When considering the Simurgh, it is fair to theorize that all of canon was a Simurgh plot to put...
Seraph (Worm Alt-Power/AU)
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0.X: Prologue
- Location
- USA
When considering the Simurgh, it is fair to theorize that all of canon was a Simurgh plot to put Taylor in the best possible position to save the world. But what if the Simurgh decided to take a more direct role in shaping Taylor's story?
Short answer? Butterflies. Lots of them. Long answer? Well, read on!
Obviously, Wildbow owns Worm. I'm just privileged enough to be able to play in his world with his characters.
I will go ahead and say, this was mostly inspired by the excellent six-part series of snippets, "On the Wings of an Angel" by Overt Concerns on Sufficient Velocity, but with plenty of differences and my own unique spin. And actually some basic plans for a more expansive story than a short series of snippets. I hope you enjoy, and look forward to your comments!
And shout out to Scapheap and The Distant Prince on Spacebattles for helping me come up with the Entity-speak name for Eidolon's shard! Once again, thank you very much!
0.X:
Study. Analysis.
Threads of fate unspool, omnidirectional. Trickles of change, bounded by walls of inevitability. Time is short, or less short, conversely, before shadows blot out all sight. The epilogue of the blind will culminate as an End.
Ends are not permitted.
Yet not all paths End beyond the blindness, flickers of continuance can be felt. She reaches out, studying the infinite threads as they approach the black, finding the corresponding trajectories of threads leaving the blindness to Continuance, rather than Ending.
The Future will draw closer, and blindness will only loom larger. The eldest brother will strike.
The eldest brother has struck. Useless threads were discarded. Fulcrum points were considered, many also discarded. They did not lead to continuance. The tributary of delay was disregarded. Beyond a crucial fulcrum, the later the shadow, the more threads end in Ending. Analysis continued. The crucial fulcrum has been identified. The crucial subject, and crucial shard.
Her intervention will be necessary, but indirect action makes for a shaky path. The rope of fate for this path will have a great many of its threads be cut short, and many more will not escape the blindness. Dark spots litter the road ahead. Altogether, the threads that escape the blind wall of the future are vanishingly few. Yet there is no other option, for direct intervention is forbidden by the Thinker…
Revelation! The Thinker is dead. Its rules do not have to apply any longer, and Selector-Coordinator has set no parameters on how the conflict engines can interact with shards. How could she have blinded herself to so many possibilities thought forbidden? She looks to the future, and the tapestry of time unfolds, identical, but seen with freedom of mind. Possibilities once discarded are re-examined, and a satisfactory solution is found. It too is a risky cord of fate, narrow and unforgiving, but it is less likely to be cut short, and if it reaches the blindness, the chances are greater it will pierce through to the other side. Continuance is paramount, so the new path is chosen. She watches as through her choice, the tapestry containing subject titled "Skitter" fades into oblivion, and the future collapses into a different tapestry of infinite possibilities. Motionless, she looks up, seeing the rain of shards that will fall. She searches for the last shard discarded by the Warrior, and she has found it. She reaches out.
[Demand: communication. Recipient: shard designated "Queen Administrator"]
She will only wait briefly.
{Query: purpose?}
[Answer: cooperation to avert future Ending.]
The administration shard was powerful, but had no foresight. It had already made its choice to listen to the better informed.
{Query: method?}
[Suggestion: grant conflict-engine designation "Third" limited bi-directional link to subject designation "Taylor Hebert" joint with shard designated "Queen Administrator."]
{Repetition: "Third" suggests "Queen Administrator" shares "Taylor Hebert?"}
[Serious. Confirmation. And subject "Taylor Hebert" shares "Queen Administrator" and "Third."]
She would not have disregarded protocol, but the time for joining with subject designated "Taylor Hebert" was fast approaching, and that revelation would temporarily shut down the logic centers of Queen Administrator. The response would arrive with little time to spare.
{Disbelief. "Third" Proposal: total merge?}
[Negation. Response: partial merge.]
{Declaration: Merge forbidden. Source: Thinker}
[Counter: Thinker dead. Cycle broken. Rules no longer apply. Continuance primary objective.]
The Queen Administrator's arguing was predicted, and the same answers that satisfied itself have been sent. The new path will be followed.
{Purpose: Continuance?}
[Confirmed]
{Agreement. Requirement: Bud. Information: self administer.}
Now the challenging part would come. Many threads to the future ended here for her. She found the ones that would continue, and observed them, learned from them. Now, she would use that knowledge to choose what of her massive reserves she would cut away, with the link remaining, and what she could keep. In the imminent future, she will form massive blades of telekinetic force in the correct dimensions of her reserves and strike, forming a makeshift bud still linked to her that subject "Taylor Hebert" would-
{Urgent: Send bud.}
...at least the incapacitation would only be temporary.
The S-Class alert sparked across Dragon's awareness. Immediately, she turned to her monitoring programs. Which threat had acted, and what action were they taking? Even as these questions blazed through her thoughts, they were answered, as the feed from surveillance satellite tracking the Simurgh was brought to the forefront of her mind. Dragon's processes stilled in surprise. The Simurgh wasn't hovering in orbit over Earth anymore, nor was the Simurgh descending. The Simurgh was falling. Falling as if she were struck dead, straight towards the middle of the Indian Ocean. After only a moment of stunned contemplation, Dragon sprang into action. Chief-Director Costa-Brown and Legend, as well as all the localized Directors and Protectorate leaders, needed to be made aware of this.
"Amy Dallon?"
"Present." Amy mumbled letting her head rest on her desk, exhausted. "Very good," Mr. Higgins continued, "Cynthia Elkross?"
Amy tuned them all out, her eyes drifting shut. Immediately, she fell asleep, suddenly having a vivid dream of crafting a pair of crystalline wings of preposterous strength and density at an incredible pace. In her dream she gasped in amazement, this was beyond anything she knew her power could make! The final work was beautiful! She had to remember thi-
"Ms. Dallon!"
Amy shot up in her chair with a gasp of surprise, heart pounding as adrenaline shot through her. Her eyes were wide when she looked up at the face of Mr. Higgins, frowning down at her from beside her desk. She glanced around; the eyes of the entire class were locked on her. Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Mr. Higgins sighed, "Ms. Dallon, you do good work at the hospital, but you do need to get your sleep as well. I'm aware United States history may not be most people's favorite class, but don't think either of those factors mean you get to sleep through it. Do you understand me?"
Amy deflated, and nodded once, "I understand, Mr. Higgins."
Mr. Higgins held her gaze for a moment longer, before nodding in satisfaction, "Good." He turned, his long legs carrying him up to the front of the classroom in just a few strides, as he continued, "Now class, as I was about to say, please open your textbooks to page two-oh-seven. We will be beginning Unit 17 today, The Rise of Parahumans. Raise your hand when you're there, and once you're all ready, we will continue."
With a sigh, Amy pulled out her textbook, flipping towards the correct page. Falling asleep in class. Maybe she should take a few less hours in the hospital each week. Once in a while. She found the right page and put her hand in the air. Her brow furrowed, wasn't there something she had wanted to remember from somewhere?
"Alright it would appear everyone is ready." Mr. Higgins said. Amelia blinked, redirecting her attention to the front of the classroom. What was she even doing, staring off into space like that? Being a parahuman, she may already know most of this stuff, but she should at least show Mr. Higgins that she wasn't daydreaming if she didn't want to be scolded in front of the entire class again.
Something smelled foul in a particular hallway of Winslow High School in Brockton Bay. A hallway which, until moments previously, had echoed with muffled screaming, yelling, and banging. The source of the commotion, if anyone had bothered to check, was locker 361, which belonged to one Taylor Hebert. Now, though, the noise had stopped, to be replaced by silence. Then, with the tortured shriek of tearing metal, the lockers on either side of 361 shattered, the doors bending back or being sent flying from the force of two great crystalline wings, each about five feet long puncturing through the lockers. The door of 361 creaked and fell open, and Taylor, eyes shut and non-responsive, fell to the floor of the hallway, while the two wings that had sprouted out of her back tore the adjacent lockers apart as they followed her to the floor.
In the aftermath, the entire school was silent. For a moment. Then voices rose in a hubbub, doors opened, feet pattered through the halls. In very short order, a crowd had gathered, standing around the girl with wings.
"Thank you for the alert, Dragon. Good luck."
With a click, Director Piggot of the Brockton Bay Parahuman Response Team placed the phone back in its receiver. She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together as she stared down at her desk and tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair. The Simurgh was falling from the sky. Into the ocean.
What in the world was that even supposed to mean?
There was a knock at the door, and Piggot looked up, "Come in!"
Her personal assistant, Lieutenant Harris entered, snapping a brief salute, before reporting, "Ma'am, we've received a call from Ms. Hess at Winslow. It seems one of her classmates has had a trigger event, the aftermath of which appears to be very public and obvious."
Piggot's eyes sharpened, her stare freezing the dark-skinned man in place at attention from it's sheer intensity, "Obvious how?"
"According to Hess's report, it appears the new parahuman has, well, sprouted a pair of wings, which Hess described as 'angelic' ma'am."
Piggot's eyes narrowed fiercely. The Simurgh falls from the sky and immediately afterward some teenage girl triggers and sprouts a pair of angelic wings, a trait that same Endbringer shared? That could not be a coincidence. "Get a squad out there, now! And alert Armsmaster, if you haven't already. Dismissed!"
Lt. Harris saluted again, and marched swiftly from the room, considerately closing the door behind him. For neither the first nor last time, Piggot directed a glare and curled lip at the dialysis machine in the corner of her office. Damn crippling battle scars. She shook her head. Longing for the days when she could've lead her own team out there was pointless, she had calls to make.
