Strangely enough, Alexandria's got the perfect alibi here, as long as she's okay with hanging her double out to dry for all the wrongdoing. She just has to claim to have been kidnapped and replaced by a wringer specifically to kick off this fiasco.
Whether or not her double would go along with this probably depends on if she can offer them a guaranteed relocation to another place for safety before the whole mess gets to trial or Congressional hearing stages.
The sky lit up as Legend descended upon the Rig. The modified oil rig was a frenzy of activity, heavily-armed troopers in blacked-out helmets patrolling every defensible angle. Containment foam was nowhere to be seen: in its place were automatic rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns loaded with dragonsbreath rounds. Each PRT location kept a stockpile of exotic ammunition, primarily for use with 12-gauge shotguns due to the weapons' versatility. While Brockton Bay did not currently have any villains particularly vulnerable to fire, this only meant that they'd never had reason to make use of the emergency incendiary rounds. Now, on Valtr's word, the PRT were arming their troopers with incendiary weapons and making firebombs with excess fuel.
The odd man had explained more of himself and his companions while Tattletale whimpered in the corner. Valtr had been selected as the one to go before the PRT due to his experience leading teams. He'd been in law enforcement before becoming a hunter, and if that wasn't some local parlance for their version of a cape then Emily Piggot would eat her desk. The way that Valtr specified that 'ordinary humans' were too vulnerable against these beasts was evidence enough by itself. Even as a hunter, Valtr led squads and coordinated an organization, making him best qualified to help with tactical deployment.
The man alerted them to his two companions: Henryk, the elderly man in yellow, was a veteran hunter with many years under his belt. He primarily worked alone or in a pair. "In the unlikely event that this becomes a common occurrence," Valtr had said, "Henryk will be the best to teach your soldiers how to fight this scourge. He understands the fundamentals better than any of us."
Of Owl, he was more cagey. The woman, slightly taller than Bloodmoon and with a fuller figure, was the only one to conceal her face. By Valtr's own admission she knew of the PRT and apparently hated them, which meant that she was most likely local – at least local to this world, as by this point Piggot strongly suspected these were transplants from another Earth. If Aleph was Earth without cape culture, wherever Valtr originated must be Earth as written by Edgar Allen Poe. Valtr freely admitted that Owl was by far the most talented fighter of Bloodmoon's subordinates, essentially their team's elite asset. She did best on her own and would find trouble without needing much direction.
His confusion when presented with an earpiece communicator only further cemented Piggot's certainty that he wasn't from this world: it would explain the Victorian dress and seemingly outdated – if ridiculously powerful – equipment. Aleph was about six years ahead of Bet chronologically, so why couldn't Valtr's Earth be about a century behind? When it was explained how the earpiece worked, to help him coordinate while still being in the field, his canid grin turned utterly feral and Tattletale, despite not looking at him, choked back a sob.
"You have my thanks," he intoned, licking his chops. "I have always led best from the front." Rather than vanishing as Bloodmoon tended to do, Valtr departed through the front doors and joined a deploying PRT detachment.
During the meeting, Armsmaster had departed to attend certain issues within the facility. Sherrel Bailey, still under a combination of house arrest and witness protection aboard the Rig, had become quite agitated and demanded to know what was happening. In the interest of potentially adding more hands to the "all hands on deck" order, a sergeant had informed her and the agitation became a sort of mania.
Nobody could explain how it had happened, but Bailey, Armsmaster and Kid Win were now in the motor pool rebuilding an APC. Armsmaster worked on the armor while Bailey pulled double duty, upgrading the engine and working with Kid Win to design odd transforming weapon systems to be mounted on the vehicle. The three were apparently lost in a collective Tinker fugue and the only reason nobody stopped them was that it seemed like the end result would be quite useful for rapid-response during this crisis.
It was into this confusion that Legend entered, his arrival followed shortly by several jump-ins from Strider. Chevalier; one of Dragon's suits; the Chaturagh from out of New Orleans; and an Italian Master named Cacciatore who always showed up to Endbringer fights, were all delivered in rapid succession.
––––––––––
For all the carnage ongoing, the Rig was operating like a well-oiled machine. Piggot's warlike background lent itself to crises such as this, Legend supposed. Knowing what he did about her personality, he was honestly surprised that she was willing to make use of known villains even in a crisis, but needs must. Perhaps Bloodmoon killing the Goblin King had left Piggot feeling more lenient.
The troopers had recruited Hellhound ("She prefers Bitch. Call her Hellhound and she's liable to kick your ass. Or feed you to one of her dogs.") to help cover the evacuation. With a screen of well-trained giant dogs and heavy gunfire to back up the animals, the overwhelming majority of evacuations from non-Empire territory were going well. A few of the transports got hit, two or three with no survivors and one that had been moving several families from a well-to-do part of town had been torn open but saved by a new cape named Owl – though one of the families needed immediate medical assistance.
The Chaturagh and Cacciatore got to work immediately, summoning their minions to further add to the defensive strength. Cacciatore called up various hard-light constructs in the form of animals, in larger numbers than the Protectorate member Ursa Aurora, but commensurately weaker and more expendable. They made for excellent distractions and could be lethal under the right circumstances.
The Chaturagh was in many ways Cacciatore's opposite. He summoned a small number of what he called spirits, which resembled different types of undead: a maximum of three zombies, two larger zombie-types with their right arms replaced with blades, and Prophet – a towering monstrosity reminiscent of a fantasy lich, wrapped in sackcloth and arguably sapient. It could apparently operate independently and was known to bicker with its summoner. The Chaturagh was arguably New Orleans' only heavy hitter, an independent hero who only came out when a crisis hit. In his gray hooded coat and sharp-angled green mask, he seemed small and frail compared to the Returned that flanked him – particularly Prophet, who could look down at the likes of Manpower.
While Chevalier got to work coordinating with the PRT and getting introduced to Valtr, Legend met with the Director and her Deputy. And, oddly, with Tattletale. "I'm pleasantly surprised to see you're still here, Miss," he said to the girl. "The Undersiders are known for their avoidance of conflict: I would've thought that you'd have made for an escape rather than coming to the Protectorate."
"Hey, we live here too," the blonde replied with a weary smirk that didn't reach her eyes. "Besides, this is personal on a few levels. I never wanted to be a villain: Coil forced me into it. And now I'm certain this is Coil's doing." She switched on her headset. "Charlie Golf, you're about to face another wave. Get ready."
Sure enough, feedback stated that within a couple of minutes the team was attacked. "How many were there? What kind?" Tattletale asked.
"Five," came the reply. "Four wolfmen with guns, one big one."
"Just like last time," she muttered loud enough to be heard. "Okay everyone," she said much louder and more confidently, "I'm certain of it now: these aren't just waves. They're respawning, to use a game term. Can one of the techies call up some of the bodycam stills from team Bravo Tango?"
The images came up and Tattletale got to work exhorting the techie to zoom in toward a patch on a wolfman's chest. Zooming in and trying to clear up the pixels didn't really resolve the image, but that mattered little to a Thinker. "Coil's men don't have names on their uniforms, but they do have serial numbers. This one, this and this." She indicated three different photos, pointing at the blurry strip of what might be numbers. "They're all the same serial. But more than that, look at the rips in the outfit. The tufts of fur poking through. They're identical. These are copies, like they were xeroxed."
The teenage Thinker took in a deep breath. "These waves won't stop until we can get to Coil. Whatever he's doing, whether it's his doing directly or something he has in his facility, it's creating these copies. Once everyone's evacuated and we have a decent defensive line, perhaps we can push in. If somebody can call up a map of the city, I'll show you where the main entrance to Coil's evil underground lair is. Then you tactical types can figure out a plan to get in there and end this."
Legend nodded. "I'll keep in touch on comms, but I should be out there helping. I'll provide fire support until you're ready to make a push." Accelerating to near-lightspeed, he blinked out of the room in a literal flash.
(BREAK)
In a way, it was heartening to see parahumans come together in a crisis. It was achievement enough for these people, permanently broken by their trigger events, to choose to do good rather than trying to make others suffer like them – not that Legend could truly understand, with his lack of such an event. To travel from their own personal territory and fight to protect complete strangers who didn't share the barest history, that was an act of true heroism. Those capes who'd managed to come to Brockton Bay's aid on such short notice, they deserved praise. Whether their powers were just useful cannon fodder like Cacciatore's and arguably the Chaturagh's; a veteran and authoritative leader like Chevalier; or the force of nature that was Dragon and her Tinker constructs; Legend deeply appreciated each and every one of them.
