space and time, the projection was temporarily destroyed. Undersiders member Cerberus wrung Manton's neck, snapping his spinal column.



When asked why she performed that specific action, Cerberus was more talkative than usual: "She, or he, f*** it, it came to my animal shelter and wrung a puppy's neck, just because it could. I promised that I'd kill it. That way seemed only fair."



At the moment, the PRT has no plans to deal with what onlookers have dubbed the Crawler-Cone. We understand that it blocks a major intersection but Skitter is currently unavailable and we have no desire to attempt to relocate it and risk a catastrophic mistake. Click here for a list of detours.



(Showing page 1 of 10)



>Birb (Veteran Member)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



Congratulations to everyone who contributed to this victory, and my deepest sympathies for those who gave their lives to achieve this. I salute each and every one of you. *raises a glass*



>Xerxes (Verified Cape)



Replied on May 29, 2011:



While I'm not American, I have much experience with roving murderers. The most cunning and powerful of them can last for years, and the Slaughterhouse 9 seemed almost more like a cult than a simple criminal group, and whatever doctrine they followed served them well. A hearty kudos to everyone who's ever stood against them, and especially to those heroes who stopped this reign of terror. If I wore one, my hat would be off to you.



(BREAK)



The buzzer rang and the computer shut itself off. So fleeting, she thought to herself. These internet privileges do not last near long enough. She strode out of the communal room, noting all of the empty seats. It was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. Others could not be expected to withstand her glory for long. Only a scant few had the fortitude to stand before her: the skeletal baron, whose nobility had earned her respect; the snarling beast of fury, who presumed to be her equal; the broken songbird, whose gentle nature belied a deep hopelessness. And the spirit of machines, she smiled as a screen blinked to life.



"Ah, my landlady appears before me. How are you today, dear Dragon?"



The redhead offered a deferent smile. "Queen of all Faeries, it's always a pleasure. I had noticed your choice of topics on Parahumans Online, and I was wondering your purpose?"



The magnificent Glastig Uaine returned the smile. "My friend – I believe that, after such time, I can call you a friend – I have been reviewing the recent news from the world surrounding. Such achievements have drawn my eye." Despite her bearing as a monarch, she allowed a tiny hint of a mischievous smile to grace her lips. "I would like a cuddlebug of my own."

A/N: And that's everything thus far! Upcoming will be the first chapter of Arc 9!

 

[Vherstinae]

Requiem 9.01



The few days after Atlas' death and the extermination of the Slaughterhouse 9 blurred together for me. For a while all I could do was cry, unable to even speak. Then my tears dried up and I was left with nothing but despondent silence. About then was when they tried to reach out to me. First Lisa did her best to snuggle and console me, but I was a lump on my bed. No pretty words or pretty girl could bring me out of my funk. Rachel tried next, piling stuffed animals around me. They were soft, and cuddly, but ultimately of no help.



Later on, I learned that it took three days to bring me back. My dad had watched over me and tried to help, and he decided to try one more time. Sitting down beside me on the bed, he gave a sad little chuckle. "You really are my daughter, y'know?" He petted my head. "Remember how I was basically a zombie after the accident?" He didn't need to go into greater detail. The events were etched into my psyche. "I've always thought it was my fault, for putting your mother into that situation. I wasn't the one who hit her, but it was our fight – my temper – that made her head out to clear her mind and give us both the chance to cool down."



The bed groaned in protest as my father shifted around, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tight. "I left you alone, to find your own way in the world, having to worry about your old man rather than letting me worry for you. Because I shut down, you got so hurt and I didn't even notice you. You needed me and I wasn't there for you." He took a deep breath and kissed some of my chitinous hair. "It wasn't your job to take care of me: I failed you as a parent. And while I can never really make up for that, I can make sure I don't make the same mistake twice, and I can be damn-well certain I don't let you make my mistakes. Taylor, you're a beacon in so many people's lives. The people of Brockton Bay need you, to help restore their livelihoods. Your critters need you, they need their mommy. Alec and Rachel need you because how else are they gonna pretend they fit into society? I need my little girl back, I need to help you feel better. And Lisa needs her girlfriend. Are you going to leave her alone and lost?" He squeezed me around the midsection. "You're not alone, Taylor. None of this was your fault but you can't shut down. I'm sorry for making this about responsibility, but you are such an important person. You have responsibilities to others, especially to your loved ones, and we have responsibilities to you. Don't leave us, little owl."



I'm still uncertain if I was simply finished grieving, or if the awkward sincerity of his speech managed to reach me. "You're not very good at pep-talks," I muttered.



He laughed and hugged me tighter.



(BREAK)



I still refused to leave my bed, so everybody else came up to see me, piled on the bed and around it on the floor. Lisa was doing her best to encourage me to get back into making critters, rattling off all the beneficial ideas I'd had to help the Bay. "Plus, you managed to bring the raptors back. Who's to say you can't do the same for Atlas?"



I gave my head a little shake. "Not so sure about that. Atlas is...was...special. I made him entirely on instinct. He was smarter than any of my other critters, wiser. I don't know if I can replicate him."



"Never know until you try." Dad kissed my temple. "Now c'mon, I'm making egg baskets." He stood up, pulled the covers off me, and slipped his hands beneath my curled-up form. My father might have been wiry but he wasn't a heavy lifter and I'd grown significantly weightier due simply to the density of my bones and the added reinforcements. He grunted, gave a yelp of surprise, and toppled on top of me. "Uh, little help, somebody?"



"Don't look at me," my girlfriend chuckled, "I exercise to keep my girlish figure, not to carry lazy lumps."



"Ditto," Alec stated.



"Still can't believe Peter Pan there can even walk with his skinny ass," Rachel commented as she stood up. "One side, pops. I got her." The stocky girl let out a guttural noise as she shifted me, draping me over her shoulder. Brian joined in, taking my upper half while Rachel had my lower, and the two carried me downstairs before the blonde dumped me on the couch. I actually bounced.



