4.10 Malebolge
9th of April, 2011
Sabah had just wanted to make some people smile and laugh in these trying times. This had been the sole reason why she had set up one of her puppet shows earlier in the day on the Boardwalk, the fact that the place had been half deserted because of the current gang war notwithstanding.
And she had been successful! She had made parents and children smile and laugh with her show, even if the Bay was still in turmoil as the Empire grew bolder and bolder with each passing day following Lung's very public 'retreat' three days earlier.
Not like she had any love for the ABB's dragon, but with him running back to his territory with his tail firmly tucked between his legs caught on video, all that was left to defend the common folk from the Nazis was the PRT, and the Empire still outnumbered them two to one.
And now here she is, slowly backing away inside a dark alleyway overflowing with grime and refuse, her puppets huddling close to her in a protective way.
"Ah, finally done running?" the parahuman in front of her lightly asks, his arms loose at his sides, yet his right hand never straying very far from the very big gun strapped to his thigh, "Or did you finally realize that Crusader's presence made it futile?"
Sabah grit her teeth under her mask, choosing not to acknowledge the man's words, even if it is indeed the ghostly apparitions hovering at the edge of her vision that finally clued her in on the fact that a confrontation was inevitable, no matter how much she didn't want one.
"You are a very frustrating individual to find, Parian," the black and red cape, Victor, speaks after a beat of silence, one of his hands coming to vaguely gesture in her direction, "And also quite the stubborn one. I understand that you've already refused to see reason two times already, no matter how lightly worded our demands have been," the man marks a pause, "Today is the day you finally understand that there will be no third time."
I think I got that, you racist prick, she doesn't say, a bead of sweat running alongside her temple under her doll mask as she tries to hide how scared shitless she truly is.
Because no matter how much she'd like to find a way out of this situation, the truth is that she's fucked, good and proper. No amount of victorian esthetic and blonde wig can change the fact that she firmly belongs to the undesirable the white supremacists preach the culling of, her religion and sexual orientation notwithstanding.
Even bending the knee wouldn't save her, no matter how vile the thought is. All she can do is to fight now.
I'm going to die, she belatedly realizes, feeling her shoulders slacken and her control over her puppet grow just a little stronger, here, in this alleyway.
Alone and forgotten, another statistic–
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qopVUcTCZB8&list=RDqopVUcTCZB8&start_radio=1
Her quickly spiraling thoughts grind to a screeching halt as the Empire cape suddenly tenses out of nowhere and quickdraws his gun, right as she hears the sharp 'click click' echoing at her back.
She almost jumps out of her skin as a too-hard hand comes to a – infinitely reassuring – rest atop her shoulder.
~~Now, what exactly is happening here, hmm?~~ the newcomer's voice thrums in the dimly lit alleyway full of refuse, in a tone that speaks of the grave and of cold revenge beyond it.
***
The star of the man known as Victor was ascending, this was the truth. Sure, he only enjoyed his newfound fame and responsibility due to a lucky shot taken during a window created by Kaiser's masterplan, but he nonetheless had never been more popular among the troops.
Yet, for all this success, Jerry O'Mally just knew that he couldn't rest on his laurels if he wanted to strengthen his position among Kaiser's circle beyond being just the lucky guy who managed to bag an exhausted Oni-Lee running on fumes after a week-long campaign specifically aimed at making him a non-factor during the fight against Lung.
Which is why he had jumped on the opportunity when he heard that a potential prospect, one who had already denied the Empire twice, had resurfaced.
With the half-dozen guys he wrangled together for this venture and Crusarder's help, this should have been a walk in the park and Jerry would've been able to reap the rewards of bringing a new cape into the fold while showing that he was able to demonstrate forward thinking to Kaiser.
Jerry hadn't quite foreseen the blue skinned complication now standing at Parian's back when he put this particular plan together, he had to admit. He had heard about the rumors surrounding the Blue Devil, like everybody keeping an eye on the Bay's pulse did, and lately because a couple of suspicious deaths of Empire members had been attributed to her.
And this, jumping into a cape fight like that? This didn't seem to fit the freak's usual pattern of dealing with people with unfortunate tendencies caught mid-act.