Throwing his arms wide and unloading a volley of fractal heat-beam lasers, Legend tore through a contingent of wolves assaulting an evacuation caravan. The wolfmen retaliated, their own pink lasers lancing through the air and forcing Legend to take evasive maneuvers. Maintaining eye-contact on his targets allowed him to keep his lasers arcing back again and again until the monsters were silenced.
As he floated down with intent to give a pep-talk to the troopers, Legend was distracted by his earpiece beeping. Another attack. He blinked into the sky in a flash of light.
––––––––––
Shotguns barked and engines roared, forklifts and loaders being used as battering rams while a crane swung a shipping container like a flail as best it could. The monsters had been attacking the Dockworkers' Union in regular waves for hour after hour. No relief had come, the emergency lines were busy: it was obvious that emergency services were prioritizing the wealthy and affluent. On one level, it only made sense – without citizens with money to pay taxes, the city would slip even further into collapse. It was pure pragmatism to save the people who'd be able to feed the most into the government coffers. But that didn't take the sting out of being designated minimal priority for having the misfortune to be laborers in a seemingly purposely-mismanaged city.
Bullet and claw wounds racked up, and both casualties and corpses began to pile. Alexander sat with his shredded leg tied as tight as possible with a belt-tourniquet, wielding a shotgun until he bled out. As a massive wolf bore down on him, unfazed by the buckshot he unloaded into its face, the creature was knocked aside. Kurt drove a forklift like a jousting knight, driving the prongs into the beast's side and lifting up to flip it over even as he impaled the shaggy monster. Weighing down the pedal with a cinderblock, he bailed out before the monster's claws could find their mark and left the forklift to drive its victim into other wolves like fleshy bowling pins.
Accumulating yet another scar from the road rash, Kurt wiped blood from his broad forehead and jogged back to the makeshift defensive line while his wife Lacey did her best to tend to the wounded. Pete lay on a stretcher, eyes unseeing. The big blond mute had used his wide, thick body to provide cover from gunfire and had paid for his heroism with his life.
Danny wrenched the levers within the crane, rapidly raising and lowering the rectangular container to crush and swat what monsters he could reach. They were all trying to buy time for Frankie and the rest of the eggheads to come up with some sort of fertilizer bomb. At the very least, the explosions should bring heroes to investigate, and with luck the blasts would be effective enough to score the Union some breathing room.
A dark form darted past the crane's cockpit and Danny Hebert yelped involuntarily, expecting a wolfman to crash through the glass and end his life. Instead the humanoid shape sailed toward the fighting, one arm extended. The few remaining security cameras would show nothing more than a flashing haze of white-violet light. Those unlucky enough to see it in person instead saw a hazy cloud form before the outstretched hand and a cluster of thick, pale tentacles whipped out to crash into the wolves. Many were smashed to paste, the rest flung backward from the resultant force.
Once eyes cleared from the brightness of the tentacular light, the dark figure resolved into a tall and slender woman. She attached her odd rhombus-sword to the pole on her back, then depressed something in the pole and swung the weapon. From a sort of scythe-pick, the weapon changed into a straight line – some manner of spear. Her black ringlets waved in the gentle bayside winds as she quickly rubbed a sheet of paper over the weapon, causing it to burst into flame.
As the woman waded into the thick of the wolves, effortlessly slaughtering the beasts while practically dancing around their attacks, Lacey shoved Alexander onto an under-car roller and carted him back to the impromptu medical center.
Danny scanned the area to watch for other wolf incursions. His attention was occasionally drawn back to the woman fighting, and he felt a wistful sense of loss. Especially as the cape bent backward under a wolf's claw swipe, an old memory floated to the surface of the time Annette tried to teach him how to tango…
(BREAK)
Being from an affluent area themselves, New Wave were alerted to the carnage as APCs – both PRT and Empire, and wasn't that a strange sight – rolled in to empty out houses and bring people to safety. Brandish and Manpower did what they could, but neither were exactly equipped to deal with giant wolves or laser-toting wolfmen. Eventually they settled for directly guarding the PRT transports, helping drive back any monsters that made it through the cordon. Of course, Panacea was put on the first wave of evacuation transports, her power far too valuable to risk leaving her behind.
Skyward, the quartet of Lady Photon, Laserdream, Shielder and Glory Girl kept a tight patrol of the surrounding area, intercepting wolves before they could incur upon the APCs. And it was from this vantage point that they saw a man in yellow hacking his way through the wolves. Nothing could touch him: he was always just a hair's breadth out of reach, juking sideways away from bullet volleys and ducking under claws. When an enemy drew a bead on him and he couldn't dodge, his left arm blurred and a throwing knife would plant itself in the shooter's body to make the shot go wide.
Not wanting to risk the children, Lady Photon descended by herself to offer aid. Her beams crashed into a wolfman and bore it to the ground. "Do you need help?" she called.
His response was preceded by hurling a molotov cocktail onto the downed wolfman, making it scream in agony. "You've no experience." His voice was barely audible over the din. "Wrong instincts. Too soft." He jerked backward out of a wolf's claw swipe despite showing no external sign of having noticed it, and hacked the creature's neck open. The elderly man (his voice meant he could be nothing else, despite his face mostly concealed by a collar similar to Bloodmoon's) leaned into the blood spray, letting it coat his yellow outfit.
"Best off on defense," he continued, quickly drawing a small blunderbuss and unloading into a beast before jamming his arm into its chest and tearing out a mass of viscera. "Protect them. Leave the hunt to hunters."
––––––––––
They were all battle-weary. Hookwolf had been forced to repeatedly rebuild his form, torn apart again and again by the enormous monsters. Fenja and Menja were covered in cuts and abrasions and burns from those damned lasers. Stormtiger had borrowed one of Krieg's greatcoats and was doing his best to fight, though most of his attacks did little to the monsters.
Above the fight, riding on one of Rune's platforms while the girl rained heavy debris upon the beasts, Kaiser called up a hedgehog of spikes to hinder or even deter the monsters. They wore themselves to death like army ants, their corpses enabling their companions to crawl over his creations, but Kaiser only subsequently called up more. Thick columns of metal sprouted branches like claws, curling toward the alleyways to make them even more difficult to clamber over. Even more wolves would have to die in order to overcome his defenses.
And then, in the middle of the fight, as more wolves poured out of the darkness and one massive beast tore up through the asphalt, something changed. The buildings became more defined, the mild misty fog vanished, only noticeable in its absence. The wolves stopped coming, and once Hookwolf and the twins brought down the giant wolf, no more emerged from the darkness.
"...Did...did we win?" Rune asked, her voice sounding like a cannon shot in the sudden oppressive silence.
A collection of heavy footfalls became audible, and around a thoroughfare corner came Faultline's Crew, clustered in defensive formation around Labyrinth. The unmasked capes' lips curled at the sight of the Empire devotees, but they made no move to provoke.
"We're on our way to the Protectorate." If Rune's voice had been like a cannon shot, Faultline's shout was like a cataclysm in the quiet. "Are you going to stop us?"
Magnanimously, Kaiser swung an arm and metal receded from the street. "You came in peace. Go in peace. This is not the time to settle any grudges."
With a calm nod, and intentionally no words of thanks, Faultline led her people through. Labyrinth paused mid-stride and looked vaguely in the direction of the other parahumans. "You should move," the small young woman said softly. "They'll be back. They want to feast. Find a better place while they're distracted."
(BREAK)
Although their command styles differed vastly, Chevalier knew how the Protectorate and PRT operated and was able to translate that according to Valtr's orders, deferring to the experience of the veteran of this crisis. With this coordination, and backup from the various parahumans who were actually effective against the monsters, the PRT began to turn the tide. With Cacciatore screening, Chaturagh acting as a combination of scalpel and battering ram, and Legend and Dragon serving as artillery support, they were making a difference. Bitch stayed back, her dogs obediently standing with the armor support as a line of home-base defense. Inch by inch, foot by foot, the PRT was reclaiming land. Each step took them closer to Coil, and to ending this nightmare.
And then Tattletale's shriek pierced their ears. "Something's coming!" she screeched, so high and panicked that her voice almost became inaudible. "It's bad! Oh god it's bad! Oh god, oh god…" From her position at one of the consoles, the blonde villainess curled up and started to dry-heave.
A hint of ozone met Legend's nostrils, just before a different scream reached his ears. Deep and booming, guttural and thick with saliva, echoing as if from multiple mouths at once. A nearby building exploded and a massive beast lunged through the scattering brick. Walking on two legs, the shaggy monster had blazing red eyes and crackled with purple electricity.