"Not much has happened since you went catatonic on us," Lisa stated, relying on sarcasm to keep things rolling and avoid getting too serious. "We've been doing our best to direct the critters, and they listen well enough, but it's pretty much impossible for any of us to give 'em detailed instructions." She sat down, rump against my midsection, and wriggled close.



I nodded. "Nothing like helping others to make you feel good." I closed my eyes and reached into a broodmother's mind over at the Hive. She immediately perked up on feeling my mental touch. The first thing to make was a charybdis, to prove I could produce it. With about four little helpers to carry one around, just a single one of the weird critters could make a huge difference in drying out the city. I ran simulations one after another, the little uglybug taking form. No, I said to myself, I need to call them something else. I should be nicer to them. Eggbugs, then. The eggbug was expelled onto the creep and immediately took root. The little thing's torso expanded as it consumed creep, transforming until it eventually burst. The charybdis was roughly the size of a regular sedan, the pale gray-pink of a lungfish and slimy like it was coated in amniotic fluids. It was mostly helpless, only able to wriggle rather like an eggbug, not particularly mobile. But that was rather the point: its entire body was one enormous combination vacuum and water filter, and adding anything more would be superfluous, reducing its functionality. Pollutants could even get caught in the joints, hurting the poor thing or getting it infected.



I directed a small group of helpers to pick it up and carry it out of the Hive, the broodmother working the door for them. There was a small rain lake nearby where I could test my newest creation. The helpers took up positions to easily shift the charybdis back and forth. It extended its nozzle into the water and its torso bloated before contracting, beginning the vacuum suction. Water rushed into the critter and I could feel the pollutants being filtered out, my bug pulling aside any organic material to digest and keep its body running. Its multiple tails stretched out and began to pump clear, pure water into the gutter.



Sending them back to the Hive, I opened my eyes and grinned. "Success. The charybdis works like a charm."



Dad beamed. "If we get a handful of those guys working on the flooding, we'll be able to fix things fast."



I nodded. "I'll have to set up an isolated spot to try making that generator critter next. I don't want any...electrical explosions to hurt the Hive."



Alec raised a hand. "Um, to point out the huge, slimy, pulsating elephant in the room...what do we do about Crawler?"



I started at that name, my vision flashing orange. Lisa laid a hand on my cheek. "He's dead, hon. But his body, well, people can't move it. It's embedded into the street."



"I gotta check that out." I sent a nearby raptor over to look, blinking in confusion. "Okay...so that's new."



"Couple days old, actually," Aisha quipped while my dad got to work heating up the skillet. She swiped some bacon bits.



"Har dee har," I deadpanned. I reached out and could actually feel the pile of meat. "Well, this is weird. I can feel it, but I can't really get it to do anything. It just kinda sits there, pumps out creep and occasionally spits up an eggbug."



Lisa tilted her head. "Eggbug?"



"I felt bad for calling 'em uglybugs. Figured, since they're living eggs, that might be a better name."



She smiled.



"Speaking of eggs," dad called from the kitchen, "how many egg baskets do each of you want?"



"Two pieces for me," I hollered back. The UK term for the meal was 'eggy in the basket', but that was just too weird of a name for us. Cutting out the middle of a piece of bread and pan-frying an egg in that hole created an egg-in-toast meal that was quite delicious. Cooking the cut-outs as well and adding bacon made for a fantastic breakfast.



As we ate, my communicator began to beep. The others looked to me, as if asking whether one of them should take over for me. I reached out and picked it up, accepting the call.



"Skitter." Dragon's voice was tense in a way I hadn't heard before. It wasn't outright fear, but definite nervousness and uncertainty. "We've got a problem. I'm so sorry to call you for this, as I'm sure you've had enough problems to last a lifetime, but, well..." She took a breath. "Glastig Uaine has left the Birdcage."



"Oh fuck," Lisa and Alec said almost in unison.



"Alright, we're gonna need to take a step back. First off, tell me what happened – why she left the Birdcage, and why you're calling me. Second..." I blushed a little. "You're gonna need to tell me more about Glastig Uaine. I focused more on capes who weren't Caged."



"Fair enough. Part of the Baumann Facility's protocol is rewarding good behavior. Those who don't cause trouble, report dangers to the guards, they get privileges such as TV or internet time. As you might guess, a woman who considers herself a legitimate queen would be dedicated to keeping order, so Glastig Uaine got a lot of perks. After the Slaughterhouse 9 attack, she spent all of her daily internet time on researching you."



"Oh fuck." Now everybody said it. If this wasn't a terrifying event, I'd be laughing at the way they reacted in unison.



"Researching...me? Why? I mean, I'm not that big of a player. If she's after a heavy hitter, why not go for Nilbog? And if she's just plain looking for the strongest, why not Myrddin or Eidolon?"



"I asked her about it, why she was spending so much time looking you up, reading threads on PHO. She said she wants a cuddlebug of her own."



I winced. "Ordinarily I'd say fuck no to sending one of my babies into the Birdcage, but if it's to keep one of the scariest capes ever pacified..."



"And if we had time, I'd ask you to make a cuddlebug for her. Unfortunately, she...teleported out of the Birdcage shortly after our conversation. I have no idea whose power she used – she has hundreds, after all. But she's off the grid, and my only lead is her fixation on you."



I swallowed hard. I might not know the details, but I knew the major historical points: crazy girl thinks she's a faerie queen, ends up being an unbelievable cape, eventually hunts down Gray Boy, one of the most terrifying members the Slaughterhouse 9 had ever boasted, and kills him, an act that was considered impossible. Then she sets up shop in the Birdcage, collecting the powers of Caged capes as they die. And now, apparently, she was on the move again. "Okay, you need to tell me everything that could possibly be useful. Foresight is listening, so don't skimp on the details."