"Nothing that concerns you, Blue Devil," he answers with his gun aimed straight at the monster cape's head, feeling his confidence buoy back slightly with the realization that the killer is as green as they come while he is a veteran of countless superpowered skirmishes, "Now why don't you run back the way you came from, before things turn ugly?"
~~I don't think I will,~~ the freak smirks back at him, the lone glass orb of the creepy doll cradled in her arms rotating wildly in its orbit before ultimately settling on Jerry.
Which, while an impressive scare tactic, had nothing over the monster cape's voice itself. Now, the man known as Victor knew a lot of different languages, something made easy with his power and the number of acceptable targets he routinely stumbled upon.
Yet the language the creep used? He never heard of it, yet understood it all the same. His ma' would have said she was speaking in tongues, and his first reaction would have been to wholeheartedly believe it.
~~After all, this seems to fall right under my purview,~~ the pointy eared freak adds, before giving a fond look at the two meters tall cloth constructs surrounding his target for recruitment and her, the doll faced cape caught in the middle of the staredown looking as stiff as board, ~~And I'd find it distasteful to leave a kindred spirit to hang, see?~~
By now, Jerry is fully aware that the killer isn't about to back down from a fight.
Which is why and because she's giving him the creeps he calls aloud:
"Crusader, do it," he snaps.
The very next moment, a torrent of ghostly figures rush out of the walls toward the freak lance first and stab at her.
The doll faced puppet master lets out a shriek of fright as it happens while the monster cape–
–doesn't move for some reason, or maybe because she is just that green, and quickly finds herself making a rather poignant impression of a porcupine.
Yet Jerry keeps his head in the game, and it is only when, seconds later, her grip atop his target's shoulder finally grows slack and she falls on the ground like a crumpled heap that he finally relaxes.
Jerry smirks as he watches the puppet master step fearfully away from the corpse of her would-be savior with a whimper, Crusader's ghosts drifting away to form a loose circle around the cape and her puppets, and he loosely trails his gun on her own form.
"Now that this little interlude is over, how about we go back to our negotiation, Parian?" he lazily drawls.
At least, the freak's intervention would be good to really hammer the power dynamic here and–
All at once, Crusader's ghosts seem to glitch, before about-facing in Jerry's direction, almost jump-scaring him.
Then they all start to charge in his direction, the tips of their lances leveled and aimed straight at him.
In a moment that seemingly stretches forever to him, he catches the glassy orb of the freak's broken puppet still looking at him from where it landed next to its owner.
That's when it dawns on him, and so he yells:
"Master!" he bellows his warning to the guys he wrangled to watch the perimeter and guard the other Empire cape while starting to run away from the ghosts flying at him, "Something's Mastering Crusader! Get away from him!"
***
[Phobia of dying in chains] almost feels like chuckling as she reappears amid her quarry's midst in all her ghostly glory, one meter or so above her latest puppet – and this far, the first in this world.
Such a useful little trick the little knight she found had, it made it even easier to turn him into a believable threat to his compatriots. She had to admit that said trick even took her by surprise, just a little!
Now [Phobia of dying in chains] hadn't exactly been the most dutiful of students when her littlest protege had sat her down for a lecture on the Bay's 'capes' as she had called them, but she still did her best to remember her words in the moment, and she was pretty sure she recognized both the loud and pretentious one that kept on talking and her little knight.
'Victor' and 'Crusader', Empire affiliation.
In other words? Perfectly acceptable targets.
[Phobia of dying in chains]'s smirks only grows wider as the tough looking humans protectively encircling her puppet register the loud and pretentious one's warning and look back at her puppet–
–but by the time they do so, she has already used her little knight's lance to stab at the nearest 'ganger' while turning her immediate vicinity under the influence of her Dark Sanctuary.
Chaos very promptly ensues, especially after she unleashes another wave of ghostly apparition from her little knight. Gunshots ring, switchblades are waved frantically, and the Ghost of the Sanctuary keeps reaping vitae from the unluckiest of the bunch.
The loud and pretentious one finally turns the corner, takes one good look at the scene; the bloodied – and hurt – form of her little knight, her other victims lying dead on the ground, and promptly decides that he has better places to be.