"They all went along with it!" the monster boomed. "All of you! You support it! I gave everything! My life! And you're happy to destroy me on nothing but her say-so!" It threw back its head and screamed again, a mix of pain and rage that turned Legend's stomach. A dome of electricity spread out from the beast, breaking apart nearby buildings and turning some chunks of debris to ash.
Dragon launched a pair of shaped-charge missiles, the destructive equivalent of bunker-busters. They struck the monster square in the chest and it staggered back, but stepped forward almost immediately after. Its fur was barely singed. She only barely juked out of the way as electricity lanced out from the beast, shearing one of her suit's legs off with the effortlessness of a hand passing through water.
"I think we need some sort of backup," Legend said as he began unloading more incendiary beams on the creature. "We've encountered a new monster that tanked Dragon's missiles."
Valtr, who was always nearby and turning stomachs as he tore into the wolfmen with his teeth, spied the monster through an alleyway. "Oh gods," his exclamation was soft, breathy, even fearful. What he said next was so quiet that no human could properly make out. Only Dragon's systems could parse such weak sound waves. "Taylor, I hope you're done. We could really use your help. We've an Abhorrent on our hands."
Cuddlebugs:
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Contributors:
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So, is the whole of earth bet going to need help dealing with this shit now? Doesn't seem like the actual "blood" is involved just coil so not sure. Also wtf is ridding coils body anyway? Thanks for the chapter.
"They all went along with it!" the monster boomed. "All of you! You support it! I gave everything! My life! And you're happy to destroy me on nothing but her say-so!"
New Wave converged on the emergency, leaving Henryk to massacre the wolves to his liking. The elderly man seemed to neither notice nor care, returning to his silent killing. Legend, Dragon and Chevalier were skirmishing with a ten-foot monstrosity, and losing ground. Dragon's battlesuit had taken significant damage, missing a leg and several weapon systems. Legend was singed, signs that either he hadn't been fast enough with his shifting into light or that the monster was somehow able to harm him through that Breaker state. Chevalier was the worst for the wear, the only melee fighter. He tried to keep the thing at bay with his cannonblade, but the shots did little more than stagger the beast briefly.
As it lunged down, Shielder interposed one of his titular shields between the hero and monster – and immediately gritted his teeth, grunting in phantom pain. He received a sort of mental feedback when his shields were struck, an alert that they were taking damage. When his shields were in danger of breaking, the sensation turned into a form of distant pain. At the moment he felt that pain. Eric Pelham had never gone up against a particularly ramped-up Lung, but this creature was stressing his shield more than an enraged Hookwolf. His mother and sister added their own input, concussive beams crashing into the creature and driving it back.
"Drop it!" Chevalier bellowed. Shielder barely understood what he meant in time and dissipated his shield, allowing the veteran hero to take another shot. The staggered beast took the cannon strike to the chest and fell backward, hitting the asphalt hard enough to shake the ground. Car alarms went off yet again.
"Heroes, you call yourselves?" The monster scoffed as it forced its way back up. Eric presented another shield, trying to pin it to the ground. With an all-too-human roar, the monstrosity unleashed a storm of electricity that shattered the shield and caused its creator to cry out, clutching his head. "You're parasites. You maintain this charade, growing fat off our suffering. We die in agony while you hide away in your shining towers." Its tone was oddly calm, and all the more horrific for it. It flexed its claws. "You judge us as inferior, act like we should be thankful you help at all. We never asked for your kind! We'd be better off if you all just died!"
It happened before he could react, before he could even comprehend what was happening: the monster flexed its mighty legs and leapt straight for Eric's mom! Its claws were inches away from eviscerating her when Dragon bodychecked the beast and bore it to the ground. In such close proximity, the suit was ravaged by electrical current. The monster cackled as it ripped the suit apart.
"Oh god, Dragon!" Legend darted in, ravaging the lightning wolfman with fiery lasers, but couldn't deter it from its prey. The monster tore open the cockpit, its face – barely recognizable as ever having been human – turning from malicious glee to disappointment and disgust. It tore out something fleshy, a lump of meat, and crushed it.
Everyone stopped shooting, staring in abject horror at what appeared to be the callous murder of the world's greatest Tinker.
––––––––––
Finally those fools stopped shooting. In hindsight, Valtr felt foolish: he'd forgotten how to make his earpiece work, and didn't want to draw attention to himself by shouting. He was getting into position. All of that movement made his job even harder, as he had to run the rooftops like he was a constable again, chasing acrobatic youths who fancied themselves gentlemen thieves. Finally he was ready, and as the assembled heroes gaped at the atrocity before them, Valtr the Beast Eater dropped from the sky blades-first. The moment the twin buzzsaws' teeth bit into flesh he revved the whirligig and began to tear great chunks from the Abhorrent beast. The moment he smelled ozone, he stopped running the saw so he could more easily kick off and break free. He swung the saw at the ground like an oar to kip himself to the side, barely avoiding a lance of lightning that melted a hole in a nearby building.
"The others know not how to deal with your kind, beast. But this is a dance I've done before. I'll delight in glutting myself on your meat." Taunt delivered, he immediately juked forward to dodge around a claw swipe. He broke the whirligig saw apart, slicing with the blades while he beat at the creature's kneecap with the cudgel that made up the weapon's haft. Letting his own knees go limp on instinct, Valtr hit the ground just in time for a backhanded swipe to pass over him.
This creature was inexperienced but powerful. Fast, as well. They'd never determined exactly what made a particular Abhorrent stronger or weaker than others, but this one seemed to be powerful indeed. All the better that it was stupid and green in a fight. Valtr would not permit it to grow old and lethal.
Another pulse of lightning, this one indiscriminate. Valtr had no recourse but to take the hit, immediately injecting himself with a blood vial even while his blood boiled in his veins. He smashed his elbows backward into the street to knock himself back to standing, reassembling the whirligig saw and immediately driving the roaring buzzsaw into the creature's obliques.
It scuttled back. Valtr could feel more than see its fear, glinting in the beast's luminous red eyes. He grinned, his jaw elongating slightly. His muzzle craved to push forward, to feast. His teeth grew longer and more jagged. This was his element. The hunt and the feast.
With a defiant bellow the monster charged and Valtr met it head-on, at the last second dropping backward and sliding heels-first between its legs. He raised the saw and carved a trench in its torso, then used the sawteeth biting into the street to stop his momentum. He kicked off the ground, drawing the hunter's axe with his off hand, and stomped onto the beast's back. It turned, just as he'd expected it would, and his axe sailed to tear open its throat. If not a lethal blow in and of itself, exsanguination would weaken the beast and empower Valtr.
The world stuttered. Instead of turning its head, the beast spun in the opposite direction. The meaty back of its hand caught Valtr in the side, pulping his ribs and pitching him into a building.
"Wh-what was that?" Valtr spat, injecting himself twice more while he forced himself to his feet. "Some sort of Dreamer trick? No, too fast-acting. What are you, monster?"
"You're the monster," it screamed. "You glory in this! I'll show you the same pain you visit on others!" Its cry devolved into an all too human wail of hatred and it charged again. A cannon blast and a volley of forceful, burning lasers sent the monster off its course and it crashed headlong into the building instead. Before Valtr could capitalize, the beast released another pulse of lightning and forced him to back off.
It leapt at him and was driven into the ground by another volley – Legend and the Pelhams teaming up to bombard the beast. Then the world stuttered again. Instead of leaping, the beast crashed further through the building's wall and disappeared inside. No-one else expressed consternation over the attack suddenly changing: was Valtr the only one aware?
They could hear it smashing around through the structures and storefronts, tried to track it by sound. The monstrosity then exploded out of the wall beside Valtr, having doubled back. The hunter met it with a laugh and a roaring buzzsaw, borne to the ground by the beast's sheer mass. He tore into it but knew the result the moment he smelled the ozone. I've always wondered, Valtr thought to himself, whether those summoned hunters who die remember their deaths. I suppose I'll find out.
The electrical pulse turned the asphalt to glass and disintegrated Valtr's body.
Immediately after, a single concentrated beam of heat impaled the beast like an orbital laser. The concentrated power of the sun impaled the monster and split it in two, leaving a burning corpse. Feeling uncharacteristically vindictive, Legend spat on the ground from his high vantage.
Legend's earpiece crackled with a voice he'd not expected to hear. Dragon's gentle Newfoundlander accent greeted him. "Ugh, what'd I miss? When my suit gets taken out like that, the VR feedback is pretty nasty…"
Before he could respond, the hair on the back of his neck prickled and Legend looked down. The burning corpse was stirring, wrenching itself up onto its arms. Its chest heaved and the beast wordlessly began clawing its way toward the heroes. The day had been overcast, the clouds thick and oddly foggy. Now the clouds parted and the moon glared down at them in midday, red and hateful.