"Right, right. Okay, we don't know how old Glastig Uaine is or when she triggered. She doesn't age, but she's alluded to this being more a personal choice than being frozen in her early teens. Physically, she's a tall, thin blonde with green eyes. She looks probably around Imp's age, but a bit taller than her. I guess she's built more like you than her in that respect. She can manifest up to four different powers at a time, giving her a huge range of abilities. While most of them aren't as destructive as Eidolon's, she can change between them much more quickly and is also armed with a handful of Tinker powers, including Bakuda's – she got into a fight shortly after being Caged and got killed, and the Faerie Queen harvested her power. And she has Gray Boy's power, but she seems to dislike using it. According to her, the spirits of the dead follow her and she can communicate with her. Apparently Gray Boy is extremely unpleasant."



"Alright, so how do we fight her?"



"Above all, treat her with respect. She behaves like a Medieval noble, so if you're respectful she'll feel compelled to play fair. Then blindside her before she can react. I don't think you, or anybody outside of Legend or Eidolon, can kill her in a straight fight. You'll need to catch her off-guard and hit her hard enough that she doesn't get back up, then keep hitting her until there's nothing left. And make sure you do it before she calls on Gray Boy's power, or she'll resurrect after a few seconds." Dragon let out an exhausted sigh. "Other than that, unfortunately, there's not much I can offer you. She stayed out of fights and politics within the Birdcage and there's almost no footage of her in combat, so I can't offer you strategies. The best I can do is–" She was drowned out by the doorbell.



The hairs on the back of my neck – what few remained – stood on end. It felt like a horror movie, but I felt compelled to answer the door. I undid the deadbolt and turned the knob.



There, standing on our doorstep, was a serene-looking girl, long blonde hair draped over one shoulder in an elegant braid. Her bright green eyes were almost hollow, as though she was staring right through you. She wore a kind of funeral shroud that, on closer inspection, was a ripped and repurposed Birdcage prison uniform. She smiled up at me. "Hello, new friend."



A/N: And it begins! Dun-dun-dunnnn! In other news, I'm putting up part of my complete novel on my Patreon page for everybody to check out. That'll be up in about a day, so keep an eye out!

 

[Vherstinae]

A/N: As a result of numerous criticisms regarding the end of this chapter, I've decided to rewrite it. Gloat while you can; I'm getting' my voodoo kit.



Requiem 9.02



I blinked. I blinked again. She was still standing there looking at me.



"...Erm, please come in?" I stepped to one side and waved an arm inward. How does one host a mass-murdering nutcase without it devolving into a massacre?



"Thank you." She actually glided across the threshold, floating inside. "You have a lovely home." Rounding the corner into the den, Glaistig Uaine noticed my dad and friends looking at her in confusion. "Ah, and this must be your father and...the rest of the Undersiders?"



"It's kind of a breach of etiquette to just show up at a parahuman's house, her civilian identity." I don't know what prompted me to speak up, but after I said it I felt justified. Regardless of how powerful or unstable she was, I was most definitely not going to kowtow to her, especially in my own home.



She pursed her lips. "You make a good point." Taking off her hood to reveal the entirety of her head, Glaistig Uaine looked quite a lot like if Lisa had a younger sister, sans freckles. Bizarre. "It is a pleasure to meet you all. You may call me Ciara, if you so desire."



"You caught us at sort of an...awkward time," I continued. "I've been, well, in mourning for Atlas. We're not really prepared to receive guests." Take the hint, I thought. Get out of my house.



"The accommodations and company are already more pleasant than that to which I've become accustomed," she replied, that creepily serene smile still on her face. "You will forgive the imposition, I hope, as my visit is of some import."



Lisa couldn't contain herself any longer. I was amazed she'd managed to hold back that long. "Pardon me for interrupting, but didn't you make a deal to remain in the Birdcage for three hundred years? Kind of odd that someone like you would go back on her word."



Every muscle in my body clenched. That was a powder keg of a question. But Ciara just giggled. "Your governments drew up a quite detailed contract, which I signed in blood in addition to my simple word. However, they are not adept at negotiating with fae." Her smirk was positively impish. "We are notorious for finding loopholes. I am certain that the statement 'a period of three hundred years' was considered to be iron-clad, but they did not specifically designate that those three hundred years needed to be consecutive."



I looked at Dad and mouthed, 'Tea, please'. We needed to keep this situation calm. "You said this visit was important. I've heard that you want a cuddlebug. If this is all about that..."



"No," she replied with a dismissive wave, "though I do find them adorable. I came to study you." Her crystalline green eyes locked onto mine. "I had long harbored suspicions regarding your particular role, yet those suspicions were thrown into disarray the longer you remained in the public eye, revealing new abilities and...physical alterations."



The clinical way she spoke tripped something in me, a primal anger based on my still-prominent self image problems and the calm way my bullies used to deride me. "You'd best start speaking in a more straightforward manner, or I'll kick you out of my house. I don't appreciate being looked at as a 'thing'."



Her expression flickered for a moment, but I couldn't tell what emotion shone through. I opened my additional senses and almost immediately clamped them back shut. All around this girl was a tempest of loathing, despair and outright hatred, directed both inward and outward. I had difficulty believing it, but it seemed that the dead capes' personalities did remain, at least as fragments. And they weren't happy being used as tools.



"I am the Faerie Queen," she stated, with an odd sort of declarative gravitas. I realized that I'd been bristling ever so slightly each time she called herself a queen. "Around us we have the Stable Master, the Silent, the Puppeteer, the Overlooked, and the Spymaster. But you," her gaze settled back onto me after looking at the other parahumans in the room, "are an oddity. You should be the Queen Administrator, my equal and opposite, the queen of the living while I rule the dead. But you have been...changed. Your faerie has become corrupted, yet unlike other corruptions it has somehow consumed the darkness and grown stronger from it."



While I could see the wheels in Lisa's head turning as she processed all of that, Brian spoke up. "So she has, what, two fairies or something? Wait," he looked back to me, "didn't Scanner say you're the only one she's ever seen with two different glows?"



"And Eidolon's a kaleidoscope, apparently," Lisa interjected, "his colors always changing...each color represents a power, Eidolon can select more than one at a time..." Her eyes widened. "Wait, you're saying Taylor somehow has two different powers?"