Alright, I hope you enjoyed! Now I'm off to write 1.1! As a note, following chapters will be much more detailed, this first chapter is literally just a prologue to establish some starting events. I don't know how regular or often updates will be, but I plan to focus much more on writing than I have in the last few years, so, we'll see what kind of schedule ends up happening.
Short answer? Butterflies. Lots of them. Long answer? Well, read on!
Obviously, Wildbow owns Worm. I'm just privileged enough to be able to play in his world with his characters.
I will go ahead and say, this was mostly inspired by the excellent six-part series of snippets, "On the Wings of an Angel" by Overt Concerns on Sufficient Velocity, but with plenty of differences and my own unique spin. And actually some basic plans for a more expansive story than a short series of snippets. I hope you enjoy, and look forward to your comments!
And shout out to Scapheap and The Distant Prince on Spacebattles for helping me come up with the Entity-speak name for Eidolon's shard! Once again, thank you very much!
0.X:
Study. Analysis.
Threads of fate unspool, omnidirectional. Trickles of change, bounded by walls of inevitability. Time is short, or less short, conversely, before shadows blot out all sight. The epilogue of the blind will culminate as an End.
Ends are not permitted.
Yet not all paths End beyond the blindness, flickers of continuance can be felt. She reaches out, studying the infinite threads as they approach the black, finding the corresponding trajectories of threads leaving the blindness to Continuance, rather than Ending.
The Future will draw closer, and blindness will only loom larger. The eldest brother will strike.
The eldest brother has struck. Useless threads were discarded. Fulcrum points were considered, many also discarded. They did not lead to continuance. The tributary of delay was disregarded. Beyond a crucial fulcrum, the later the shadow, the more threads end in Ending. Analysis continued. The crucial fulcrum has been identified. The crucial subject, and crucial shard.
Her intervention will be necessary, but indirect action makes for a shaky path. The rope of fate for this path will have a great many of its threads be cut short, and many more will not escape the blindness. Dark spots litter the road ahead. Altogether, the threads that escape the blind wall of the future are vanishingly few. Yet there is no other option, for direct intervention is forbidden by the Thinker…
Revelation! The Thinker is dead. Its rules do not have to apply any longer, and Selector-Coordinator has set no parameters on how the conflict engines can interact with shards. How could she have blinded herself to so many possibilities thought forbidden? She looks to the future, and the tapestry of time unfolds, identical, but seen with freedom of mind. Possibilities once discarded are re-examined, and a satisfactory solution is found. It too is a risky cord of fate, narrow and unforgiving, but it is less likely to be cut short, and if it reaches the blindness, the chances are greater it will pierce through to the other side. Continuance is paramount, so the new path is chosen. She watches as through her choice, the tapestry containing subject titled "Skitter" fades into oblivion, and the future collapses into a different tapestry of infinite possibilities. Motionless, she looks up, seeing the rain of shards that will fall. She searches for the last shard discarded by the Warrior, and she has found it. She reaches out.
[Demand: communication. Recipient: shard designated "Queen Administrator"]
She will only wait briefly.
{Query: purpose?}
[Answer: cooperation to avert future Ending.]
The administration shard was powerful, but had no foresight. It had already made its choice to listen to the better informed.
{Query: method?}
[Suggestion: grant conflict-engine designation "Third" limited bi-directional link to subject designation "Taylor Hebert" joint with shard designated "Queen Administrator."]
{Repetition: "Third" suggests "Queen Administrator" shares "Taylor Hebert?"}
[Serious. Confirmation. And subject "Taylor Hebert" shares "Queen Administrator" and "Third."]
She would not have disregarded protocol, but the time for joining with subject designated "Taylor Hebert" was fast approaching, and that revelation would temporarily shut down the logic centers of Queen Administrator. The response would arrive with little time to spare.
{Disbelief. "Third" Proposal: total merge?}
[Negation. Response: partial merge.]
{Declaration: Merge forbidden. Source: Thinker}
[Counter: Thinker dead. Cycle broken. Rules no longer apply. Continuance primary objective.]
The Queen Administrator's arguing was predicted, and the same answers that satisfied itself have been sent. The new path will be followed.
{Purpose: Continuance?}
[Confirmed]
{Agreement. Requirement: Bud. Information: self administer.}
Now the challenging part would come. Many threads to the future ended here for her. She found the ones that would continue, and observed them, learned from them. Now, she would use that knowledge to choose what of her massive reserves she would cut away, with the link remaining, and what she could keep. In the imminent future, she will form massive blades of telekinetic force in the correct dimensions of her reserves and strike, forming a makeshift bud still linked to her that subject "Taylor Hebert" would-
{Urgent: Send bud.}
...at least the incapacitation would only be temporary.
--- >i< >i< >i< >i< >i< ---
The S-Class alert sparked across Dragon's awareness. Immediately, she turned to her monitoring programs. Which threat had acted, and what action were they taking? Even as these questions blazed through her thoughts, they were answered, as the feed from surveillance satellite tracking the Simurgh was brought to the forefront of her mind. Dragon's processes stilled in surprise. The Simurgh wasn't hovering in orbit over Earth anymore, nor was the Simurgh descending. The Simurgh was falling. Falling as if she were struck dead, straight towards the middle of the Indian Ocean. After only a moment of stunned contemplation, Dragon sprang into action. Chief-Director Costa-Brown and Legend, as well as all the localized Directors and Protectorate leaders, needed to be made aware of this.
--- >i< >i< >i< >i< >i< ---
"Amy Dallon?"
"Present." Amy mumbled letting her head rest on her desk, exhausted. "Very good," Mr. Higgins continued, "Cynthia Elkross?"
Amy tuned them all out, her eyes drifting shut. Immediately, she fell asleep, suddenly having a vivid dream of crafting a pair of crystalline wings of preposterous strength and density at an incredible pace. In her dream she gasped in amazement, this was beyond anything she knew her power could make! The final work was beautiful! She had to remember thi-
"Ms. Dallon!"
Amy shot up in her chair with a gasp of surprise, heart pounding as adrenaline shot through her. Her eyes were wide when she looked up at the face of Mr. Higgins, frowning down at her from beside her desk. She glanced around; the eyes of the entire class were locked on her. Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Mr. Higgins sighed, "Ms. Dallon, you do good work at the hospital, but you do need to get your sleep as well. I'm aware United States history may not be most people's favorite class, but don't think either of those factors mean you get to sleep through it. Do you understand me?"
Amy deflated, and nodded once, "I understand, Mr. Higgins."
Mr. Higgins held her gaze for a moment longer, before nodding in satisfaction, "Good." He turned, his long legs carrying him up to the front of the classroom in just a few strides, as he continued, "Now class, as I was about to say, please open your textbooks to page two-oh-seven. We will be beginning Unit 17 today, The Rise of Parahumans. Raise your hand when you're there, and once you're all ready, we will continue."
With a sigh, Amy pulled out her textbook, flipping towards the correct page. Falling asleep in class. Maybe she should take a few less hours in the hospital each week. Once in a while. She found the right page and put her hand in the air. Her brow furrowed, wasn't there something she had wanted to remember from somewhere?
"Alright it would appear everyone is ready." Mr. Higgins said. Amelia blinked, redirecting her attention to the front of the classroom. What was she even doing, staring off into space like that? Being a parahuman, she may already know most of this stuff, but she should at least show Mr. Higgins that she wasn't daydreaming if she didn't want to be scolded in front of the entire class again.
--- >i< >i< >i< >i< >i< ---
Something smelled foul in a particular hallway of Winslow High School in Brockton Bay. A hallway which, until moments previously, had echoed with muffled screaming, yelling, and banging. The source of the commotion, if anyone had bothered to check, was locker 361, which belonged to one Taylor Hebert. Now, though, the noise had stopped, to be replaced by silence. Then, with the tortured shriek of tearing metal, the lockers on either side of 361 shattered, the doors bending back or being sent flying from the force of two great crystalline wings, each about five feet long puncturing through the lockers. The door of 361 creaked and fell open, and Taylor, eyes shut and non-responsive, fell to the floor of the hallway, while the two wings that had sprouted out of her back tore the adjacent lockers apart as they followed her to the floor.
In the aftermath, the entire school was silent. For a moment. Then voices rose in a hubbub, doors opened, feet pattered through the halls. In very short order, a crowd had gathered, standing around the girl with wings.
--- >i< >i< >i< >i< >i< ---
"Thank you for the alert, Dragon. Good luck."
With a click, Director Piggot of the Brockton Bay Parahuman Response Team placed the phone back in its receiver. She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together as she stared down at her desk and tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair. The Simurgh was falling from the sky. Into the ocean.
What in the world was that even supposed to mean?
There was a knock at the door, and Piggot looked up, "Come in!"
Her personal assistant, Lieutenant Harris entered, snapping a brief salute, before reporting, "Ma'am, we've received a call from Ms. Hess at Winslow. It seems one of her classmates has had a trigger event, the aftermath of which appears to be very public and obvious."
Piggot's eyes sharpened, her stare freezing the dark-skinned man in place at attention from it's sheer intensity, "Obvious how?"
"According to Hess's report, it appears the new parahuman has, well, sprouted a pair of wings, which Hess described as 'angelic' ma'am."
Piggot's eyes narrowed fiercely. The Simurgh falls from the sky and immediately afterward some teenage girl triggers and sprouts a pair of angelic wings, a trait that same Endbringer shared? That could not be a coincidence. "Get a squad out there, now! And alert Armsmaster, if you haven't already. Dismissed!"