––––––––––
The ground that the heroes and their erstwhile villain allies had gained was suddenly diminishing. The beasts' eyes glowed the same hateful red as the moon, their bodies seemed larger and more substantial.
Labyrinth screamed in agony as beasts began pouring out around her friends, no longer held at bay by her power. She could feel the hate, the seething want that glared down at her from the evil moon. It desired something, craved it, and it would eat them all up until it got what it wanted.
More and more beasts spilled out from the darkness, too many for the hunter called Owl to stop. They tore through the dockworkers' barricades, forcing the blue-collar men and women to retreat and abandon their wounded. Frankie's makeshift firebombs didn't make a very big boom but they at least created flames which gave the monsters pause.
Danny fell out of the crane as monsters clambered over it, tearing apart the metal. One wolfman landed on him, using its rifle like a club to beat him about the head and shoulders. He spat blood, losing teeth, trying to fight back. There was no way he could simply protect himself and hope it would stop.
Then every single wolf froze in its tracks. As one, their heads turned to the sky. Clouds had obscured the moon once more, and soon enough moved aside to reveal the celestial body. Instead of a red and hateful orb, burning down at the world like a sinister eye, the moon hung glittering and opalescent.
The wolves faded away as the truth reasserted itself. The moon shared its Insight with those beneath it: the beasts had only ever been a possibility, not a fact.
And Legend dropped out of the sky, wailing in horror and agony. Shielder only barely caught the man on one of his shields before he reached terminal velocity, but the impact still appeared to knock him unconscious. Glory Girl lifted him off of the shield, noticing with worry his blankly staring eyes. The man was seemingly catatonic.
The only monster that remained was the burning beast that had attacked Dragon and slain Valtr. It crawled toward the heroes with a kind of desperation in its movements, as if determined to cause more pain before its death.
Bloodmoon stepped out of a dark alleyway the same way that the beasts had, and observers' worlds tilted on their axes as she brandished that twin-bladed weapon. There was no posturing this time: she closed the distance and tore into the burning monster, slicing it to pieces. In seconds it lay in chunks.
Tattletale could be heard vomiting noisily and sobbing over the comms link.
Passing her weapon back into the fog where it could cause no further mental trauma, the tall and slender young woman approached the heroes. "Who's in charge?" she asked, her voice deep and authoritative.
Trudging from his injuries – mostly superficial but no less painful – Chevalier stepped forth. "Valtr and I were coordinating the defense and evacuation. That monster, it...killed him."
Bloodmoon showed no sign of remorse or upset. "Do you know where these things were coming from? I don't know if I can stop them for long."
Shielder spoke up before he could stop himself. "Wait, you're doing this!?"
Bloodmoon wiggled her hand in a surprisingly human 'so-so' gesture. "Close enough to true. The beasts are fooling you into thinking they're real. I can show the lie, but it won't last long. The real beasts are still here: we need to get them before they rally."
"A-and that thing?" Shielder's sister, Laserdream, gestured to the still-burning chunks of beast. When Bloodmoon looked at it, mist began to envelop the chunks and make them vanish.
"That was a real beast. It came out to make others hurt like it did."
"Do you know what happened to Legend?" Chevalier asked, gesturing at the unconscious man in Glory Girl's arms. "He dropped when the monsters disappeared."
Bloodmoon tilted her head. "We can deal with casualties after handling the main threat." She loaded something down the barrel of her pistol and fired it into the air, creating a flare in the sky.
Emily Piggot's gruff voice came over the communicator. "We have confirmation that all werewolf attacks have ceased. This is a universal order: all free transports, coordinate and collect those heroes who can't fly. We're moving on Coil's base. I'm not letting this happen again."
Owl, the woman a little taller and more built than Bloodmoon, leapt off of a building and landed gracefully beside her apparent superior. Henryk wasn't far behind, though moving with less alacrity.
"Relay this message to the PRT and Protectorate," Bloodmoon said to Chevalier. It was not a request. "You will cordon off the area and ensure that no beasts escape. I will go into this base alone. Whatever's inside there, it's a curse that I wish on none of you. I'll deal with it, cut out this infection."
(BREAK)
As Gregor carried her on his shoulders, Labyrinth gazed contemplatively at the moon.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Faultline asked in a gentle tone.
At length, the slender blonde responded. "It feels like someone I know. Not directly related, but the feeling you get when you almost recognize someone..."
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Out of all the crazy things happening in the Bay, this is what tells me something truly creepy is going on. A moon high in the sky at midday should be barely a sliver. A full moon should be on the other side of the planet.
Out of all the crazy things happening in the Bay, this is what tells me something truly creepy is going on. A moon high in the sky at midday should be barely a sliver. A full moon should be on the other side of the planet.
Actually, it doesn't say that the full moon is out and you can a well illuminated moon during midday. While full moon overhead isn't possible at midday, at an angle you can have a a fair amount of it lit which is easy to mistaken for a full moon.
The actual biggest issue is that the moon is fully red. Red moons only happen during a lunar eclipse when the moon is in the umbra (shadow) of the Earth. Since it is midday and the moon is overhead, it is impossible to be in that shadow.
The actual biggest issue is that the moon is fully red. Red moons only happen during a lunar eclipse when the moon is in the umbra (shadow) of the Earth. Since it is midday and the moon is overhead, it is impossible to be in that shadow.
Brockton Bay's forces were arrayed. The Empire had, of course, continued to insinuate themselves. In the desperation of a citywide emergency, the Protectorate couldn't exactly turn down able-bodied parahumans willing to help, and the neo-Nazi organization was taking full advantage for the propaganda boon.
Finally having stepped off of Rune's manhole cover, Kaiser stood beside Hookwolf and discussed battle plans with Chevalier and Miss Militia. New Wave milled around nervously, and even Faultline and her people had arrived – led there, according to their commander, by Labyrinth who was acting like some sort of dowsing rod.
"Something is going on here," the petite blonde replied when questioned. "It feels familiar, and I need to know why."
"Between Gregor, Spitfire and myself," Faultline added, "we can help shore up any gaps in your defense."
"Speaking of," Lady Photon drifted down, raising her voice enough to be overheard by the hero and villain team leaders, "what exactly is the plan here?"
The Victorian trio turned toward her, finally acknowledging another person instead of looming around like bizarre gargoyles. Before one of them could answer her, the deafening roar of an engine drowned out all voices.
A beast of a vehicle, something that had at one time been an APC but now looked more like the bastard child of a steam train and a monster truck, growled and garbled up the road. Its wheels locked up and the vehicle drifted into a full 180-degree turn, allowing the rear hatch to open and reveal Armsmaster.
"Got here just in time for the finale, bitches!" Sherrel Bailey, formerly known as Squealer, crowed from the driver's seat. The burn-scarred woman still had a manic energy to her, the frenzy of an addict on a bender – although she was stone sober per PRT protocols. Beside her, Kid Win clutched some sort of aircraft controls with such nervous pressure that his knuckles must have been white inside his armored gauntlets.
Despite his eyes being covered, Chevalier was clearly raising an eyebrow. Miss Militia wanted to ask something but was preempted by Hookwolf. "Alright, why exactly is Skidmark's cumrag acting like she's some sort of backup?"
"Charming," Kaiser quipped, "but not inaccurate. Armsmaster, is there a reason for a serially underperforming Tinker to be here?"
"I'll give you a briefing of my theories later," the ENE team leader said to his coworkers, smoothly ignoring Kaiser and obliquely answering the man's question through addressing his fellow heroes. "Miss Bailey has volunteered to assist in containment, and in addition to her above-average work on this vehicle I made the judgment call that one more cape on the scene would be beneficial in at least some small way."
"I call this baby the Mucker!" Sherrel bellowed to anyone who would deign to listen. "Mobile Crisis Response!"
"And I keep telling you that's a dumb name," Kid Win sighed as if he'd had this brief exchange numerous times that night. He had.
Eyes were on the rumbling beast of a vehicle, leading to distraction: it took longer than it should have to notice the wobbly blonde tottering her way toward Bloodmoon. "Pizdets!" Gregor swore reflexively, only registering afterward that he swore in another language. "Labyrinth! Get back here!"
Bloodmoon turned and calmly regarded the swaying waif. Although with the cape's history of extreme violence, calm could turn to bloodshed in a fraction of a second. Labyrinth rocked back and forth on her way, eventually coming to a stop and gazing up at the taller girl. "You're familiar," she said simply.