"Two distinct faeries," Glaistig Uaine replied, "though now they're more like one. The Queen Administrator, being one of the most powerful of all fae, survived the usurpation attempt and, like ancient warriors, ate her attacker to gain its power."



"Okay," I decided to play along with the insanity. "So what is this 'Queen Administrator' supposed to do?"



"Absolute control," the small blonde replied. "When fully unleashed, the Queen Administrator could dominate any rival – mind, body and soul."



"And if my bug control comes from that, then this other power – however I got it – is responsible for my physical changes? And my ability to make new critters?"



"It would seem that way. You see, now, why it was necessary that I meet with you. I needed to understand your abilities and analyze you in person."



I felt something, a change in the air. Something tripped my instincts; I began to gather my critters as well as all bugs in my range. "And what's your conclusion?"



"You are powerful, and have the potential to become even more so, an exponential growth as you face and overcome obstacles. You could even take my place at His side." I heard her capitalize the H, but she didn't elaborate on who 'He' was. Her serene smile didn't falter. "I apologize, but I cannot suffer even an unknowing usurper."



I didn't wait for her to make the first move. My arm lashed out in a palm strike to her chin and sent Glaistig Uaine crashing through the window onto the street. Dad was already on the phone, hopefully to the Protectorate. I called up my army and stepped through the broken wall and past the shattered glass. The supposed Queen of all Faeries would die today.



"Grue!" I didn't need to speak further as Brian sent his darkness out, blanketing the street. My vision turned orange and I could see the mental map of my insects and critters. A spiker volley impaled the ground around Glaistig Uaine, the blonde throwing up a shield to disintegrate any spines that would've struck her.



I called up about a dozen raptors, while mentally summoning every critter that I had at the Hive. My babies charged and their target retaliated with a burst of lightning that sent them reeling. I got the sense it was supposed to flash-fry them, but Grue's darkness was doing its job of dampening offensive powers. Instead she threw wide her arms and released a violent current of air, blowing the darkness aside. I could see what looked like cutting edges within the wind, so it was likely a power similar to Stormtiger's. Her body twitched and the winds wavered, giving me the chance to spit up an artillery bombardment of bursters. Glaistig Uaine flicked her wrist and new waves of cutting wind lanced out, detonating my bursters and sending their luminous payload back at me. And I liked these pajamas, I thought to myself as the alkali splattered over me. While I wasn't hurt, it quickly ate through my clothes. I couldn't afford shame right now; she planned to kill me. Another lance of electricity hurtled down the open channel, heading straight for me. I found my body throwing itself to the ground. Thanks, Alec.



One of the vaguely humanoid wraiths flickered and faded away, only to be replaced by another. Thus far Glaistig Uaine was only manifesting three at a time, though Dragon had said she could supposedly summon a fourth: maybe it was extremely cost-intensive? My wandering thoughts were jerked violently back to the real world as the asphalt grew claws and tried to attack me. I leapt up with a yelp, dancing around the vicious hooks until I could hitch a ride on the back of a spiker. The slithering creature was able to simply roll over the grasping earth.



Two of my sprayers rode in, the ponderous critters each being carried by several helpers. Poking their heads from their fluted shells, they rained down glowing green death. Again the blonde blew it back at them, and I took that moment to strike. I had my spiker buck me off, leaping as it did in order to get the most speed. I collided with her but she seemed much more solid this time. My claws unsheathed and I went for her neck, only for her to grab my wrist in her small hand and squeeze until the bones shattered. Holding my wounded arm, she yanked back and then hurled me across the street where I impacted a storefront's wall hard enough to leave a decent imprint of my body.



I saw Imp sneaking up behind Glaistig Uaine, a steak knife in her hand, ready to drive it into the blonde's neck. The non-child casually backhanded her with enough force that I could've heard the slap from across the street even if my bugs hadn't been listening in. "You forget," she chided, "I can see the faerie that gives you your prowess. Even if you are hidden from my eyes, it is not." One of her shades spasmed violently. "Your trick will not work twice, Puppeteer."



Forcing myself onto my hands and knees, I took stock of the situation. She currently had super strength, earth (or asphalt) manipulation, and an unknown third power active. My sprayers and bursters wouldn't work as she could just blow their base back at them. Plus, some of it might...splatter... Okay, new plan. "Leave them...alone," I growled, wrestling with my body and commanding it to stand through the pain. I felt sharp, scratchy hooks of asphalt grab onto my legs, tearing at my skin.



She turned to look at me. "You still believe yourself to be capable of fighting me? You barely understand how to utilize your own powers. I have been collecting and mastering faerie abilities since before you were born. Your insects will not help you; your pets will not avail you. What do you think that you can possibly do?" She took a step toward me, lightning crackling along her fingertips. Well, at least I knew her third power.



"This." I unhinged my jaw and let loose a swarm of yellow widows to charge her, falling into a backbend to avoid the electrical bolt that fried my bugs. The moment she fired, my raptors burst up through the pitted, porous street damaged by spiker projectiles and misaimed alkali. Claws, blades and teeth fell upon her and she yelped in pain. Whatever Brute rating her strength power had given her was not enough and I could smell blood in the air.



Her power changed yet again and she drew in matter around her like a black hole before releasing it all in a tremendous burst, sending my raptors flying, some over several city blocks. Glaistig Uaine was bleeding, yes, but her wounds were already closing. I hadn't scored the killing blow. "While your tactical acumen is impressive, you cannot stop me. I am beyond your attempts, beyond all of your pitiable flailings." She stepped over to one of my downed raptors and placed her shoe on its throat. The little thing gurgled in protest, but was too hurt to fight back. "In the animal kingdom, when a creature is too grievously injured to continue living, the humane thing to do is to kill it quickly so that it does not suffer a prolonged, agonizing death." The pressure increased and I could feel its life ebbing away. "I will be just as gentle with you and your friends."



"No! Stop it!" Tears were pouring from my eyes; I didn't care. I wrenched my legs against their bindings, shearing off my skin but eventually breaking the asphalt and tearing myself free. "This is about you and me, right? Leave them out of this!"