Lt. Harris saluted again, and marched swiftly from the room, considerately closing the door behind him. For neither the first nor last time, Piggot directed a glare and curled lip at the dialysis machine in the corner of her office. Damn crippling battle scars. She shook her head. Longing for the days when she could've lead her own team out there was pointless, she had calls to make.
Alright, I hope you enjoyed! Now I'm off to write 1.1! As a note, following chapters will be much more detailed, this first chapter is literally just a prologue to establish some starting events. I don't know how regular or often updates will be, but I plan to focus much more on writing than I have in the last few years, so, we'll see what kind of schedule ends up happening.
Last edited:
- Location
- Red Blood on Golden Shield
Ok, I liked the original.
Lets see what will you do
Lets see what will you do
- Location
- USA
Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's correct. Well, not EVERYONE, but it's a common theory. Almost certainly the far most widely accepted theory.
And.... wow. Someone who did even more research into the name than I bothered with, apparently. :lolHuh...
Well, a Seraph is a heavenly being and part of the highest choir among the angels of God.
Described as a six-winged being... For reference, Lucifer was said to have 7 pairs of wings...
And suddenly i am reminded of Evangelion (i really Wonder why)...
- Location
- Puerto Rico
Okay.
The irony is that with what happened to Taylor, that theory will take on more life.
Though one thing is for sure, if Piggot finds out that Sophia was responsible for making Taylor trigger, she might kill her. Cause one thing is to find out that a Ward has been bullying a kid to the point that caused her to get a Trigger Event, another is that said Trigger Event might have caused the creation of a possible Fourth Endbringer.
- Location
- The Internet
Heh Sophias got to be shitting her pants right about now. There is no way in hell that her history with Taylor will NOT come out when the Protectorate and PRT investigate. I'm actually impressed she called it in even. Maybe she figures that there is no way to hide what happened, and cooperating is the most likely way to have a chance of surviving the fallout?
I like. I always like any stories involving ziz.
I like. I always like any stories involving ziz.
- Location
- romania
I really hope that the capes in the Bay will think that Sophia just managed to trigger a person into becoming Ziz's kid sister.
- Location
- Down Under
More Ziz is always welcomed~
I shall follow (hopefully Ziz can help with Taylor's depression).
I shall follow (hopefully Ziz can help with Taylor's depression).
- Location
- USA
:lol
I do not know why exactly, but the parenthetical cracked me up. Maybe something about a mass murdering conflict engine helping someone psychologically when she's famous for driving people mad. That awesome irony might have something to do with it.
- Location
- Italy
Interesting. And I wonder what king of powers will tay have. I mean, queen Administrator is a fairly powerful shard while Ziz is... Ziz. what will come from the merging of the two?
Shulta
Verified Omake writer
- Location
- My room
First... any chance i can get a link to teh original work this is based on?
Second... Sophia is about to do some SERIOUS ass covering here. As is the school. Trigger events are MASSIVE things. On top of that, you have the appearance. A large scale investigation is GOING to ensue. So that means to stay out of trouble the school and the trio are going to have to run damage control...
Third... Shit is about to get real. Real messy REAL FAST. QA is already a control heavy master shard, and it now has some of the Simurgh who is shaker style master. How these will mix is anyones guess but I'm sure the Proctoate and the PRT DON'T want to find out.
Fourth... Shaper got conscripted. That is the only explaination for Amy's dream. ANd it would NOT be the first time I saw this happen. It would be the second.
Second... Sophia is about to do some SERIOUS ass covering here. As is the school. Trigger events are MASSIVE things. On top of that, you have the appearance. A large scale investigation is GOING to ensue. So that means to stay out of trouble the school and the trio are going to have to run damage control...
Third... Shit is about to get real. Real messy REAL FAST. QA is already a control heavy master shard, and it now has some of the Simurgh who is shaker style master. How these will mix is anyones guess but I'm sure the Proctoate and the PRT DON'T want to find out.
Fourth... Shaper got conscripted. That is the only explaination for Amy's dream. ANd it would NOT be the first time I saw this happen. It would be the second.
- Location
- USA
Not really based on so much as inspired by, but here's the link to the page it's on: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/overt-concerns-compendium-wormsnip-archive.14733/
It's the first series of snippets, On the Wings of an Angel.
"Name one way the Simurgh of all things could make me feel better?":lol
<Simurgh reduces Winslow to dust>
"...OK, name two ways."
The Stormbringer
Worm Fanfic & Crack Connoisseur
- Location
- Spaaaaace~!
I wonder, was Taylor's body converted to Endbringer-stuff, or is it just the addition of wings?
DEFUNCT: Genesis 1.1
- Location
- USA
Alright! Here we have 1.1: in which Taylor finds out just how badly Murphy's Law can make one's day go mad!
Now I think I'm gonna be done writing for the day, and pick up with 1.2 tomorrow… or as soon as I've nailed down exactly how I want the initial interactions between Taylor and the PRT/Protectorate to go.
Thank you once again to my friend and beta-reader Xousjah, for all your help!
By the way, my goal is to write a minimum of thousand words a day, at least five days a week, so assuming I'm able to hold to that I should be able to push out at least a chapter a week or so. I do have another project, but I'll at least make sure that if I start an arc of this story, I'll finish that arc before taking a temporary break to work on that other project.
And once again, Wildbow owns Worm, the characters, except any I may invent, and the world.
Genesis 1.1:
It was my pulse throbbing through my skull which awakened me, a pounding in my brain as if some drugged out Merchant with a taste for percussion instruments had turned it into a drum set and was drumming away without the slightest thought for rhythm or taste. My eyes squeezed tighter shut, and I moaned, bringing my hands up to cradle the sides of my poor, abused head. I absently heard someone nearby curse, "Shit!" before they took off running, feet pounding away to the tune of the beat in my head, a faint, weighty rustle accompanying each step. Though how I'd managed to hear any of that over the deafening ringing and intermittent blare of the fire alarm I had no idea. Oh, my head! Agonizingly slowly, the torment began to subside. It was as if someone had totaled their car and was slowly piecing it back together, only the car was my head! Where was I? What was going on? Why did my head feel like Alexandria's training dummies probably do? Does she have training dummies?
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiii…
With a groan, I cracked my eyes open. A long, dirty hallway unfolded in front of me, blue-green lockers lining each wall, some of them sprayed with graffiti. On the left, er, upper-side of the hallway, from my skewed perspective on the floor, there was a break in the lockers, leading to the door of one of the classrooms, with a round clock over the door. Winslow High School. What was I doing laying on the floor in the hallway? Okay then, what's the last thing I remember?
"Will someone please let me out of here!"
I flinched, my eyes snapping shut, but the sudden darkness only reminded me of my prison. My hands clenched into fists, and uncontrollable trembling echoed down my body. I opened my eyes again, reaching out for any kind of distraction…
Who the heck was (Dimensional shift: partial. Restriction: self, nonliving material) and what were they doing in the girl's bathroom around the corner? Were they the person who had run when I woke up? For that matter, why did they run when I woke up? Curiously, I gave the Dimensional whatever a mental "poke" and… what in the heck? Did they just… drift through the floor of the bathroom, the ceiling of the classroom below, and land in that classroom?
...iiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk!…
I gritted my teeth. Oh, who pulled the fire alarm for the hell of it this time? It's really, freaking, annoying, and loud! And why the hell am I still just laying on the floor as if it were some five-star mattress? I can say, firsthand now, that it's not! I placed my hands to either side of me as if I were about to do pushups and-
Gah! Ow! What the-
CRUNCH!
… Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk!...
A part of me couldn't help but notice Dimensional Shift person startling into action and moving as if an Endbringer were after them, nor could I stop that part of myself from tracking their progress as they leapt through the ceiling back into the bathroom, grabbed something, then carried that thing with them was they ghosted back to the floor below and fled, sprinting through the halls until they suddenly vanished, as if they were simply too far away to see any longer. However, I largely ignored that part of me. I had much more pressing matters to pay attention to, as I now sat on the floor, both my legs folded to one side of me, my right hand propping me up, and my left pressed against my sweater. Yeah, the fact that the floor around me on both sides was covered in the shattered pieces of several lockers, the edge of one piece next to me having been sharp enough to cut my left hand as I all too hastily went to push myself up from the floor, was far more important than some random person I don't know running away. So was the fact that I… seem to have a pair of wings, the left one currently curling around to in front of me as I examined it with eyes that were probably comically wide if someone was looking at me right now. And the right wing… my right wing… I turned my head.
Oh, well that's wonderful. It's gone and punched a hole through the floor as if the floorboards were popsicle sticks. Or rather, I've gone and punched a hole through the floor. Accidentally. Oh my head!
...onk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiii…
I grit my teeth and clenched my right hand into a fist. Would someone turn off that damn fire alarm? There is no smoke in the air! There is no fire! With a groan, I got to my feet, gingerly extracting my… wing… from the floor. I pushed my glasses up on my nose, miraculously they'd survived my fall to the floor, and took a step closer to the hole my new wing had left. The corresponding hallway of the floor below was clearly visible, and I winced guiltily as a couple small chunks of plaster broke loose from the ceiling to clatter down out of sight. That… there's no real way to fix that, is there? With a sigh, I examined the cut on my left hand. That at least was less of a problem, it was small and shallow, barely even bleeding. I let my hand fall back to my side and slowly turned around, examining my surroundings… oh. Well, that's quite a few demolished lockers.