Bloodmoon tilted her head, looking at her companions for help. Owl stared blankly and Henryk gave an exaggerated shrug. "We can discuss any familiarity later." She cleared her throat and her next words boomed across the streets, making Labyrinth flinch back. The heavy bellow rattled windows and teeth. "We need to act quickly," she declared to the assembled parahumans. "Containment has already been broken, in both its forms. I will go inside and deal with the problem," she stated, as if it was a given that she would exterminate a city-threatening menace.
Then again, with her performance against the Simurgh, it might just be a given.
"The rest of you are here to stop the escapees. When I go in, most beasts will panic. They will try to get away: they'll run, they'll climb, they'll tunnel. If they make it out, they will spread their blood. That cannot be permitted. This scourge will end here and now, and I will prevent any and all incursions upon this Earth."
Owl spoke up next. "Henryk and I have a bit of a sixth sense about this, so you'll have time for some sort of Tinker device to monitor seismic activity. I'll head off the first excursion, Henryk the second. After that, it'll be up to you. We should be able to hold an exit point each, but if not we'll call you. Henryk, you remember how to work your earpiece?" Adding to the mystery that was Owl, she made certain that the strange man understood how the technology worked.
Tattletale's voice came over the comms as the heroes got into position. "The code for today should be 127945513. I can repeat it for you if you need." She was gently rebuffed. "...That monster, the one that attacked Dragon… It was a person, wasn't it?"
"They all used to be people," Bloodmoon replied as she typed in the code. "There's no cure, once they're corrupted. The only mercy you can offer is a swift death before they profane the people they used to be."
"What made that one so much stronger than the others?" On one level Tattletale didn't want to know. But she had to ask. There was something important in this, she knew it.
"There's no sure answer for that," Owl picked up the slack as the doors hissed open. One set after another parted, three in total, providing a powerful defense against intrusion. Wolves snarled and leapt at the intruder, their raucous growls and snarls becoming yelps of terror even before Bloodmoon retaliated. Simply looking at her was enough to frighten the monsters. She drew her double-sword and darted inside, cutting down several monsters as the doors slid closed once again. "But that type, called the Abhorrent...delusions of persecution are common. But just as much is a real history of persecution."
At the console, Tattletale bit her knuckle hard enough to draw blood. It was difficult to mentally reconcile that nightmarish force of nature with the creepy kicked-dog look of the small man named Mr. Pitter, but everything fit. And if a man drawn into Coil's service through a false rape accusation could transform into such a monstrosity, what other horrors awaited Bloodmoon in the depths of that base? And what did it say about the young woman that she entered with no fear?
Back at the base entrance, Owl perked up her head. "They work quickly." She dashed off with nearly as much speed as Bloodmoon, toward an unknown location. "Don't wait up. I have this in hand."
––––––––––
On the one hand, this was a nightmare come true. Yharnam had come to Brockton Bay, and dozens if not more had already died. The only saving grace was that the beasts thus far had been somehow false, their blood not lingering. Other than the Abhorrent, and he was thankfully burned.
On the other hand, there was finally some rich blood to sustain me. Murdering gangers could only do so much for my body, and Nilbog's monstrosities weren't much better than ordinary humans in terms of blood potency. His virus had been an interesting retaliation, but ultimately it failed when I trapped it within myself. As vile as it was, my body was so much worse. But I'd burned up a good amount of stamina in doing so: I was feeling sleepy again, so thankfully there was a nice smorgasbord of beasts to restore me.
Guns barked and beasts snarled in a mixture of panic and rage. The further along they were, the more they instinctively recognized what I was. Those who could still wield weapons, on the other hand, deluded themselves into thinking they could stop me. I dashed between them, easily separating bodies into segments, dousing myself in their sanguine bounty. There were no civilians, no witnesses to worry about my powers digging claws into their minds: I strode past bullets and even their lasers couldn't touch me. I brought my full power to bear, trivializing this extermination.
The beasts clawed at the ceiling and walls, destroying their bodies until they died and a companion would take up the task. Slowly some dug tunnels to escape, while I was busy killing still more. Sheer numbers could at the very least slow me.
A gunshot barked, louder and more authoritative than the others. I juked to the side, watching as a single bullet hissed through the air. A man stood, tall and broad-shouldered. A pistol in his left hand, a heavy dagger in his right. His features were ruggedly handsome but sallow, sickly. He lacked the glowing eyes, but otherwise I felt an Old Hunter. This was someone burdened by immense guilt and yet who hungered to kill more still. Why did he take the form of a hunter, however? This was not a normal step in the cycle of beasts.
I'd already suspected that the events here were not simply the result of a cape looking into me too deeply. This was some sort of outside interference, the same evil that clutched Yharnam. The squamous evil that lurked at the corners of the vision the Brain had shared with me, constantly waiting for me to falter.
––––––––––
The clouds once again drifted in front of the moon, sliding like fingers interlacing. Red light began to glow through the mist.
––––––––––
The maybe-hunter suddenly closed the distance between us, propelled by a previously-unseen burst of power. I parried his knife strike and bent my body to ensure that his gunshot passed by me. I struck out with my shortsword and he barely deflected it with his pistol: his body might have been enhanced, but his weapons were not. Metal sparked and I could see a gouge carved into the gun.
More beastmen gathered, bombarding me with gunfire. The bullets didn't bother me, except for the kinetic force. It slowed me down, jerked me in different directions. They were giving their superior an advantage. He crashed into me again, creating a shockwave when our strikes met. I struck out with a quick kick to his side and was rewarded with the crackle of pulverized bone. He was empowered, but not to the same level of thoroughness: his body couldn't take it. He was strong but not durable.
He screamed, not in pain but horror. His body started to distend, skin too small to contain whatever was within him. His frame engorged, bulging in different directions. Red showed through his increasingly paper-thin skin. His face was swallowed up in a tumorous lump of meat. It was like some sort of Pthumerian Watcher, the kludged version. Whatever was, for lack of a better term, sponsoring this was trying to create something that could challenge me. Speed and strength hadn't worked, so it was breaking its toy in an attempt to stop me.
––––––––––
Labyrinth dropped to her knees, gritting her teeth and snarling. "No," she said, in a voice and cadence clearly not her own. "This is my home. Not yours. This is not your city. You are not my mother."
The clouds pulled away, as if torn aside by great hands, and the opalescent moon reasserted itself. Its glittering shine once again dispelled the evil and hatred.
––––––––––
No matter how many times I mutilated this thing, it put itself back together. What an absolute pest. And it continued to interpose itself, preventing me from reaching deeper into the base and stopping this by killing the nightmare's host.
The blood-dripping faux-Watcher stomped forward, then lost a step. Something had changed: I could feel it. The power that was keeping it alive was fading. I pushed more power into my legs, spiraling around the monster and ripping it apart with countless deep bites from Rakuyo. It dropped to its knees and I lopped off the top of its tumorous mass, what passed for its head. I held it over my own head, letting the blood spill over it. The blood was so rich, so potent. Far more than should have been possible. I wouldn't need to sleep for a while just from this.
I snapped out an arm and flung a dagger through the skull of the last surviving wolfman in this section, then sheathed Rakuyo. There was no sense in dulling the blades in this task: I dug my fingers into the next reinforced door and began to peel the metal apart.
––––––––––
While Faultline and her team tended to Labyrinth, who seemed to be Brockton Bay's ace in the hole against whatever this extradimensional assault was, the heroes and villains worked to prevent the monsters from ravaging the city. Henryk and Owl had their issues well in hand, and the Empire managed to bottleneck another tunnel. Kaiser layered the tunnel with blades, and those beasts that escaped were immediately set upon by Hookwolf. Any stragglers were impaled by a regenerated Menja, while Fenja stood at the ready to intercept one so lucky as to escape the rest.
The local Protectorate added what help was needed, but their tunnel was mostly handled by the MCR (name pending), driven by a burn-scarred madwoman. From the sides of the vehicle sprang any number of strange and exotic weapons, including spring-loaded chainsaws and a flamethrower turret on top. Keeping the windows rolled up, the vehicle was soon slathered in blood so dark it looked like black-cherry syrup.
Legend, Dragon, and the Blasters of New Wave held off one last hole. Chevalier, Cacciatore, the Chaturagh, and Assault and Battery (melee didn't mix well with a murder-train) stood guard around Labyrinth, backing up Faultline's Crew.