"They are of your sphere," she said in a gentle, polite tone as though she was doing anything other than contemplating mass-murder. "If I spare them, they will come after me again and that will be a grievous inconvenience. While I understand patience and waiting, procrastination is not one of my vices." Her foot pressed harder.



Snap.



(BREAK)



No more death. No more pain. No more hatred. No suffering. No unrest. No... No... No... No! NO! I WON'T HAVE IT!!!



I tried to articulate the word 'no', to scream it at the top of my lungs, but all that came out was a deafening feral noise that was not at all in the realm of what a human voicebox could manage. The world stretched and distorted around me, my surroundings becoming twisted and nightmarish until they receded so far into the distance that they were unidentifiable, and it was just me across from Glaistig Uaine. I reached out, yet did not move a muscle, and lunged past her. There was no point in attacking her yet. First I had to take from her, like she'd taken from me. I grabbed the essence hovering behind her, ripped it in half, threw it to the ground. She let out a keening noise more appropriate to a circular saw. The other two were smashed together, bursting like balloons filled with confetti, their remains drifting to the street. Then I moved, was on her, pinning her down so she couldn't escape. But I didn't use my claws, or my fists. I tore into her mind, gripping at the gates and slowly grinding them open. I was going to eviscerate her, send the coils of her essence streaming out like toy snakes from a magician's sleeve.



She struggled beneath me, fear flashing in her eyes. The shreds of her ghosts slithered back into her and three more popped out, one creating a forceful blast that dislodged me from her. I landed on my feet, the claws on my fingers and toes carving furrows in the ground as I slid backward from the impact. I once again grabbed her mind with mine – was it easier now that I'd already started, or could I have done it from this far away to begin with? – and resumed my efforts to pry her open. Her ghosts retreated once again, to be replaced by a single wraith. "Stop. Now. Or I will loose Gray Boy on you."



Her words cut through my fury and I was reminded just what kind of monster I faced. I faltered, unsure of myself. If I was trapped in a time loop...



Then she was in front of me, appearing only inches away. I'd never seen her teleport. She placed a hand on my cheek, the touch so gentle and purposely soothing that it deflated the rest of my rage, turning it into confusion. For once her smile was not the odd, detached serene expression she normally wore, but one of satisfaction. "I have taken nothing that you cannot replace," she whispered. "Nor have I visited any lasting harm upon you or your companions." She gestured to my critters, including the raptor she'd stepped on. "They are not dead, not quite. I believe they can be healed." Looking back to me, she tilted her head. "You are an anomaly, something I had never seen before. I needed to understand you, and the best way to understand the people that you call parahumans is to fight them... With your permission, I would repair the damage to your home. But before that, I believe I smell tea."



I followed her back into my house, still unsure of exactly what had happened. But I needed to get some new clothes on, anyway.

 

[Vherstinae]

Requiem 9.03



I took the walk back to my house to compose myself and collect my thoughts: my brain was still a mad jumble of savage vengeance, sorrow and utter confusion. Finally, however, my mind drew to a single focus – my critters needed help. My hand shot out and caught Glaistig Uaine's wrist, stopping her only a few feet from my house.



"No," I said flatly. "You're not going in until you help my critters. You started a fight, you hurt my children, you will make it right."



The little blonde was not used to being denied, that much was clear. I could see the storm behind her bright green eyes but I gazed back with detached clarity, shunting my emotions into the insects around me until I could take back full control over my warring feelings. It was likely a boon at the time, as my blank stare gave her nothing. We held that staring contest for a few seconds before she realized I wasn't going to back down or rise to a challenge, and I figured she didn't want to try starting another fight. If I could tear apart her wraiths, it stood to reason I could likewise destroy Gray Boy and the other heavy hitters she had in her stable, and then she'd be helpless. Of course, it was just as likely that I wouldn't live through a second fight.



"Fine," she said at length, three new ghosts appearing behind her. The madwoman lifted into the air and flew to various points. Slowly I could feel my wounded critters stabilize. I sent helpers to escort them back to the Hive to recuperate.



When she landed, I didn't thank her. She didn't deserve thanks. Instead I started walking again. "I didn't know you had a healing power."



"It is a manner of induced regeneration," she replied, hovering to keep up with my longer strides, "most effective on the user but passable for use on others. Though I suspect your creatures' own biology made the results more significant than they otherwise would have been: on the rare occasions when I've made use of it on others, they have never displayed such rapid healing."



I paused at the wall, looking at the destruction. "You can really fix this?" I'd done a lot of damage when I threw her through the window.



"Powers are most effective when used in tandem," she responded matter-of-factly, gliding over the glass and splintered wood. Her flat expression soon turned gleeful. "Now, I believe we were about to have tea?" she chirped.



I sat down opposite Glaistig Uaine, my body coiled, ready to spring forward in violence at any time. "Alright, you'll need to explain some of the things you were going on about. I barely understood half of what you were saying."



Her reply was a condescending giggle. I wanted to punch her. "They teach Shakespeare in your school, yes?"



I nodded. "My mother was an English professor. I have a good grasp on Shakespeare."



"Recall A Midsummer Night's Dream, then. Despite all of the madness that occurred, most of the humans were left believing that it was just that, a vivid dream. They forgot the truth of the night's events." She leaned forward, her smile conspiratorial. "Such is the case here. Despite being centuries removed, the court of faerie continues to rely on similar tricks."



Jesus H. Christ, I thought, if she was any more obtuse she'd be a legal document. I didn't even have a frame of reference for her statement, but hopefully... I looked over to Foresight and could practically see the gears turning in her head.



"People black out during their trigger events," my girlfriend spoke up. "But capes near fresh triggers also pass out. Are you saying...our brains get turned off briefly, so something can happen, and then we forget?"



Destination.



Agreement.



Something flickered in my subconscious. I'd gotten a few glimpses, flashes and jumbled images that made no sense, but those two...they weren't words so much as they were concepts, and they were burned into my mind. I looked up from the floor and saw all eyes on me. Most of those present just gave me funny looks, but I saw Foresight gaping at me while Princess Cloud Cuckoolander beamed. "...Did I say something?"