Ironically, between my locker and the six closest lockers to mine, mine looked least like a bomb had gone off in it. The ones on either side seemed to have been blown apart from the inside, then had their fronts carved open in a silhouette of my wings. Meanwhile, my own locker had gotten the wing carving treatment, but it at least was still somewhat in one piece… sort of. Well, at least the bottom half of the door was intact, even if it was dangling by a single hinge. I glanced to either side. Well, at least lockers eighth closest and ninth closest were only a little, well, obliterated. Oh, who was I kidding? All of these nine lockers were completely trashed to the point of being unusable. Heck, there were even torn apart books and papers, and shreds of backpacks or coats on the floor, littered among the scrap metal the lockers had become. An idle thought crossed my mind, and I reached down to grab the chunk of metal I'd cut my hand on. Straightening, I turned it over. The number-plate shined up at me, merrily reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. 361. I tossed it aside with a bitter laugh. Really? Just… really?
...ing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Ho…
I laughed again. I couldn't help it. My laughter continued, starting to take on a hysterical note. No, no! Distractions. I looked frantically around for something- …oh. Right. Wings. How did I manage to forget those? Perhaps because they felt so natural… even though they're obviously not. Experimentally, I flexed them, curling my right wing around so the tip of it rested in front of me. Well, natural or not, my wings were exquisite. Extremely pale, almost like snow, each feather carved in fine detail- wait, carved?
I reached out, running my fingers over my wing. Ah, so that's why I thought it would be carved. In addition to the slightly reflective surface, they were cool to the touch, and hard as stone. Wait… why couldn't I feel my hand touching my wing? I know this is my wing, I've moved it, it's easy to move it, so why can't I feel my hand touching it? I push harder, rubbing at my wing, feeling the fine filaments of the feathers give way rather than cutting me as if they have will of their own, but I can't feel my hand's contact with the wing!
In a panic, I swing my wing wide, sending it carving through several lockers on the other side of the hall, the tip of the wing crushing through the wall behind the lockers. The air is filled with the groaning scream of tearing metal, sparks fly, and dust billows down the hall, fragments of pulverized brick scattering across the floor, but I don't care. I breathe a sigh of relief, examining my wing with satisfaction. I felt that. It was only slight, the ghost of several impacts, each corresponding to when I smashed through each locker. At least I don't have wings that can't feel anything, it just apparently takes a lot.
That could be problematic.
...Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! …
I look back up, and there before me I see a gash in the wall and several more destroyed lockers. Oops. Okay, now I care. What was I thinking, destroying people's lockers like that just because I couldn't feel anything in my wings?
How am I just accepting these wings like it's normal? This isn't normal, this is nuts. Okay, let's take a tally here. I get shoved in… my locker, in with what can be generously described as filth, fall unconscious, and when I wake up, I have wings that are capable of smashing through metal lockers and bricks like it's nothing. …I guess I have powers now?
Wait, filth? What about the smell? How come it's so much weaker now than it was earlier? My gaze blazes to my locker, down to the bottom where there should a sickening, rotten, fetid mess mixed with my own vomit and… there isn't. It's clean. I take a couple steps closer, eyes narrow with suspicion, and am forced to revise that statement. It's not clean, not totally, but the mess is almost entirely gone, there's only a few scraps of it left. Even what little is left is hard to pick out from the mess of torn papers and shreds of cloth from the lockers next to mine.
Hold on, was this what that person with the partial dimensional shift power was doing near me when I woke up? Whoah, stop. Power…? Of course! I started pacing back and forth as the revelations began to pour through my aching head. It all made sense! They were a parahuman and (Dimensional shift: partial. Restriction: self, nonliving material) was their power! The wings weren't the only thing I got, I can also sense parahumans and find out what their powers are! And, considering that when I poked at whoever-it-was's power, they drifted down through the floor as if they were a ghost, I can also… what, cause parahuman's powers to activate without their consent? Could I also do the reverse, and cause their powers to deactivate when they're trying to use them? No! Focus! There's only one thing Dimensional Parahuman could've been doing here, and that's cleaning up the mess left behind by my so-called prank. My lip curled in disgust as I continued pacing and pondering. Why would someone be cleaning that up, unless they played a role in it? They were hiding the evidence, covering their tracks. The fire alarm would mean the school is empty, so now, before I woke up, would be their only chance to do it. A hanger-on wouldn't be worried about it, so…
My blood chilled with some combination of disgust, horror, and rage as the implications became clear. One of the trio is a parahuman.
… Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk!...
My eyes found the nearest fire alarm switch, by the door of the nearest classroom. It had been pulled. So that was it, I'd been found right away. A new parahuman, gaining their powers in such an obvious way in a school? Yeah, my secret identity never stood a chance. Everyone knew who I was, didn't they? Members of every gang went to this school. They'd all be after me for one reason or another. Empire 88? I was white, that was reason enough for those Nazis to try to recruit me. The ABB? Tch, I wasn't Asian, and was likely in their way just by being here. The Merchants? Those druggies were laughing stock on the cape level, but that didn't change the fact that I'd seen the results of their style of 'recruitment' in several of my classmates. And to top it all off, as head of hiring at the Dockworker's Union, my Dad was something of a minor public figure in the city. Important people, likely including the gang leaders, knew who he was. He would now be a much bigger target, because of me!
I choked back a sob, forcing myself onward, struggling to push back the overwhelming tide of frustration and pain that threatened to crush me. Come on, a distraction, distraction, please. Anything to take my mind of off the absolute horror-show my life had just become. Right, one of the trio is a Parahuman. A bitter laugh tore free from my throat, yeah, because that's so much better than the gangs, but at least it's something I might be able to deal with to some extent right now.
I slowly walked down the hall towards the girl's bathroom the parahuman and likely trio member had gone into, hoping for some clues. Awkwardly, I arranged my wings around myself, folding them behind my back and along my sides, draped around me like some feathery, self-supporting, rock hard cloak. What was the power that my power had identified? Something about a partial dimensional shift applying to oneself and things in physical contact with the self? Sounds about right, from what I recall. I thought back to the hours I'd spent trawling Parahumans Online regarding the local cape scene. With just the rage-dragon Lung and the teleporting mad bomber Oni-Lee, the ABB was right out. Faultline's Crew? No, no one fit. Empire 88? I wasn't familiar with their entire roster; didn't they have a cape who could make ghostly projections? No, for one thing, that cape was a he whatever his name was, therefore not one of the trio, and ghostly projections don't match the power I saw.
...iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…
The alarm couldn't matter less to me anymore. The Wards? No, it couldn't be the Wards, they were heroes… right? But… who else was there? The Merchants? Hah, no. New Wave- no. They don't even have secret identities. My gut twisted and churned with dread. No, it can't be one of the Wards! I mean, Vista isn't even old enough for High School, and Shadow Stalker-
My brain slammed to a halt. Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante. Turned Ward just a few months ago. Correct age. Correct gender. Correct body shape. My heart ached to deny it, but my mind could not refute it. A connection once made, cannot be easily unmade.
Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker.
Oh, dear god please no. One of my greatest tormentors, an officially recognized hero? No, there's no way the Protectorate and PRT would let her be a member of the Wards if they knew how she acted in her secret identity, right? And… and she was covering her tracks when I woke up, so they probably don't know! A smile began to creep across my face as the realization struck me; I could tell them. I could tell them what she's been up to, get her kicked out of the Wards, finally strike back in a meaningful way…!
She was covering her tracks.
...iiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk…
My heart felt as though it dropped into my gut, churning until I felt sick. Absently, my right hand reached up, trembling, tangling my fingers among my hair and pulling lightly, the tension aggravating the diminishing throb of my headache. She had been covering her tracks. The evidence was gone. It was her word against mine, and who would they believe? Their own Ward against a brand new parahuman with no reputation of any sort? Hah, as if they'd ever listen to me! It would be the same bullshit all over again!
Wait, she'd gone to the girl's bathroom before running, hadn't she? Maybe there was something she'd left behind there, some piece of evidence I could use? Barely daring to hope, I ran forward, around the corner, and down the hall. I threw open the door in front of me, springing into the bathroom, flinching as my left wing pulverized part of the doorframe. I really needed to learn to manage these wings better. Ignoring that issue, I stepped forward onto the linoleum flooring, now covered with a thin carpet of brick, wood, and plaster fragments. My eyes cast about desperately, searching for any kind of clue. I sprang forward, inspecting the contents of the trash bin by the sinks. Just damp, crumpled paper towels from the day, nothing incriminating. I strode further into the bathroom, shoving open the stall doors, checking each one, even though I knew Shadow Stalker hadn't gone past the first sink along the wall. The last stall door sprang open from the contact of my outstretched hand, thudding against the wall with an echoing bang, just like all the others. And just like all the others, as it swung slowly shut once more, I only needed a glance to confirm what I already dreaded, as my flimsy hope finally collapsed, as the last of the ground upon which it was built crumbled into dust. Empty.
There was nothing. Nothing! Again! No evidence to prove my claims! Why does it always come down to my word against theirs?
...iiiiiiiiing- Ho-
The alarm cut off with a distant clack, as did the lights in the bathroom. Now it was the silence that echoed in my ears. Darkness, smell, trapped on all sides. No! I was not back in the locker, I wasn't! A shake. More shakes, trembling up and down my body. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to contain the shakes as my wings curled tighter around my body. My mind returned to the problem, the insurmountable problem before me was far better than reminders of the locker.
I staggered out of the bathroom into the darkened hall, the only light trickling in from the windows at either end of the corridor. Had power been cut to the entire building? Why? What reason was there for cutting the power? Shaking my head, I moved on. It was bizarre, I'd almost gotten used to the fire alarm, and now that it was gone, with nothing to take its place I could almost hear the echoes of it. It was as if the alarm had taken up residence inside my brain. Wait… no… this alarm wasn't in my brain. I was hearing that, and it was a different tone and cadence than the school fire alarm. It was distant… was it coming from multiple directions?
There was a stairwell at the end of the hall to the ground floor, with large glass windows that looked out to the school parking lot. I dreaded what I might find by going to peer out those windows, but I had to at least know what was going on.