––––––––––
The nest was a place of shame. A parasite had made its home here. Numerous corpses covered the ground, dissolving as I stepped through them – possibilities made solid and then dismissed as I brought Truth with me like a bridal train. The identical bodies, most in black costumes decorated with looping white, took very little of my attention. Not only did corpses not faze me, but they were false. No reason to spare them a second thought.
"Damn you," the parasite hissed. "God damn you. You curse. You contagion. You destroyed me and you never even knew."
I could have simply used the emergency lights and had enough illumination for my own purposes. My hip lantern would be even more helpful. But the light wasn't just for me: I drew the hunter's torch and ignited it.
The beast shrieked and recoiled. Not in fear, but in shame. It tried to pull backward, but its bloated belly prevented it from moving. Much like the bloodlickers, this parasite was distended and immobile atop its engorged gut. Its dark skin was leathery around an emaciated body, belly stuffed full of churning memories. Its tongue whipped angrily. "You took everything from me," it accused. "My men became monsters, my plans continually broken by your interference. And now even She won't come to me!"
I drew Rakuyo, speaking derisively to the creature. It was no true beast, so I no longer needed to be a hunter. It was a thief in the night. A second parasite briefly formed, pushing out from the original, dragging around on bloated belly like a blood-gorged tick. To an ordinary person, this pair of monsters would have been a double threat. But I saw deeper. It was only ever one monster. The other was not even a possibility: it was an illusion, a lie told even to itself, to delude the beast into believing it was grander than its station.
"You are the kind of curious grave-robber of whom Maria spoke." I gestured casually with my weapon, heedless of the second beast as it charged me as best it could. It did not exist, had never, could never exist. And so it dissolved as it impacted me. "You steal and hoard knowledge unearned." Overlong limbs struck out at me and I carelessly deflected them. It had no strength behind it: the monster had gorged itself on knowledge but it had no understanding, an illiterate hoarding books because it heard all smart people had libraries. "I can taste the cruelty in you. I could take the risk to grant you a quick death, but why bother?" The smaller blade passed through several of its clawed fingers. "You'll be dead soon enough regardless, and I see no reason to offer mercy to a monster that never understood the concept."
"You bitch," it hissed, trying to pull away from me as it cradled its mutilated hand to its chest. "All of this because a spoiled girl won't do what her mother asks!"
My eyes widened behind the wireframe spectacles. The creature wilted further under my gaze. "My mother, you say?" The growl rumbled in my chest.
It whimpered. "She wants you to come home!" it wheedled at me, trying some last appeal as if that would change its fate.
"Does she?" I tried to keep my voice calm, and only succeeded in sounding robotic as I struggled to hold in the fury. "Name her, then."
The parasite's milky eyes, set deep in its dark-brown skin, widened painfully until fluid began to leak from the corners, skin splitting. It stammered, but after a few seconds seemed to decide it was more afraid of me in this moment. "Flora," it rasped.
I'm not sure what was louder. Its scream of terror, mine of rage, or the crackling lightning that became my roar. The red from my eyes fully illuminated the creature before it was burned to ash by the dome of electricity that expanded out from me. It tore into the ceiling and walls, erasing all traces of these beasts.
––––––––––
The scent of ozone was barely enough warning to get clear of the tunnels before lances of electricity pushed outward like grasping claws, reaching for anything near. Beasts and their corpses were incinerated, their blood boiled away to nothing. Several blocks of low-income housing were pushed up and then collapsed into a sinkhole atop the ruins of what was once Coil's underground base.
Owl sighed over the communicator. She sounded sad. "Bloodmoon is done. Let's dig her out…"
(BREAK)
It took a good fifteen minutes of the stronger capes moving slabs of concrete, rock and asphalt until the slabs started moving seemingly of their own accord as Bloodmoon pushed her way up from beneath all of that rubble.
"It's over," the murderous vigilante stated in a flat, empty voice.
In a gesture that surprised everyone (and made Tattletale groan in pain yet again), Owl hugged Bloodmoon tight and pulled the shorter woman to her chest.
As the capes breathed a sigh of relief and prepared for how the hell they would write their after-action reports, Labyrinth bit her lip. It scratched at the corners of her mind: something was still here, lurking, waiting.
Armsmaster approached Bloodmoon and Owl. "I'd like to offer you a bunk aboard the Rig if you need to convalesce. Also, we would greatly appreciate if you'd come back to the Rig with us so that we can debrief on what exactly happened and how we can prevent it in the future.
Owl stiffened but Bloodmoon sat up straighter and nodded. "I can't promise that I can explain much, but at this point you should be equipped to some degree." She turned her head. "Henryk, you can leave." Then she looked to Owl. "You can too, if–"
"I'm not leaving," Owl responded. "Not yet. But…"
Bloodmoon nodded in understanding. "I'll be alright." She stood and dusted herself off.
Owl fidgeted, her body language screaming regret at so many things left unsaid, then dashed off into the darkness.
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Labyrinth dropped to her knees, gritting her teeth and snarling. "No," she said, in a voice and cadence clearly not her own. "This is my home. Not yours. This is not your city. You are not my mother."
The clouds pulled away, as if torn aside by great hands, and the opalescent moon reasserted itself. Its glittering shine once again dispelled the evil and hatred.
Ms. Moon Presence, please stop trying to forcefully adopt people. I know that all Great Ones lose their child and wants a surrogate, but there are better ways of going about this. Go back to trying to kill other Great Ones or something.
Also, good job Labyrinth. Rom would be really proud of you preventing the horrors beyond entering into the world. If she is still alive, I hope she gives you a cute spider friend as a present to protect you.
I wonder what ending Taylor is supposed to have gotten, or did she actually reach the point of an ending at all? Because I feel if she had gotten either of the 3 endings things would be different, I mean ending 1 mean being freed from the Dream, ending 2 mean becoming a slave to the Moon, and ending 3 mean she'd be ascending.
I suppose the context imply that Taylor didn't actually finish her journey in the Dream and instead decided to go all out in the real world and feed on the blood of bad people to prevent herself going back to the Dream, which the Moon isn't happy about that because she want Taylor to go back to the Dream.
I have a feeling before too long Taylor is going to go back eat the umbilical cords and have words with the Moon, namely 'fuck off and die'. Also its just about the only way she can help her friends in the Dream, otherwise she'd abandon them to the cycle, I don't feel like Taylor is just going to abandon them to the madness. Thankfully she'll have The Doll to take care of her until she can become capable of taking care of herself again.
Still I wonder what happened with Annette, was she stuck in the Dream having failed to complete her journey? Or did she woke up and die but now a ghost of her still linger in the Dream, possibly its the only way her mother can be freed too, which mean Taylor is going to be extra motivated to solve the problem in a permanent fashion.
Taylor seems to have found a way to thread a path outside the programmed outcomes of the game, which sort of makes sense. Real life rarely has nicely defined paths all the way along to a conclusion.
Ah, so the false Beasts were the upgrade to Coil's power - instead of just 'viewing' potential futures, he could pull those possibilities into reality. At least, until someone with some paracausal weight to 'em decided to walk through them.
He was aware of Moonie trying to come through? And knew her(it's?) NAME? Man, his Shard must've offloaded a LOT for him to only transform that far, given he's somewhere between a bloodlicker and brainsucker...
If his shard, which is specifically and actively supposed to be gathering data here, which was already interfacing its powers with more eldritch ones, offloaded the effects onto itself, then what does that mean for the effects of that knowledge on it?
If his shard, which is specifically and actively supposed to be gathering data here, which was already interfacing its powers with more eldritch ones, offloaded the effects onto itself, then what does that mean for the effects of that knowledge on it?
Well, considering Coil (with maybe a boost from Noelle's power) was running from an undeployed Eden Shard, the real question would be whether adding a bit of Elder God to that unholy mix would compensate for it's inability to draw in more resources to repower itself. If not, all that extra knowledge will just speed up its eventual shutdown from energy depletion.
Taylor seems to have found a way to thread a path outside the programmed outcomes of the game, which sort of makes sense. Real life rarely has nicely defined paths all the way along to a conclusion.
Theorically yea, but considering Bloodborne... I don't think their is truly another way to deal with the crisis. While its true real life isn't like a game, the Dream is very much a game world, its a static world, where everything remains largely the same, except those poor few people and the bosses, outside of that everyone just keep dying and coming back over and over.
The reality is the outcomes of the game are likely the fix outcomes under witch the situation can be resolved, either Taylor let herself be killed by the Gerhman in the Dream and be free, either she become slave to the Moon or she beat the Moon and become an infant Great One.