Foresight leapt to her feet and grabbed her phone, running upstairs for privacy.



"Until now, I was the only person I knew who remembered the events. While they are clearly muddled in your mind, you have at least some inkling of what occurred." Glaistig Uaine's childlike enthusiasm quickly faded once again, leaving her a serious woman in the body of a little girl. "You continue to display abilities that are, quite literally, unbelievable. Your power was meant to grant measures of control, perhaps even absolute control, but only over the living. What you did to me, however, was unprecedented." She took a moment to breathe.



I interjected during her pause. "Look, could you stop talking in riddles? This is getting really frustrating and I can tell this is something important."



She laughed, a genuine little laugh of amusement not at the expense of another. "Consider it akin to a zen riddle. Until you are able to comprehend it, you are not meant to know. Worse still, premature knowledge could endanger you and the entire world." She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "This has given me as much to contemplate as it has you, perhaps even more. Until today my path was clear. Now, however, it is shrouded and divergent. I am...uncertain as to how I should proceed."



"I recommend not taking the path where you kill me," Regent piped up. I shot him a look; we didn't need anybody further provoking the mass-murderer.



The Faerie Queen's ghosts changed again and she began telekinetically repairing the wall and window, using some sort of architecture Tinker to put everything back together. "I need to think on where this will take me, take us. Until I decide, I will be watching you. Your actions will predicate mine own. However, this is not a threat, nor a sword of Damocles, and I believe that I should make a gesture of goodwill on my part. Before that, though..." Her face morphed into full little girl mode, complete with puppy-dog eyes and a pout. "Please, pretty please may I have a cuddlebug!?"



My first instinct was to say no. Well, actually my first instinct was to lunge forward and rip out her throat with my teeth. Huh. But as I thought about it, Glaistig Uaine was making unprecedented changes to her usual MO, and it appeared to be based around me. I could work with that. "Not unconditionally," I said, my voice stern. "I need some assurances." I paused for gravitas, and to decide what I should ask. She was listening with rapt attention. "You will swear, on pain of death, to do everything you can to care for your cuddlebug. You will protect it, you will make certain it is happy, you will play with it. You will not willingly put it in danger, and you will make every effort possible to rescue it if it is ever placed in danger." I could tell that my eyes were starting to glow. "If it gets hurt or, God forbid, dies..." A monstrous growl rumbled in my throat. "The entire Birdcage will not save you."



She nodded her assent and bit her thumb, drawing some blood. "I agree to your terms, and swear upon blood and life that I will uphold them. My companion will come to no harm so long as I can prevent it. I will guard his life with mine own."



That was surprising, she hadn't even argued or tried to negotiate. I didn't want to open my empathic senses again around her, but even without that power I got the feeling that she was unbelievably lonely. For a friend who'd love her unconditionally, perhaps she would lay her life on the line.



I nodded, satisfied, and went to the upstairs bathroom. I heard Lisa on the phone, jabbering wildly. I spat up an eggbug into the bathtub so I could wash away the excess creep, and hatched a cuddlebug. When I brought it down to the little blonde she practically latched onto it, cooing and nuzzling her cheek against its short, soft fuzz.



Glaistig Uaine looked up to me, smiling in genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Skitter. My apologies for all of the problems I have caused you. Now then, I must grant you the boon I'd promised, and then I will return to my accommodations. It would not do to miss dinner."



She left through the front door and floated away, the cuddlebug waving a little claw in farewell. I swallowed down the sick feeling in my gut and clenched my fist. I'd meant what I said: if she let that little guy get hurt, nothing would protect her from me.



An hour later, the news reported that Glaistig Uaine had killed the Butcher.



A/N: So I'd been agonizing over how to end this part, and I hope it's satisfying. There's going to be another interlude and then it's gonna be the end for Book 1 of Queen of the Swarm! Book 2 will involve several time-skips as we see how life goes on for our heroine and her motley adopted family.



In the meantime, I'm starting work on my second novel, so that should keep my creative juices flowing a bit better. Updates may be slow but they should be consistent. I hope that I can continue to entertain you all for a long time to come.

 

[Vherstinae]

Epilogue 9.e



Ciara's departure from the Hebert household had left her with much to consider. She had long understood the synergy of powers; many of her strategies and techniques involved coordinating and combining the multiple powers upon which she could draw. However, not even Master of Ceremonies could fundamentally alter the nature of a faerie. But that was exactly what Skitter had done. Somehow the Queen Administrator had, like a vampire, converted one of the corrupted faeries into an offshoot of itself. This flew in the face of everything that Glaistig Uaine had understood, and called into question so many things. Ciara had previously expected that she and the Butcher had the potential to become new fae gods, Summer and Winter courts personified. Neither of them could perform the alterations that Skitter did not even realize had occurred. She would need to observe and learn.



Speaking of the Master of Ceremonies, the Butcher was in the general area. She would be unable to study Skitter if the girl was forced into conflict with the Teeth and she or one of her friends killed the Butcher.



The ghosts behind her swirled and she called forth Pops. The kindly old man had been a short-ranged teleporter, getting his name from both his age and the firecracker noise that his teleportation made. Unlike so many of her victims, Pops did not hate her, but she wished that he did. Instead he saw her as a confused child and didn't hold her responsible for her actions: that irked her beyond all comprehension. What do you need this time? His voice slid over her mind, quiet and gentle; not accusing, but genuinely curious.



Another massacre, of course, Feast replied over her shoulder. The Faerie Queen disliked using Feast's power, but it was an efficient killing tool and she wanted to be certain that the Butcher did not live to escape.



Again, Ciara? Haven't you fought enough today? Pops' voice was admonishing, but also almost playful. Once more it grated on her nerves how he saw her as an ignorant child.



She silenced them with her own thoughts. We hunt the Butcher.



The quiet reigned for a moment longer, before Pops' reply. Okay, I'm in.



Finally, you have a good idea for once, Feast agreed.