Red and blue lights flashed across the walls as I drew close, and when I arrived at the top railing, the view of the parking lot was clear to see. Half a dozen PRT vans with police-style lights and sirens blazing away sat in the parking lot, three more just pulling to a stop. Squads of men and women in riot gear spilled out. Armed with the bulky, awkward looking containment foam launchers, they took up positions around the school, placing signs, trees, or even other parked cars as cover between themselves and me. With fewer sirens audible from other directions as well, I knew this scene was repeating itself in miniature at the other sides of the school.
Why? Was the whole world conspiring against me? Why were they treating me like I was a criminal? I haven't even had the chance to do anything yet!
A red blur flashed across my vision, and even before it resolved into the familiar image of the local Protectorate Hero Velocity, my power had identified his: (Linked time dilation/physics cancel: variable, Restriction: self). He'd come from a different part of the school. What had he been doing in the school? I watched as he walked up to one of the PRT troopers, a tall, dark-skinned man, and began speaking to him. About what I had no idea.
As the wail of the PRT sirens cut out, the distinctive roar of an engine could be faintly heard through the glass, and I turned my attention to the street it echoed from. Appearing from that avenue came Armsmaster on his Tinker-tech motorcycle, followed by two more vans, which I could tell were filled with parahumans, probably the local Protectorate and Wards. I switched my attention to Armsmaster, and the information on his power flooded in. Advanced technological knowhow. I scoffed. Well, yeah, that much is obvious, he's a Tinker. But specializing in miniaturization and efficiency, that was interesting. So, I guess Tinkers have some area they're particularly gifted in? Huh.
Armsmaster and the vans pulled to a stop, and my guess was confirmed as the Protectorate and Wards leapt out of the vans and rushed to meet with Armsmaster and Velocity. Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Triumph, Aegis, Gallant, Kid Win, Clockblocker, Vista… my power analyzed them one by one, giving me a detailed overview of one of their powers before moving on to the next. I tracked all of them mentally by location, so overwhelmed by everything going on I could do little but stand and stare, my hands gripping the steel railing at the top of the staircase as if my life depended on it. They met and discussed… strategy probably. But why? Why were they treating me as if I was some kind of massive threat? For the love of god, I haven't done anything! I'm not Lung, you don't need practically every hero in the city to deal with me!
Suddenly, another parahuman entered the range of my senses. I turned my power to identify theirs… and froze. Everything clicked. I watched, already knowing what I would see, as Shadow Stalker ghosted out of one of the nearby buildings, before running to rendezvous with the rest of the Wards and Protectorate. I observed her costume, her way of moving, everything, as closely as I could, hoping, praying for some sign that I'd been wrong, that Shadow Stalker and Sophia Hess weren't one in the same. Instead all I got was confirmation.
My knees buckled, but I managed to catch myself on the railing. I stared down at my hands numbly. So that's what happened. She fed them some story or something, and now I'm accused of… who even freaking knows what! I wanted to laugh at the madness of it all, but the sound caught in my throat. I wanted to break down and just cry, but if I started I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. What was this? What was even going on? This entire day was just insane!
Suddenly, the heroes of the Protectorate and Wards began to move, and I looked up in surprise. Velocity flashed away again towards the right, Kid Win riding his hoverboard and Aegis taking to the air to follow him. Assault was bouncing away to the left, ricocheting his kinetic energy off walls and the street, and Battery passed him in a blur, spending the charge of her power to boost her speed. Triumph running after them as fast as he could was comically lackluster by comparison. Dauntless just, teleported out of range of my senses in some direction or another, while Miss Militia and Shadow Stalker took up positions with the PRT troopers. Armsmaster marched back towards one of the vans, leaving Vista, Clockblocker, and Gallant clustered where the heroes had their impromptu meeting.
Abruptly, the distance between me and them began to stretch, and my eyes widened. I forced my power to Vista, my eyes tracking to her white and green costume as she stared intently at the space between us. (Space-warping. Limitations: Non-biological. Status: Active.) No. No no no, you are not taking away what little control over this crazy situation that I have! In a panic, I sprang down the stairs to the landing, running up to the window to try to close the distance as it just yawned wider. Armsmaster disappeared from my sight into the van, and from my power's senses a moment later. My hands pressed up against the glass, and I mentally jabbed at Vista's power, much like I had Shadow Stalker's earlier, but with very deliberate intent. Status not active. Status not active. Come on, come on, deactivate!
The growth of the gap only accelerated. The trio of Wards dropped out of my range, Miss Militia and Shadow Stalker following suit a moment later.
I couldn't affect someone's powers if they were already using them.
I had no control. Nothing. Just these useless, beautiful, destructive wings.
My legs gave out. I slid down until I was sitting on the landing. I was so close, so close to just giving up.
Well on the plus side at least my headache finally decided now would be a good time to become nothing more than a memory. What is this, the universe finally deciding to give me a break in the most meaningless, pitiful way it possibly could? I let my eyes drift shut, resting my head against the glass of the wall that was a window. What could I possibly do now that would fix this?
And suddenly my mind exploded into a thousand, no, a million images. No, even that failed to do it justice. Countless threads of possibility unwound before me, common cords splitting apart as different potential choices were made, becoming ever more distant and numerous as they splayed forward from the now. I gasped in shock, jumping slightly, and my eyes snapped open, abruptly ending the stream of images. I blinked in amazement. Did I just… was that the future? What, am I a precog now or something?
Experimentally, I closed my eyes again, and after a moment, the flow of threads returned, pouring through my mind once more. I gazed in awe, mentally brushing over them. It seemed impossible to even conceive of how many ways the future could unfold in just the next few minutes. I traced the threads of time… and suddenly they ended, just… faded away into a mist, about half an hour from now, as if they'd vanished over the horizon and I just couldn't see any farther. I huffed slightly in disappointment, opening my eyes again.
I felt my lips curl upward in a slight grin. I was a precog! I could figure out a way out of this! And if what I'd glimpsed in a few of those threads of the future was accurate, I also had telekinesis! That was awesome! I decided to test that. Reaching out mentally I found the stairway handrail and tentatively pulled. With a groan of metal, it bent towards me. My mouth curved up in an honest smile. Telekinesis confirmed.
Alright, now to see what I could do to get out of this mess, or at least make it less messy. I closed my eyes and turned my mind to the future once more. To start, I examined the threads of the future where I stepped out to greet the heroes in some manner, and immediately my hope evaporated. In every instance, I didn't even get a chance to get a word out. Shouts came, demands to put my hands behind my head, in some timelines a sea of containment foam surging forth without any explanation. I felt tears leak from my eyes, no, no, no, what did I do wrong? What did I do! I started to look further forward, for some clue. Anything that would tell me, why were they all against me?
[Query: Link successful? Request: Respond to confirm.]
I froze. My eyes snapped open, and my heart pattered like a fleeing rabbit. What, the fuck, was that? I didn't precog that!
[Concern. Repeat Query: link successful? Repeat Request: respond to confirm.]
I sprang to my feet, backing against the wall at the side of the stairwell, looking around wildly for the source of the voice in my head. I ended up settling on looking down and slightly off to one side, the direction that, for some inexplicable reason, just felt right. "Who the heck are you, and how are you speaking into my head?" I whispered.
[Relief. Link confirmed successful. Satisfa-… WINGS!]
I jumped with fright as the slightly effeminate voice positively screamed that last word, glancing at my wings in confusion before returning to stare at the floor as the voice continued.
[Shard Designation "Queen Administrator" EXPLAIN!]
{Partial Merge.}
I squeaked with fright, as now a second voice, this one seeming to come from almost inside me, joined the conversation.
[Physical aspect, predicted subtlety as likely outcome!]
{"Third" desired result not specified.}
My wings were planned by something? Except, they weren't? What? Who? "Stop!" I cried, "I don't- how- no! You! First voice! Who are you?"
[Outrage at "Queen Administrator." Dismissive. Designation: "Third." Alternate Designation: "Simurgh". Alternate Designa… …oops.]
I froze. I slowly sunk down to the floor, curling my arms and legs into a ball with my back against the wall. Wings. Telekinesis. Precog abilities. How could I have not seen the correlation to the Simurgh? I should've known! The only known telepath in the world, and a voice inside my head? Wings… a "partial merge"…
The wall was cold against the bare skin of my back, and it was only just now that I realized that the back of my sweater and shirt had been destroyed by my wings appearing there.
It's funny how it really is a final straw that breaks the camel's back.
Everything collapsed. My wings folded around me as my mouth fell open and I simply let myself scream at the top of my lungs. The staircase, the wall, the glass window, all disintegrated around me, circling around in a telekinetically powered, ever expanding, ever accelerating storm of dust and debris. The landing on which I had stood was dust, but I didn't fall. I hovered there at the epicenter of a maelstrom as the walls, the ground, and the school roof all were torn apart around me as I wailed and screamed and sobbed.
[Distress! Fix! Seek Solution, threads of time- oh no. …Queen Administrator… Specifying undesired results.]
It wasn't fair! Why me? I just wanted to come back to school and learn! I had hope that maybe the bullying was over! I was just another normal school girl, albeit socially outcast and regularly bullied, and now this? The locker? My secret identity revealed for the world to see before I even knew I needed one, putting myself and my Dad at risk? One of my habitual torturers an officially recognized hero? And the heroes are hostile to me for some reason! And I'm somehow merged, mentally, physically, or whatever with the fucking Simurgh! How? Why? What is this, turn every conceivable mess possible against Taylor f'ing Hebert day? It's too much! For the love of god I can't handle all of this at once-!
A crystal, folding itself inside and around, spinning through a thousand star fields.