As I mentioned you have to consider Taylor and what outcome she is trying to achieve and realistically beating the Moon is going to be the only way for her to achieve peace for herself and everyone else she befriended, also possibly her own mother.
Also when you consider what she was talking about in the latest chapter, about the blood of people barely sustaining her and keeping her from going asleep... I think she merely... delayed the inevitable, rather than solve it, she found a solution to perpetually going back to the Dream, but that is basically a temporary solution, she'll have to face the Dream sooner or later, and face the Moon, until she does she is clearly trapped.
Added to the fact at this point the Moon is clearly forcing the issue, either Taylor go back and face her or she risk seeing the Dream becoming reality. Something she clearly isn't happy about. I assume at this point she is basically in the game's narrative standing at the end just before making the final choice, she probably is disturbed, she found her mother in there in some form, making the choice of leaving the Dream permanently means losing her mother, but staying in the Dream permanently means losing the world she was born to, so she likely delayed making a choice, in particular since she can summon her mother with her powers for now, but she likely is aware if she goes back she'll be forced to make a decision, and either way its not going to be to her liking.
It was odd, how sedate everything became after the crisis ended. Chevalier helped Legend to stand: he and Battery had suffered badly from the effect of the glittering moon, and unlike Battery Legend had no Assault to carry him back.
As Assault held his wife in his arms (no point in pretending otherwise, since the Empire had already fucked off) and gently kissed her, Chevalier looked at Legend. "I'm not doing that for you," he stated flatly.
The Triumvirate hero's uproarious laughter helped raise assembled spirits.
Armsmaster stealthily shot Bailey with a tranquilizer: there was no way she'd willingly relinquish the APC, and he didn't want to see what she'd do when directly faced with Bloodmoon. "Win, climb out of there. Velocity, I don't want you scouting ABB territory by yourself. Take the APC. Militia, ride shotgun. If the weapons on this thing die, you have your own. Let's take some detachments of troopers, have Dauntless run vanguard with them, and make sure the slums and Asian sections are secure. Any objections, Director?"
"No, that's reasonable," Piggot's calm voice responded. "Make sure you bring Bloodmoon back to the Rig for an AAR. We need to understand what just happened."
"You really, really don't," Tattletale interjected over the comms. "You don't want to know, and you definitely don't want to understand."
"That girl has sense." Everyone had forgotten that Bloodmoon had her own communicator, since she hadn't used it after entering Coil's base. "I'll answer questions but there are many things I cannot share, and more that I will not. For your own safety more than mine."
"I'd love to stick around," Dragon chirped nearby, "but I do need to get back and make sure everything's fine back home. I'll call in later if you still need me. Or if you just want to talk." Her suit turned its head to look unsubtly at Armsmaster.
The Chaturagh shrugged. "I've got nothing to do until Strider comes back to take me home. Not like I carry bus far back to New Orleans in my pocket." His accent was that of high-class Louisiana, the old-money families that still fully enunciated the city's name.
Cacciatore nodded, his own English heavily accented by his native Italian. "I'll gladly offer help until it's time to go home."
From nearby, Faultline spoke up. "Do we have to worry about anything?" Her companions looked exhausted but tense.
"No," Armsmaster replied before anyone else could offer input. "Labyrinth was instrumental in keeping casualties low and carnage to a minimum. I would like for you to come with us to the Rig for your own after-action report so we can understand what Labyrinth was doing to prevent this, but I can't demand your presence: you're not under arrest, not after today's events."
"We'll do a sweep of the affluent areas," Lady Photon offered, "and then pop in for reports later. Gotta make sure the Empire isn't getting up to anything."
"We can get a transport here for you in a few minutes," Armsmaster said to Faultline and her team. "If you don't mind waiting here."
"It makes me a bit uncomfortable," Gregor the Snail spoke up. "But after electric claws and an implosion, I doubt anything else will come crawling up out of there."
"And I would offer a transport to you as well," Armsmaster looked to Bloodmoon, head only lowering a few degrees to look at her. She was exceptionally tall for a woman, only exceeded by Owl, who had a few inches on even her – nearly at Armsmaster's own not-inconsiderable height. "But I wonder if you'd be alright riding back to the Rig with me."
Most people in Brockton Bay, even heroes and villains, would be excited to ride on his advanced motorcycle. The simply-named RRM, Rapid-Response Motorcycle, was colloquially referred to by fans as the Armscycle, and toys and models were sold under both names. It could exceed 150 miles per hour at standard output, featured boosters for nearly double that speed, and featured advanced gyroscopic balancing and predictive software for cornering at the full 150mph speed.
Bloodmoon shrugged in reply and made to casually climb onto the back. Armsmaster had to suppress a pout as the vigilante treated his offer like he'd invited her to ride back on a sputtering Vespa. Then his bruised ego was the least of his concerns. It didn't feel like a slim and tall woman was perching on the back of his bike. The presence behind him was vast, ancient, incomprehensible. Far larger than it should be, too big for her skin, like some prehistoric beast. A salt-water crocodile in human form, colossal and patient, content to simply wait and pretend to be harmless. Until it was time to strike. The ancient beast, the mosasaurus he'd invited to ride with him, casually rested her hands on her thighs rather than gripping onto him. "Ready when you are," she said softly.
Armsmaster gunned the engine, not to show off, but to be rid of his passenger as soon as possible.
(BREAK)
The forcefield bridge, which had been turned back on once it was established that the Rig wouldn't be bum-rushed by werewolves, glittered underneath them and Bloodmoon stared at the swirling patterns of color. It resembled oil mixed with water, various colors rising up as pressure to the forcefield stirred them up. The coloration had not been intentional but it was considered aesthetically pleasing, so Armsmaster never took the time to try adjusting it.
"And here we are," he said over the low whine of the RRM's engine. "That's Deputy-Director Wilson Renick: he'll escort you inside while I get my cycle parked."
Thankfully, Bloodmoon needed no further prompting and climbed off his vehicle. The warmth returned to Armsmaster's spine and he quickly drove into the garage and from there to his private corridor to store the RRM.
Even someone as old and experienced as Wilson Renick could be taken aback, and he found himself swallowing hard as Bloodmoon approached. She radiated danger: the only cape he'd met in person who did the same was Alexandria, but even the Triumvurate's Brute of Brutes didn't make his fight-or-flight instinct scream so much. Still, he swallowed as subtly as he could and gave a tight politician's smile. "Welcome to the Rig, Bloodmoon. It's the first time you've had a chance to actually take it in, isn't it? I'm Deputy-Director Wilson Renick. Would you like a bit of a tour of the facility, or straight to business?"
"I didn't come here to sightsee," she replied in that deep voice that Assault believed wasn't her real timbre. Wilson was inclined to agree. "I'd rather get to business and then back to my own life, if you don't mind."
"Certainly. We'll be meeting with the Director, and as such it's policy for parahumans to disarm. Will that be a problem?"
The weapons at her hips dissolved into mist and Renick resisted the urge to heave, but only barely. Of course she wouldn't have a problem with disarming: she could probably take the entire Protectorate bare-handed.
(BREAK)
After a silent and most uncomfortable elevator ride, Renick led Bloodmoon to a meeting room. Emily Piggot was already seated, along with several analysts and two PRT captains. The express elevator dinged behind them and hissed open to reveal Armsmaster: Renick would never let himself be crammed into that hell-box. Either it was only rated for power armor or Armsmaster had done something to his own internal organs, because the speed and pressure generated by that elevator universally sickened others who used it.
"Well, it seems we're all here," Piggot opened. "Please take your seats. I hope you consent to being recorded, Bloodmoon, because we'll use this live after-action report to help brief our other heroes and commanders on the events as we understand them.
"That's fine, just don't look too deeply into the recording."
"So we've been warned," Renick said with a wry smile. "Tattletale had wanted to attend, but she's currently in the infirmary."
"I'll get straight to the point." Any artificial lightness drained from Piggot's voice, leaving only the hard steel of a commander worn down by years of drudge. "What was unleashed on us today? And how do you and your companions know it so intimately?"
Bloodmoon sighed and pulled down her face cover so everyone could see her thin pink lips set in a hard line. "I warned before: there will be much I cannot answer, due either to lack of knowledge or promises made. More still that I will not answer, for your safety more than mine. But I'll do my best to explain in a way that's not a cognitohazard."
"Valtr said something similar," Captain Anders quickly replied. "My condolences for his loss, by the by."
Bloodmoon tilted her head like a confused animal, before recognition glimmered in her cephalopod eyes. "Oh. Valtr isn't dead. It's complicated, and I don't quite understand it myself, but that wasn't really him: I summoned a memory of him. So his memory died, but the real Valtr is alive and well."