Now we cannot have that, [Phobia of dying in chains] muses darkly.
She fully manifests herself and her board while setting her little knight at a mad clip on the loud and pretentious one's heels, ignoring such little things as her puppet's well being and physical integrity to better corner her prey.
On the ouija board, her hand indicates the 'D' right as her little knight turns the corner, an entire army of ghostly figures flying alongside it.
The loud and pretentious one half-turns her ways to shoot a very big gun at her ghostly form, which of course does very little, and her hand points at the letter 'E'.
Smartly, he starts angling his weapon toward her current puppet, but has to dodge a swipe from her little knight's own ghosts at the last moment, giving her enough time to point at the 'A'.
The loud and pretentious one frantically tries to weave through a medley of attacks from all sides for a beat, giving [Phobia of dying in chains] ample times to bring her puppet closer while she points at the 'T' on her board.
In a fit of dexterity and almost preternatural grace, the loud and pretentious one finally finds a window of opportunity amid his dodging and shoots her little knight in the torso, right as she points to the last and final letter on her board, the 'H'.
The spell completes, and her puppet falls like his strings have been cut, his ghostly apparition vanishing like they were never there.
[Phobia of dying in chains] chuckles as she weaves the stolen life essence and twists it in just the right way while moving at the back of her wide-eyed and panting quarry, taking her most reviled and accursed form.
~~Why are you running?~~ she whispers in his ear, dark glee in her tone at making the man jumps in fright, ~~You'll only die tired.~~
And no matter how loud and pretentious he had been, 'Victor' died like the others all the same.
***
Sabah hadn't moved from the dimly lit alleyway full of refuse, her eyes still locked on the crumpled form of the Case 53 leaking dark fluid all over, her mind full of self-recrimination.
What if she had been more willing to make a stand?
What if she had been stronger?
What if she hadn't made the harebrained decision of going out in the middle of a gang war to make a puppet show of all things?
What ifs, endlessly streaming in her mind, as guilt and doubts assail her–
On the ground, a blue finger twitches, and Sabah screams in fright like a little girl, her cloth puppets stepping closer to her protectively.
Then her jaw drops under her mask as the dark fluid spread all over the floor starts streaming back toward the blue skinned cape even as she seems to pull herself back together by herself after taking a seat on the grim coated floor, stab wounds quickly closing and dents on mechanical parts smoothing out under her naked eye. All the while, the Case 53 is loosely stretching, like someone who just woke up from a nap.
Sabah mutely watches her not-so-dead savior stand up after picking her broken doll.
The blue skinned woman locks eyes with her, a mean smirk carved on her face.
Sabah gulps and takes a step back.
~~Such an interesting little thing you are,~~ the fiendish woman coos at her, her hand coming to tug at something unseen in the air, Sabah feeling a pull from somewhere that makes her tense somewhat until the hand let go, ~~And I must say, I do so love your choice of attire.~~
This time, when the cape takes a couple of steps forward to stand in front of her, Sabah doesn't move, although she does whimper a little.
A too-hard hand comes to cup her porcelaine-clad cheek.
~~Do give me a better showing next time, dear,~~ the cape tells her, ~~You have such a grandiose potential.~~
Then she is gone, just like that.
Sabah has never run back home this fast in her entire life.
4.11 Malebolge
10th of April, 2011
I would like to pretend that I wasn't instantly suspicious when Dark-chan chose to wander in my workshop in the wee hours of the morning with the air of the cat who caught a particularly fat and juicy canary oozing out of her, but I got suspicious.
Which prompted me to ask what had her so pleased, and she promptly and grandly weaved me a tale of her daring rescue of 'a poor, isolated kindred spirit in dire peril' – i.e. Parian – from 'the dastardly clutches of curs most foul' – i.e. Empire capes – and the subsequent 'epic and most tense bout' that followed.
In other words, she absolutely owned them their asses, and the Nazis are now down two more capes just because they tried to press-gang a well-known rogue more interested in playing with dolls than actually fighting.
I let that fact fully sink in, then nod.
"Good work," I give her a quick smile, "I know this wasn't your goal, but this should buy me a little more time by putting the Nazis on the back foot."