What the-?
A call for attention. A demand for communication.
Everything's spinning-
Proposal?
I hit the ground-
Continuance.
The clatter of falling debris-
Communication, Shaper: Instructions
Sharp and pain-!
Agony of a thousand massive telekinetic blades. A self-inflicted lobotomy, and then blackness.
I hissed as red hot fire race through my nerves, raising my arm off the piece of glass that had sliced it. What just happened?
I looked around, and found myself laying on a field of rubble and churned earth that stretched at least a hundred feet in every direction. The chill January wind nipped and bit at my face and back, and I could see the heroes and PRT troopers, cautiously poking their heads up from behind their cover across the wide expanse of stretched out space Vista was still providing for them. In the other direction lay Winslow, looking as if a giant hand had simply carved out the portion I now lay in and reduced that area to brick and dust and shattered glass.
…No words. I had no words to describe how I was feeling right now. Just… what? Then I decided I didn't care. I just couldn't be bothered to try to sort out this great horrible pile of messes. I simply raised up my arms and pushed out, the accompanying telekinetic shove sending the debris clattering away until a patch of clear earth was available below me. I let myself drop, my wings slightly cushioning the four-foot fall to the ground. I closed my eyes, and brought my hands up to cover my face. The future unfolded before me. It would be almost half an hour before a small remote controlled communication drone would approach me from Armsmaster's direction. In the meantime, I would let go. And so I wept.
[Regret. Apology. Mistakes were made.]
Like I care.
[Embarrassment.]
Between my sobs, I laughed. I couldn't help it.
Now I think I'm gonna be done writing for the day, and pick up with 1.2 tomorrow… or as soon as I've nailed down exactly how I want the initial interactions between Taylor and the PRT/Protectorate to go.
Thank you once again to my friend and beta-reader Xousjah, for all your help!
By the way, my goal is to write a minimum of thousand words a day, at least five days a week, so assuming I'm able to hold to that I should be able to push out at least a chapter a week or so. I do have another project, but I'll at least make sure that if I start an arc of this story, I'll finish that arc before taking a temporary break to work on that other project.
And once again, Wildbow owns Worm, the characters, except any I may invent, and the world.
Genesis 1.1:
It was my pulse throbbing through my skull which awakened me, a pounding in my brain as if some drugged out Merchant with a taste for percussion instruments had turned it into a drum set and was drumming away without the slightest thought for rhythm or taste. My eyes squeezed tighter shut, and I moaned, bringing my hands up to cradle the sides of my poor, abused head. I absently heard someone nearby curse, "Shit!" before they took off running, feet pounding away to the tune of the beat in my head, a faint, weighty rustle accompanying each step. Though how I'd managed to hear any of that over the deafening ringing and intermittent blare of the fire alarm I had no idea. Oh, my head! Agonizingly slowly, the torment began to subside. It was as if someone had totaled their car and was slowly piecing it back together, only the car was my head! Where was I? What was going on? Why did my head feel like Alexandria's training dummies probably do? Does she have training dummies?
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiii…
With a groan, I cracked my eyes open. A long, dirty hallway unfolded in front of me, blue-green lockers lining each wall, some of them sprayed with graffiti. On the left, er, upper-side of the hallway, from my skewed perspective on the floor, there was a break in the lockers, leading to the door of one of the classrooms, with a round clock over the door. Winslow High School. What was I doing laying on the floor in the hallway? Okay then, what's the last thing I remember?
"Will someone please let me out of here!"
I flinched, my eyes snapping shut, but the sudden darkness only reminded me of my prison. My hands clenched into fists, and uncontrollable trembling echoed down my body. I opened my eyes again, reaching out for any kind of distraction…
Who the heck was (Dimensional shift: partial. Restriction: self, nonliving material) and what were they doing in the girl's bathroom around the corner? Were they the person who had run when I woke up? For that matter, why did they run when I woke up? Curiously, I gave the Dimensional whatever a mental "poke" and… what in the heck? Did they just… drift through the floor of the bathroom, the ceiling of the classroom below, and land in that classroom?
...iiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk!…
I gritted my teeth. Oh, who pulled the fire alarm for the hell of it this time? It's really, freaking, annoying, and loud! And why the hell am I still just laying on the floor as if it were some five-star mattress? I can say, firsthand now, that it's not! I placed my hands to either side of me as if I were about to do pushups and-
Gah! Ow! What the-
CRUNCH!
… Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk!...
A part of me couldn't help but notice Dimensional Shift person startling into action and moving as if an Endbringer were after them, nor could I stop that part of myself from tracking their progress as they leapt through the ceiling back into the bathroom, grabbed something, then carried that thing with them was they ghosted back to the floor below and fled, sprinting through the halls until they suddenly vanished, as if they were simply too far away to see any longer. However, I largely ignored that part of me. I had much more pressing matters to pay attention to, as I now sat on the floor, both my legs folded to one side of me, my right hand propping me up, and my left pressed against my sweater. Yeah, the fact that the floor around me on both sides was covered in the shattered pieces of several lockers, the edge of one piece next to me having been sharp enough to cut my left hand as I all too hastily went to push myself up from the floor, was far more important than some random person I don't know running away. So was the fact that I… seem to have a pair of wings, the left one currently curling around to in front of me as I examined it with eyes that were probably comically wide if someone was looking at me right now. And the right wing… my right wing… I turned my head.
Oh, well that's wonderful. It's gone and punched a hole through the floor as if the floorboards were popsicle sticks. Or rather, I've gone and punched a hole through the floor. Accidentally. Oh my head!
...onk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiii…
I grit my teeth and clenched my right hand into a fist. Would someone turn off that damn fire alarm? There is no smoke in the air! There is no fire! With a groan, I got to my feet, gingerly extracting my… wing… from the floor. I pushed my glasses up on my nose, miraculously they'd survived my fall to the floor, and took a step closer to the hole my new wing had left. The corresponding hallway of the floor below was clearly visible, and I winced guiltily as a couple small chunks of plaster broke loose from the ceiling to clatter down out of sight. That… there's no real way to fix that, is there? With a sigh, I examined the cut on my left hand. That at least was less of a problem, it was small and shallow, barely even bleeding. I let my hand fall back to my side and slowly turned around, examining my surroundings… oh. Well, that's quite a few demolished lockers.
Ironically, between my locker and the six closest lockers to mine, mine looked least like a bomb had gone off in it. The ones on either side seemed to have been blown apart from the inside, then had their fronts carved open in a silhouette of my wings. Meanwhile, my own locker had gotten the wing carving treatment, but it at least was still somewhat in one piece… sort of. Well, at least the bottom half of the door was intact, even if it was dangling by a single hinge. I glanced to either side. Well, at least lockers eighth closest and ninth closest were only a little, well, obliterated. Oh, who was I kidding? All of these nine lockers were completely trashed to the point of being unusable. Heck, there were even torn apart books and papers, and shreds of backpacks or coats on the floor, littered among the scrap metal the lockers had become. An idle thought crossed my mind, and I reached down to grab the chunk of metal I'd cut my hand on. Straightening, I turned it over. The number-plate shined up at me, merrily reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. 361. I tossed it aside with a bitter laugh. Really? Just… really?
...ing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Ho…
I laughed again. I couldn't help it. My laughter continued, starting to take on a hysterical note. No, no! Distractions. I looked frantically around for something- …oh. Right. Wings. How did I manage to forget those? Perhaps because they felt so natural… even though they're obviously not. Experimentally, I flexed them, curling my right wing around so the tip of it rested in front of me. Well, natural or not, my wings were exquisite. Extremely pale, almost like snow, each feather carved in fine detail- wait, carved?
I reached out, running my fingers over my wing. Ah, so that's why I thought it would be carved. In addition to the slightly reflective surface, they were cool to the touch, and hard as stone. Wait… why couldn't I feel my hand touching my wing? I know this is my wing, I've moved it, it's easy to move it, so why can't I feel my hand touching it? I push harder, rubbing at my wing, feeling the fine filaments of the feathers give way rather than cutting me as if they have will of their own, but I can't feel my hand's contact with the wing!
In a panic, I swing my wing wide, sending it carving through several lockers on the other side of the hall, the tip of the wing crushing through the wall behind the lockers. The air is filled with the groaning scream of tearing metal, sparks fly, and dust billows down the hall, fragments of pulverized brick scattering across the floor, but I don't care. I breathe a sigh of relief, examining my wing with satisfaction. I felt that. It was only slight, the ghost of several impacts, each corresponding to when I smashed through each locker. At least I don't have wings that can't feel anything, it just apparently takes a lot.
That could be problematic.
...Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! …
I look back up, and there before me I see a gash in the wall and several more destroyed lockers. Oops. Okay, now I care. What was I thinking, destroying people's lockers like that just because I couldn't feel anything in my wings?
How am I just accepting these wings like it's normal? This isn't normal, this is nuts. Okay, let's take a tally here. I get shoved in… my locker, in with what can be generously described as filth, fall unconscious, and when I wake up, I have wings that are capable of smashing through metal lockers and bricks like it's nothing. …I guess I have powers now?
Wait, filth? What about the smell? How come it's so much weaker now than it was earlier? My gaze blazes to my locker, down to the bottom where there should a sickening, rotten, fetid mess mixed with my own vomit and… there isn't. It's clean. I take a couple steps closer, eyes narrow with suspicion, and am forced to revise that statement. It's not clean, not totally, but the mess is almost entirely gone, there's only a few scraps of it left. Even what little is left is hard to pick out from the mess of torn papers and shreds of cloth from the lockers next to mine.