"You summoned him?" Armsmaster was intrigued. "You're a Master on top of everything else?"
"Uh, Master? It's been a long time and I don't really remember the cape designations…"
The assembled people quickly ran her through the definitions.
"Oh, no. I don't think I'm a Master," she replied. "It's...complicated. Probably something you're better off not knowing the inner workings." She took a deep breath. "I should start with the fundamentals. My mission statement is to prevent the incursion of another world into yours. This was the first time the other world was briefly successful, and I suspect only because it had inside help – a parahuman from your world, this Coil, had somehow made contact with something from the other world. It used him as a foothold: the beasts were a side effect."
"A side effect?" Piggot was incredulous, raising a blonde brow. "A plague of werewolves that nearly necessitated a city quarantine was a side effect?"
"I have fought things that can rewrite reality and fundamentally and permanently alter human physiology. Things that make your Endbringers look petty in comparison. A side effect, Director." Bloodmoon's voice was flinty, daring the Director to question her.
Piggot chose not to rise to the challenge. This wasn't meant to be a fight, and Bloodmoon's performances against the Simurgh and Nilbog spoke for themselves. "So what was the intended effect?"
"I'm not certain. Most likely it wanted to subsume the city and make everyone its playthings, but the beasts got loose before it could more effectively subvert others. While we were unlucky with it finding an anchor in the first place, we were lucky with whom it anchored. A petty man, a parasite, self-interested and gluttonous. He had no higher-minded goals than self-aggrandizement. If it had found someone of stronger convictions, convinced him to help it...we'd have been in much greater trouble."
"So what do we do against this...thing from another world?" One of the analysts spoke up, clearly out of his depth.
"Nothing. I've been handling it. With my coalition – the League is from that other world, and likewise dedicated to stopping the forces that reach outward – we've been successful thus far. If it hadn't been for a parahuman from here giving it an inroad, our success would have continued."
"You're really advocating for a policy not only of non-interference, but of ignorance." Piggot was incredulous but couldn't deny her curiosity. Give me a good reason, her body language said.
"Treat it like the Sleeper," Bloodmoon replied smoothly. "Warn that it's a cognitohazard and don't poke it. If it has no footholds, you won't even notice that it's trying anything."
For the first time that evening, Emily Piggot's voice was hesitant. "Can you stop it?"
Bloodmoon's lips curved downward slightly. "I've been stopping it. If you mean 'Can I stop it permanently?' I don't know. I need more preparation before I can make the effort. And if I fail...the League can't stop it, not without my brute force." It was Bloodmoon's turn to show weakness, the young woman worrying her lip. "It may be a better policy to just keep doing what I'm doing, stymying it, when I know that works. Rather than an all-or-nothing that may result in us losing all and gaining nothing."
(BREAK)
ABB territory was a ravaged nightmare. Blood was slathered everywhere, homes and storefronts ravaged by claws. There was no sign of Lung. But there were numerous sites of explosion where Oni Lee had clearly put up a fight.
Speaking of, several clones appeared ahead of the convoy. They crumbled to ash but were a clear sign to pull over. Since he wasn't attacking, this was almost certainly a call for parley. As Protectorate second-in-command, Miss Militia exited the modified APC and approached. The real Lee teleported in front of her. "Is it over?" His voice was the flat tone of an exhausted soldier, long since past his limits and clinging on simply because he had nothing else.
"It's over," Militia replied, shocked to feel her heartstrings to violently tugged. "They're all dead."
Lee sank to the ground, his legs giving out at the last minute, and he looked up at her from the heap that was his body. "All dead here, too. Lung… I know not where he is. Found one dead, charred wolf. No Lung. Will you...make the people safe?"
A villain, asking the Protectorate for help – not for himself, but for the people. Lee's entire life had been called into question today, hadn't it? "We'll do everything we can. I can't promise that they'll all be safe: unless we get more resources, we can't do that. But I'll advocate as best I can."
"It is better than nothing." Oni Lee fell backward and passed out.
"Console, we need an ambulance for Oni Lee, and probably more emergency services out here in ABB territory." Miss Militia switched to her local communicator frequency. "Alright, people, fan out and look for survivors."
(BREAK)
The Fallen camped out in the mountainous exterior, well outside Brockton Bay's city limits. The street rats Valefor had enthralled and sent inward had been a godsend, calling to warn about the quarantine and the werewolves. And now that Bloodmoon had stopped it. It sent Mama Mathers into more throes of evangelical praise, and made the rest of the Fallen both nervous and hopeful. If one cape could defeat the Simurgh and undo a city quarantine against a fucking werewolf invasion, perhaps Bloodmoon actually was worthy of worship.
Either way, in the next few days when the patrols dried up, they'd make their incursion…
(BREAK)
"We're going to have to wind down our operations," Max Anders said to his gathered lieutenants. He received various incredulous noises in response. He held up a hand for quiet. "Already our moles in the PRT report that the ABB is all but gone. Lee is in medical custody, Lung disappeared and abandoned his territory, and the rank-and-file are gone. Coil is dead. The heroes can focus entirely on Empire 88. Worse still, Bloodmoon can focus entirely on Empire 88. She defeated the Simurgh. She stopped this city's quarantine. Do any of you think you have a chance? Even all together, do you think we have a chance?"
"Fuck no," Brad shouted. "No, Max is right. This is worse than if Eidolon decided to squat on the Medhall roof, because at least he'd just arrest us and we could break out. Bloodmoon will kill us."
"The Empire will need to slowly relocate," Max continued. "Keep our heads down and begin the exodus once the patrols reduce. Don't start trouble in the new city until you're properly reinforced. And that's the other part. I can't leave Medhall. Kaiser is officially retiring from Empire 88." And good riddance to it. Max had never really believed the white-supremacy ideology like his father and sister had, but E88 was an already-established source of power. Now it was an albatross around his neck. He could do better as a simple business mogul, not having to worry about a bloodstained vigilante hunting him down. "Hookwolf, you're our best strategist. Until we can find a new figurehead, you and Krieg will be co-leaders. Krieg will handle the ideological angle and keep contact with Gessellschaft, while Hookwolf organizes the operations."
This would lead to great upheaval, and perhaps an assassination attempt or two. But Max would rather deal with that than always looking over his shoulder and waiting for Bloodmoon to slaughter her way through his defenses.
(BREAK)
Within the PRT transport, Labyrinth slept exhausted on Gregor the Snail's large belly. In the world of her dreams, she was somewhere else entirely.
The pale, doll-like woman poured another glass of steaming tea for her. "You did very well, Elle. I am proud of you," she said with a smile, her accent still reminding somewhat of Gregor.
"Sometimes I felt like it wasn't me in control," Labyrinth looked nervously at her companion. "Was...was that you?"
The Doll shook her head, her burgundy bonnet immaculate as always. A small bronze comb glimmered in her hair. "It was always you. But you were tapping into a friend's resolve. The two of you were supporting one another, though you have never met. You are a good person, and I am happy to know you." She favored Elle with another soft smile. "Now, please, you were going to tell me about ice skating?"
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It was always you. But you were tapping into a friend's resolve. The two of you were supporting one another, though you have never met. You are a good person, and I am happy to know you.
While it was extreme violence that stopped the werewolf scourge, it was the power of friendship that stopped the Moon Presence. It reminds me of a quote.
"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up. Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken." - Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
Max is quite right in new strategy, and it's arguably the smartest thing he's ever done. Kaiser's portrayal varies a lot in fanfics, and if this is one of the "Yeah, yeah, Sieg Heil, whatever" versions, then he's entirely correct to jump ship and get them out of his town as soon as possible.
This arguably makes him the new Coil as his new strategy will be largely the same as Calvert's - a wealthy mastermind trying to rule the city from the behind the scenes. I bet he has way more luck with that approach than as Kaiser.
You should check out the webcomic "Evil, Inc." where one of the central themes is "You can do more evil if you do it legally."
This arguably makes him the new Coil as his new strategy will be largely the same as Calvert's - a wealthy mastermind trying to rule the city from the behind the scenes. I bet he has way more luck with that approach than as Kaiser.
Honestly, he'll probably do even better than Coil did. Coil was a twisted egomaniac that makes Anders look almost sane in comparison. Coil wouldn't be satisfied unless he owned everything, while Anders seems much more likely to be content with "filthy rich and powerful".
He's still a complete dick, of course, and more than a little arrogant so he will absolutely deserve everything that inevitably explodes in his face, but he's honestly much more suited to the whole white-collar crime kingpin thing than Coil could ever dream of being.