Summoning Meteor for speed and durability, Glaistig Uaine flew toward the glittering concentration of faeries. Had she actually been looking for a proper fight, she would have been severely disappointed. Butcher was still grievously wounded from his scrap with Crawler and the Master of Ceremonies hadn't yet transferred to a new host. Before any of the Teeth knew what had happened, she appeared among them with a crack, opened her mouth as wide as Feast's power allowed, and bit the Butcher in half. Just as someone shouted in alarm, she had teleported away and flown off.



Ciara alit upon a streetlight, looking over the intersection. On occasion, she could detect the 'residue', for lack of a better word, of faeries that had died with their hosts, and this section of street was rife with such imprints. Of course, the enormous pulsating mound of gray-purple meat certainly caught her attention, but the faerie that had once occupied it when it had been a person had long since died. More interesting was the patch of melted asphalt. The Broadcaster was as noisy in death as it was in life.



She floated down and cupped a hand to her ear; it was a purely psychosomatic action, but helped to focus her thoughts. The sounds that entered her mind, oddly enough, were not from the former host. Jack Slash's own voice had not been part of his final thoughts. Instead, there was an impression of derisive, condescending laughter...and the certainty that the one laughing had been correct. The flash of a name blinked through her mind, and Ciara gave a soft smile. The indomitability of humankind could truly be impressive. She would have to remember that. Perhaps she could weave it into a tale, the fable of Raymond Marks.



The Master of Ceremonies writhed behind her, making strangling motions. "No, dear," she admonished it, "you were proving to be entirely too much trouble. I could not risk you contaminating my little Skitter with your antics. I have many things to contemplate now, so do be a sweetheart and silence yourself." She dismissed the Butcher's old faerie. Idly she wondered if the other faeries that had attached themselves to Master of Ceremonies had found their way to the afterlife. She did not often indulge in whimsy with regards to humankind, but she would be remiss if she did not indulge in a little introspection due to recent events.



She stepped forward and reality swirled around her. For countless eons she tumbled through dimensions, stars and planetary cores and legions of souls deceased and yet to be clawed at her mind. Such a dangerous ability; its previous owner had gone utterly mad after a single use, and were she any less than the magnificent Queen of all Faeries, she too would have lost her grip on sanity. The perception of falling helplessly for millennia was nearly overwhelming, to the degree that even she disliked to use it often. But the advantage was that the sheer chaos of this method bypassed any blockade she had encountered. Millions of years passed before she arrived in her cell, only seconds after her departure from Brockton Bay.



"Hello again, dear Dragon," she chirped. "I do hope that you did not miss me overmuch."



Her landlady schooled her voice, restraining the emotion behind it. "You've...been busy, I see," Dragon replied.



"Far busier than I had expected," she confirmed, laying down on her bed. "I have much to contemplate. For now, however, I require rest. Do not worry; I have no plans to leave anytime soon. The journey is rather too tedious for casual departures."



"That's good," Dragon replied with a bit of a sigh. "I'd like to talk with you about your actions when you wake up."



"I would be amenable to that. It was my first trip out in a good while; sharing experiences with friends is good for the soul, so I hear." Ciara rolled over, pulling the covers over her shoulders, and slipped off into the land of Nod.



(BREAK)



Niko Vasil lounged in his leather chair, using one eager follower as a footstool while several others attended his various needs. "I'm a tad cold," he crooned, and immediately one of his girls climbed into his lap to warm him up. Much better than having to put on clothes.



Still, his scout thralls had brought back intriguing news. Cherie had joined the Slaughterhouse 9 and subsequently was killed by Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul, who was now a hero. It was intriguing and worrying at the same time. The news coming out of that decrepit New Hampshire city was like a children's story: suddenly the 'good guys' were winning at every turn, beating back the most frightening threats the world could throw at them. The Undersiders were a dangerous force and worked together with incredible synergy.



The most recent update, however, was what had caused Niko's minor existential crisis. Glaistig Uaine herself had appeared, fought Skitter, and left – with the madwoman apparently the loser of the match! For the first time in years, Heartbreaker was forced to weigh risks. Before, his control of so many nominal innocents had guaranteed his safety. However, he knew the depths of Jean-Paul's hatred for him. Eventually the prodigal son might convince his teammates to deal with Dear Old Dad. With Skitter's various bizarre creations, they might even stumble on a way to restrain his thralls while researching a cure. On the other hand, he was a minor threat with all things considered and they could decide that taking him down was more trouble than it was worth.



Still, was that chance worth him biding his time while they could build up their forces and work on some way to non-lethally subdue his thralls? Or should he prepare a preemptive strike and swing down to Brockton Bay while the city was still recovering from its previous attackers?



Heartbreaker held out a hand and almost immediately a glass of red wine was placed therein. He took a sip, letting the alcohol relax his mind for contemplation.



(BREAK)



Soma smiled up at the girl in the yellow sundress. "Alright, Noelle, this is it. If we're right, this should cure you. But there's still a good chance that, no matter what happens, you'll die. Last chance to back out."



Noelle, known as Scylla on paperwork, shook her head. Her jaw was set in a line of determination. "I've hurt too many people; I'm barely even a person anymore. Nothing would be as bad as watching my humanity slip away, becoming a bigger and more horrific monster by the day. No, I need this no matter what."



The chemical Tinker nodded, climbing into the cherry picker. A PRT agent raised him to her eye level, and Soma offered her a stereotypical smoking green brew in a long cylinder. "Best to chug it in one go, I think."



Pinching her nose with one hand, Noelle guzzled it. She reeled, her stomach lurching. For the first time since her change, she felt like she might vomit: she wasn't hungry, her stomach rejecting its contents. And that's when the screaming started.



The bestial maws of her lower body wailed in hellish agony while Noelle convulsed, foaming at the mouth as she writhed in the grip of a seizure. Her muscles strained against each other, threatening to rip the tendons and tear her entire body apart. The deafening shrieks drew people from all across the Rig, all of whom were helpless to assist the thrashing hulk. It was impossible to safely touch her, and the consequences of doing so were even worse than doing nothing as she jerked and flailed. The various limbs protruding from the mountain of flesh lashed out, trying to run in multiple directions, until her immense mass fell to the side. The entire base shook from the impact and the shock seemed to end whatever survival instinct was left in that monstrosity.