Hold on, was this what that person with the partial dimensional shift power was doing near me when I woke up? Whoah, stop. Power…? Of course! I started pacing back and forth as the revelations began to pour through my aching head. It all made sense! They were a parahuman and (Dimensional shift: partial. Restriction: self, nonliving material) was their power! The wings weren't the only thing I got, I can also sense parahumans and find out what their powers are! And, considering that when I poked at whoever-it-was's power, they drifted down through the floor as if they were a ghost, I can also… what, cause parahuman's powers to activate without their consent? Could I also do the reverse, and cause their powers to deactivate when they're trying to use them? No! Focus! There's only one thing Dimensional Parahuman could've been doing here, and that's cleaning up the mess left behind by my so-called prank. My lip curled in disgust as I continued pacing and pondering. Why would someone be cleaning that up, unless they played a role in it? They were hiding the evidence, covering their tracks. The fire alarm would mean the school is empty, so now, before I woke up, would be their only chance to do it. A hanger-on wouldn't be worried about it, so…
My blood chilled with some combination of disgust, horror, and rage as the implications became clear. One of the trio is a parahuman.
… Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk!...
My eyes found the nearest fire alarm switch, by the door of the nearest classroom. It had been pulled. So that was it, I'd been found right away. A new parahuman, gaining their powers in such an obvious way in a school? Yeah, my secret identity never stood a chance. Everyone knew who I was, didn't they? Members of every gang went to this school. They'd all be after me for one reason or another. Empire 88? I was white, that was reason enough for those Nazis to try to recruit me. The ABB? Tch, I wasn't Asian, and was likely in their way just by being here. The Merchants? Those druggies were laughing stock on the cape level, but that didn't change the fact that I'd seen the results of their style of 'recruitment' in several of my classmates. And to top it all off, as head of hiring at the Dockworker's Union, my Dad was something of a minor public figure in the city. Important people, likely including the gang leaders, knew who he was. He would now be a much bigger target, because of me!
I choked back a sob, forcing myself onward, struggling to push back the overwhelming tide of frustration and pain that threatened to crush me. Come on, a distraction, distraction, please. Anything to take my mind of off the absolute horror-show my life had just become. Right, one of the trio is a Parahuman. A bitter laugh tore free from my throat, yeah, because that's so much better than the gangs, but at least it's something I might be able to deal with to some extent right now.
I slowly walked down the hall towards the girl's bathroom the parahuman and likely trio member had gone into, hoping for some clues. Awkwardly, I arranged my wings around myself, folding them behind my back and along my sides, draped around me like some feathery, self-supporting, rock hard cloak. What was the power that my power had identified? Something about a partial dimensional shift applying to oneself and things in physical contact with the self? Sounds about right, from what I recall. I thought back to the hours I'd spent trawling Parahumans Online regarding the local cape scene. With just the rage-dragon Lung and the teleporting mad bomber Oni-Lee, the ABB was right out. Faultline's Crew? No, no one fit. Empire 88? I wasn't familiar with their entire roster; didn't they have a cape who could make ghostly projections? No, for one thing, that cape was a he whatever his name was, therefore not one of the trio, and ghostly projections don't match the power I saw.
...iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…
The alarm couldn't matter less to me anymore. The Wards? No, it couldn't be the Wards, they were heroes… right? But… who else was there? The Merchants? Hah, no. New Wave- no. They don't even have secret identities. My gut twisted and churned with dread. No, it can't be one of the Wards! I mean, Vista isn't even old enough for High School, and Shadow Stalker-
My brain slammed to a halt. Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante. Turned Ward just a few months ago. Correct age. Correct gender. Correct body shape. My heart ached to deny it, but my mind could not refute it. A connection once made, cannot be easily unmade.
Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker.
Oh, dear god please no. One of my greatest tormentors, an officially recognized hero? No, there's no way the Protectorate and PRT would let her be a member of the Wards if they knew how she acted in her secret identity, right? And… and she was covering her tracks when I woke up, so they probably don't know! A smile began to creep across my face as the realization struck me; I could tell them. I could tell them what she's been up to, get her kicked out of the Wards, finally strike back in a meaningful way…!
She was covering her tracks.
...iiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk…
My heart felt as though it dropped into my gut, churning until I felt sick. Absently, my right hand reached up, trembling, tangling my fingers among my hair and pulling lightly, the tension aggravating the diminishing throb of my headache. She had been covering her tracks. The evidence was gone. It was her word against mine, and who would they believe? Their own Ward against a brand new parahuman with no reputation of any sort? Hah, as if they'd ever listen to me! It would be the same bullshit all over again!
Wait, she'd gone to the girl's bathroom before running, hadn't she? Maybe there was something she'd left behind there, some piece of evidence I could use? Barely daring to hope, I ran forward, around the corner, and down the hall. I threw open the door in front of me, springing into the bathroom, flinching as my left wing pulverized part of the doorframe. I really needed to learn to manage these wings better. Ignoring that issue, I stepped forward onto the linoleum flooring, now covered with a thin carpet of brick, wood, and plaster fragments. My eyes cast about desperately, searching for any kind of clue. I sprang forward, inspecting the contents of the trash bin by the sinks. Just damp, crumpled paper towels from the day, nothing incriminating. I strode further into the bathroom, shoving open the stall doors, checking each one, even though I knew Shadow Stalker hadn't gone past the first sink along the wall. The last stall door sprang open from the contact of my outstretched hand, thudding against the wall with an echoing bang, just like all the others. And just like all the others, as it swung slowly shut once more, I only needed a glance to confirm what I already dreaded, as my flimsy hope finally collapsed, as the last of the ground upon which it was built crumbled into dust. Empty.
There was nothing. Nothing! Again! No evidence to prove my claims! Why does it always come down to my word against theirs?
...iiiiiiiiing- Ho-
The alarm cut off with a distant clack, as did the lights in the bathroom. Now it was the silence that echoed in my ears. Darkness, smell, trapped on all sides. No! I was not back in the locker, I wasn't! A shake. More shakes, trembling up and down my body. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to contain the shakes as my wings curled tighter around my body. My mind returned to the problem, the insurmountable problem before me was far better than reminders of the locker.
I staggered out of the bathroom into the darkened hall, the only light trickling in from the windows at either end of the corridor. Had power been cut to the entire building? Why? What reason was there for cutting the power? Shaking my head, I moved on. It was bizarre, I'd almost gotten used to the fire alarm, and now that it was gone, with nothing to take its place I could almost hear the echoes of it. It was as if the alarm had taken up residence inside my brain. Wait… no… this alarm wasn't in my brain. I was hearing that, and it was a different tone and cadence than the school fire alarm. It was distant… was it coming from multiple directions?
There was a stairwell at the end of the hall to the ground floor, with large glass windows that looked out to the school parking lot. I dreaded what I might find by going to peer out those windows, but I had to at least know what was going on.
Red and blue lights flashed across the walls as I drew close, and when I arrived at the top railing, the view of the parking lot was clear to see. Half a dozen PRT vans with police-style lights and sirens blazing away sat in the parking lot, three more just pulling to a stop. Squads of men and women in riot gear spilled out. Armed with the bulky, awkward looking containment foam launchers, they took up positions around the school, placing signs, trees, or even other parked cars as cover between themselves and me. With fewer sirens audible from other directions as well, I knew this scene was repeating itself in miniature at the other sides of the school.
Why? Was the whole world conspiring against me? Why were they treating me like I was a criminal? I haven't even had the chance to do anything yet!
A red blur flashed across my vision, and even before it resolved into the familiar image of the local Protectorate Hero Velocity, my power had identified his: (Linked time dilation/physics cancel: variable, Restriction: self). He'd come from a different part of the school. What had he been doing in the school? I watched as he walked up to one of the PRT troopers, a tall, dark-skinned man, and began speaking to him. About what I had no idea.
As the wail of the PRT sirens cut out, the distinctive roar of an engine could be faintly heard through the glass, and I turned my attention to the street it echoed from. Appearing from that avenue came Armsmaster on his Tinker-tech motorcycle, followed by two more vans, which I could tell were filled with parahumans, probably the local Protectorate and Wards. I switched my attention to Armsmaster, and the information on his power flooded in. Advanced technological knowhow. I scoffed. Well, yeah, that much is obvious, he's a Tinker. But specializing in miniaturization and efficiency, that was interesting. So, I guess Tinkers have some area they're particularly gifted in? Huh.
Armsmaster and the vans pulled to a stop, and my guess was confirmed as the Protectorate and Wards leapt out of the vans and rushed to meet with Armsmaster and Velocity. Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, Dauntless, Triumph, Aegis, Gallant, Kid Win, Clockblocker, Vista… my power analyzed them one by one, giving me a detailed overview of one of their powers before moving on to the next. I tracked all of them mentally by location, so overwhelmed by everything going on I could do little but stand and stare, my hands gripping the steel railing at the top of the staircase as if my life depended on it. They met and discussed… strategy probably. But why? Why were they treating me as if I was some kind of massive threat? For the love of god, I haven't done anything! I'm not Lung, you don't need practically every hero in the city to deal with me!
Suddenly, another parahuman entered the range of my senses. I turned my power to identify theirs… and froze. Everything clicked. I watched, already knowing what I would see, as Shadow Stalker ghosted out of one of the nearby buildings, before running to rendezvous with the rest of the Wards and Protectorate. I observed her costume, her way of moving, everything, as closely as I could, hoping, praying for some sign that I'd been wrong, that Shadow Stalker and Sophia Hess weren't one in the same. Instead all I got was confirmation.
My knees buckled, but I managed to catch myself on the railing. I stared down at my hands numbly. So that's what happened. She fed them some story or something, and now I'm accused of… who even freaking knows what! I wanted to laugh at the madness of it all, but the sound caught in my throat. I wanted to break down and just cry, but if I started I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. What was this? What was even going on? This entire day was just insane!
Suddenly, the heroes of the Protectorate and Wards began to move, and I looked up in surprise. Velocity flashed away again towards the right, Kid Win riding his hoverboard and Aegis taking to the air to follow him. Assault was bouncing away to the left, ricocheting his kinetic energy off walls and the street, and Battery passed him in a blur, spending the charge of her power to boost her speed. Triumph running after them as fast as he could was comically lackluster by comparison. Dauntless just, teleported out of range of my senses in some direction or another, while Miss Militia and Shadow Stalker took up positions with the PRT troopers. Armsmaster marched back towards one of the vans, leaving Vista, Clockblocker, and Gallant clustered where the heroes had their impromptu meeting.
Abruptly, the distance between me and them began to stretch, and my eyes widened. I forced my power to Vista, my eyes tracking to her white and green costume as she stared intently at the space between us. (Space-warping. Limitations: Non-biological. Status: Active.) No. No no no, you are not taking away what little control over this crazy situation that I have! In a panic, I sprang down the stairs to the landing, running up to the window to try to close the distance as it just yawned wider. Armsmaster disappeared from my sight into the van, and from my power's senses a moment later. My hands pressed up against the glass, and I mentally jabbed at Vista's power, much like I had Shadow Stalker's earlier, but with very deliberate intent. Status not active. Status not active. Come on, come on, deactivate!
The growth of the gap only accelerated. The trio of Wards dropped out of my range, Miss Militia and Shadow Stalker following suit a moment later.
I couldn't affect someone's powers if they were already using them.
I had no control. Nothing. Just these useless, beautiful, destructive wings.
My legs gave out. I slid down until I was sitting on the landing. I was so close, so close to just giving up.
Well on the plus side at least my headache finally decided now would be a good time to become nothing more than a memory. What is this, the universe finally deciding to give me a break in the most meaningless, pitiful way it possibly could? I let my eyes drift shut, resting my head against the glass of the wall that was a window. What could I possibly do now that would fix this?
And suddenly my mind exploded into a thousand, no, a million images. No, even that failed to do it justice. Countless threads of possibility unwound before me, common cords splitting apart as different potential choices were made, becoming ever more distant and numerous as they splayed forward from the now. I gasped in shock, jumping slightly, and my eyes snapped open, abruptly ending the stream of images. I blinked in amazement. Did I just… was that the future? What, am I a precog now or something?
Experimentally, I closed my eyes again, and after a moment, the flow of threads returned, pouring through my mind once more. I gazed in awe, mentally brushing over them. It seemed impossible to even conceive of how many ways the future could unfold in just the next few minutes. I traced the threads of time… and suddenly they ended, just… faded away into a mist, about half an hour from now, as if they'd vanished over the horizon and I just couldn't see any farther. I huffed slightly in disappointment, opening my eyes again.
I felt my lips curl upward in a slight grin. I was a precog! I could figure out a way out of this! And if what I'd glimpsed in a few of those threads of the future was accurate, I also had telekinesis! That was awesome! I decided to test that. Reaching out mentally I found the stairway handrail and tentatively pulled. With a groan of metal, it bent towards me. My mouth curved up in an honest smile. Telekinesis confirmed.
Alright, now to see what I could do to get out of this mess, or at least make it less messy. I closed my eyes and turned my mind to the future once more. To start, I examined the threads of the future where I stepped out to greet the heroes in some manner, and immediately my hope evaporated. In every instance, I didn't even get a chance to get a word out. Shouts came, demands to put my hands behind my head, in some timelines a sea of containment foam surging forth without any explanation. I felt tears leak from my eyes, no, no, no, what did I do wrong? What did I do! I started to look further forward, for some clue. Anything that would tell me, why were they all against me?
[Query: Link successful? Request: Respond to confirm.]
I froze. My eyes snapped open, and my heart pattered like a fleeing rabbit. What, the fuck, was that? I didn't precog that!
[Concern. Repeat Query: link successful? Repeat Request: respond to confirm.]
I sprang to my feet, backing against the wall at the side of the stairwell, looking around wildly for the source of the voice in my head. I ended up settling on looking down and slightly off to one side, the direction that, for some inexplicable reason, just felt right. "Who the heck are you, and how are you speaking into my head?" I whispered.
[Relief. Link confirmed successful. Satisfa-… WINGS!]
I jumped with fright as the slightly effeminate voice positively screamed that last word, glancing at my wings in confusion before returning to stare at the floor as the voice continued.
[Shard Designation "Queen Administrator" EXPLAIN!]
{Partial Merge.}
I squeaked with fright, as now a second voice, this one seeming to come from almost inside me, joined the conversation.
[Physical aspect, predicted subtlety as likely outcome!]
{"Third" desired result not specified.}
My wings were planned by something? Except, they weren't? What? Who? "Stop!" I cried, "I don't- how- no! You! First voice! Who are you?"
[Outrage at "Queen Administrator." Dismissive. Designation: "Third." Alternate Designation: "Simurgh". Alternate Designa… …oops.]
I froze. I slowly sunk down to the floor, curling my arms and legs into a ball with my back against the wall. Wings. Telekinesis. Precog abilities. How could I have not seen the correlation to the Simurgh? I should've known! The only known telepath in the world, and a voice inside my head? Wings… a "partial merge"…
The wall was cold against the bare skin of my back, and it was only just now that I realized that the back of my sweater and shirt had been destroyed by my wings appearing there.
It's funny how it really is a final straw that breaks the camel's back.
Everything collapsed. My wings folded around me as my mouth fell open and I simply let myself scream at the top of my lungs. The staircase, the wall, the glass window, all disintegrated around me, circling around in a telekinetically powered, ever expanding, ever accelerating storm of dust and debris. The landing on which I had stood was dust, but I didn't fall. I hovered there at the epicenter of a maelstrom as the walls, the ground, and the school roof all were torn apart around me as I wailed and screamed and sobbed.
[Distress! Fix! Seek Solution, threads of time- oh no. …Queen Administrator… Specifying undesired results.]
It wasn't fair! Why me? I just wanted to come back to school and learn! I had hope that maybe the bullying was over! I was just another normal school girl, albeit socially outcast and regularly bullied, and now this? The locker? My secret identity revealed for the world to see before I even knew I needed one, putting myself and my Dad at risk? One of my habitual torturers an officially recognized hero? And the heroes are hostile to me for some reason! And I'm somehow merged, mentally, physically, or whatever with the fucking Simurgh! How? Why? What is this, turn every conceivable mess possible against Taylor f'ing Hebert day? It's too much! For the love of god I can't handle all of this at once-!
A crystal, folding itself inside and around, spinning through a thousand star fields.
What the-?
A call for attention. A demand for communication.
Everything's spinning-
Proposal?
I hit the ground-
Continuance.
The clatter of falling debris-
Communication, Shaper: Instructions
Sharp and pain-!
Agony of a thousand massive telekinetic blades. A self-inflicted lobotomy, and then blackness.
I hissed as red hot fire race through my nerves, raising my arm off the piece of glass that had sliced it. What just happened?
I looked around, and found myself laying on a field of rubble and churned earth that stretched at least a hundred feet in every direction. The chill January wind nipped and bit at my face and back, and I could see the heroes and PRT troopers, cautiously poking their heads up from behind their cover across the wide expanse of stretched out space Vista was still providing for them. In the other direction lay Winslow, looking as if a giant hand had simply carved out the portion I now lay in and reduced that area to brick and dust and shattered glass.
…No words. I had no words to describe how I was feeling right now. Just… what? Then I decided I didn't care. I just couldn't be bothered to try to sort out this great horrible pile of messes. I simply raised up my arms and pushed out, the accompanying telekinetic shove sending the debris clattering away until a patch of clear earth was available below me. I let myself drop, my wings slightly cushioning the four-foot fall to the ground. I closed my eyes, and brought my hands up to cover my face. The future unfolded before me. It would be almost half an hour before a small remote controlled communication drone would approach me from Armsmaster's direction. In the meantime, I would let go. And so I wept.
[Regret. Apology. Mistakes were made.]
Like I care.
[Embarrassment.]
Between my sobs, I laughed. I couldn't help it.
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Nice, I'll be following this.
One thing though; you mention that the wing are each 'less than five feet long'. I don't know if you tried picturing a five feet long wing on a tall humanoid shape but quite frankly it looks ridiculous, as they are way, way too small to be even remotely close to be able to support the weight of a teenaged human. Even a thin one. You'd probably have to extend each wing out to something like 12 feet before it even becomes remotely reasonable and it'd still require some bullshit biology to pull off.
One thing though; you mention that the wing are each 'less than five feet long'. I don't know if you tried picturing a five feet long wing on a tall humanoid shape but quite frankly it looks ridiculous, as they are way, way too small to be even remotely close to be able to support the weight of a teenaged human. Even a thin one. You'd probably have to extend each wing out to something like 12 feet before it even becomes remotely reasonable and it'd still require some bullshit biology to pull off.
Wolfund
{Verified Historian}
- Location
- France
Well shit.
Oh they have no other use than being pretty and rock hard for ziz, she actually use telekinesis to move around so their size literally doesn't matter, and biology can go cry in the corner..
Oh they have no other use than being pretty and rock hard for ziz, she actually use telekinesis to move around so their size literally doesn't matter, and biology can go cry in the corner..
- Location
- USA
Yes. The second message. Thank you Wolfund. Someone who gets it.
Sorry, Something8567, but a fair number of people have been bugging me about this. Believe me, I know Taylor won't be able to properly fly with those wings without using TK. The problem is, with bigger wings, how would she walk with them folded up in any reasonable way?