Slowly, the cacophony died down. Mouth after mouth fell slack, stinking tongues rolling out as the hundreds of misshapen eyes glazed over. The monstrous lower body was dying, while Noelle rested atop the rapidly rotting meat. Color drained from her skin, her cheeks and eyes sunk deeper, formerly bright eyes cloudy and unseeing. She coughed, spitting out froth and blood. "Thank you," she whimpered.



And then she died.



He was not a particularly religious man, but Soma still crossed himself. "Damn it," he muttered, looking at the lifeless face of an innocent, foolish girl. So much pain caused by a single bad decision, and she didn't even get a happy ending after all of that suffering.



(BREAK)



Lisa sat in front of the TV, just as dumbstruck as everyone else. Glaistig Uaine had killed the Butcher, then just gone back to prison. There was so much she didn't understand, even with her power helping her. So much that no-one except the madwoman who called herself the Faerie Queen seemed to comprehend.



She hugged Taylor tight. "Why does it feel like things are going to get worse, instead of better?"



"I feel that way too," her girlfriend replied. "But we've got each other, all of us. Thinking on everything that's happened, I don't think Atlas would want me to keep grieving him. We need to keep moving forward no matter what. We can't go back, so...so we just have to hope. But, well, hope's not enough. We need to take action and make it happen. We can make the world a better place." Taylor sniffled, still on the verge of falling apart when she thought of Atlas. "And even if we fail? If things do keep getting worse? At least we tried. We did our best, and maybe that'll inspire someone else to do his best."



"A rockslide starts with a single pebble?" Lisa chuckled.



"Something like that. Now come on, it's your turn to make dinner."



A/N: And that's it. I wanted to end on a relatively quiet note. I hope this is to people's satisfaction. I've been having a lot of personal mental troubles recently and I'm not sure if I helped or exacerbated it by playing games like Transistor and Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice. Still, I've ended the first book exactly where I'd hoped to end it, chronologically. The second book may be a little while in coming out, as I'm going to work on my new novel, do my best to get my first novel published (and I'm not looking forward to rewriting so much with the help of an editor, but when the book's a decade in the making and started before I hit puberty, there's going to be a lot of dissonance), and keep going on Forged in Blood and Bone. But before anything else, I need to make sure I'm stable. Depression, autism, childhood trauma...I've been bending under the weight recently and have to fix that up.



For now, though, I hope I've brought smiles to a lot of your faces and kept you entertained.



–Vherstinae

 

[Vherstinae]

Thanks to Orphiex over on SpaceBattles, Queen of the Swarm is now available in ebook format! Check the index page for more info!

 

[Vherstinae]

March's Patreon raffle winner was Teatime42, who was gracious enough to share it with the audience. I hope you all enjoy!

––––––––––

Danny Hebert was a very proud father. Despite his failings, and they were many, his daughter had come through with flying colors. And what an array of colors, at that. Mostly purple, but some orange and green and red and–

Squee!

...And bright blue eyes. He patted the passing cuddlebug. At the moment, he was watching his beloved daughter face her most daunting challenge yet, and like a good father he was there to give advice as his baby girl battled tax season.

––––––––––

This, this was the definition of insanity. It was no wonder that groups like the Elite turned villain even before acts like NEPEA-5. Anyone faced with this litany of forms, of constant checklists, and then being reminded that the IRS already knew what you owe but it's your duty to file your own taxes and prove it...they'd be inclined to fire a bazooka at the nearest government building!

"Why do you think I dealt entirely in cash before joining the Undersiders?" My girlfriend was not helping. I took satisfaction in burying Lisa under several raptors.

I stretched my arms across the table, steadying myself on my elbows and triceps. "Alright, okay… So I have this form, this form, and this form, which all say ALMOST the same thing but not quite, so I need to fill them all in. And then, because it's a parahuman business, I have to fill out this form, this form, this form, THIS form, and this form," I shook the last one violently in a clawed hand, as if to throttle it in punishment for the offense its existence caused me.

"I can at least help with the normal side of things," my dad offered. "The DWU is still a business, so we file similar taxes."

Baby Atlas finally waddled his way across the room and started climbing my leg, wanting to help me de-stress. I couldn't take the stress of possibly losing him in another fight, so it had been Lisa's ingenious idea to give him an infant form reminiscent of a cuddlebug. I sat him in my lap, petting his carapace. "At least I don't have much income yet…" My eyes lit up, probably literally, and I sat up straight. "Wait, income! Can't I claim my Critters as dependents?"

Dad chuckled. "Sorry, sweetheart. That only works on personal income tax, not on business tax."

I could tell Lisa was smugging at me from beneath the raptors, taking amusement in my stress. She'd probably say I'm cute when I can't just crush my enemies and drive them before me. My eyes locked on hers. Her eyes widened, and the freckled one paled.

Lisa shook her head.

I nodded, my own grin spreading as hers diminished.

She shook her head more.

Dad looked between us like a fan at a tennis match. "Alright, girls, want to tell the normal person what's going on?"

I was faster. "Lisa just volunteered to be my personal accountant."

"The fuck I did!" she started to protest. "I'll– wait, what's it pay?"

"Not terribly much," I said with a further widening grin. "But it comes with some fantastic benefits."

My girlfriend lived on the streets for several months, and spends far too much time on the internet. Due to my disrupting her Thinker powers, even wholesome intentions expressed with a hint of lasciviousness in the tone can make her blush gloriously until her freckles are the palest part of her face.

"No matter how you try to dress it up," I giggled, "you're an internet goblin. But I love you anyway."

"You're doing your own damn taxes," she pouted as the raptors climbed off of her.

"No I'm not." I picked her up and stooped down for a soft kiss.

"...No you're not," she agreed shyly.

I hugged her tight. Atlas squeed. All was right with the world, at least for right now.