Which was sorely needed, if Louise's regular texting and my own cursory look at PHO last afternoon had been any indication.
"Though please, do not press the poor girl about using her power at its full potential," I wince a little even as I say the words, "... I don't think she's entirely comfortable with it."
Well, more like I know for a fact that she isn't comfortable with her power's true expression but still.
Dark-chan's proud little smile morphs into a frown.
~~Why wouldn't she?~~ the fiend asks back with a headtilt.
"Multiple reasons, but if I had to take a guess, and beyond the fact that it strikes a little too close to biotinkering, which is a big no-no for most people on this planet, necromancy and most religion have that slight–" I pinch my fingers together for emphasis, "–tendency to be morally incompatible. And I remember her being something of a believer."
If anything, her frown only deepens in confusion.
~~I do not understand,~~ she bluntly admits.
"Her real power is something of a taboo," I answer back a little candidly, "And while you do not care how humans may perceive you, Parian does."
A pause.
~~Human morals,~~ the fiend sniffs disdainfully, ~~Are such a trite thing.~~
I can't help the little snort that escapes me.
"Maybe, but that's how we're able to live in a society," I shrug, "Don't worry though, I know that if things get really tough one day, she'll stop holding back, morals be damned."
~~Then I shall patiently wait for this day to come,~~ her smile comes back with a vengeance and an anticipatory undercurrent.
And I really don't, because it would mean that shit has seriously hit the fan, I muse glibly.
"You remember that I'm going to need your help later today, right?" I quickly change the subject before she can wax even more poetic about poor Sabah.
~~Of course, dearest,~~ she nods, ~~You said something about you being vulnerable while doing your ritual, and so being there I shall.~~
"Thank you," I sigh with relief, "Especially since I'm done running the 'math' and I now know that I won't be able to do it here–" I vaguely gesture at the workshop at large, "–because I need to enact it on consecrated ground."
~~A temple, then,~~ she hums in understanding.
"More specifically, either a church or a synagogue. An abandoned one to signify the loss of faith would work even better," I explain, before smiling a little impishly, "And since Brokton Bay just happens to have a little Nazis epidemic, I found just the thing!"
My smile turns into a frown the very next second.
"The only issue is that it's a little too close to the docks for my liking, especially these days," I grumble, "But I don't want to gamble on a future opportunity that may very well never come."
~~Is this why your little robotic steed is missing?~~ she asks a little curiously.
"I've posted Hooky on overwatch on the site, yes," I answer back with a nod, "So that I don't have any bad surprise at the last minute tonight."
My eyes widen and I clap my hands in giddiness.
"That reminds me! Look what I've discovered!" I jump off my rotating stool and make a beeline toward another workbench.
~~I distinctly recall this particular trinket being old news by now,~~ the fiend comments a little glibly as I about-face with what has become of God Key in my hands.
"Yeeeessss, but no," I answer back while pulling a face, my eyes locked on the burnt gold pentagrammic shape covered in jagged sigils.
"The… Satanic Key, I suppose?" I purse my lips before shaking my head ruefully, "As good a name as any. Anyway, this thing? It's actually way easier to use now than what it started as. And while it can still establish a link to the universe that empowered the both of us, it can also do this!"
With a little bit of focus and a breath of Ether, the Key stutter-jumps to hover in mid-air atop of my hand, its faces 'cli-cli-clicking' as they rotate around its central axis according to arcane principles I only half understand but that the relic itself streamline–
–until a final, especially loud 'click' echoes in the relative quiet of my workshop–
–and with the moans of the damned, a blood-red, circular aperture cuts through reality in the middle of my workshop.
I grin and lock eyes with a wide-eyed Dark-chan, ignoring how my hair starts to flutter in an unseen breeze as I keep channeling a trickle of magic into the Key.
"A teleporter, Dark-chan! This thing is a wormhole generator that I can use to teleport between two places! And it only needs me to know where I want to go!" I cackle, before letting go of my focus, the Key falling back into my hand.
The Fiend keeps staring at the portal as it slowly rips itself apart in front of her eyes, before eventually looking away to give me a nod.
~~A powerful artifact, indeed,~~ she easily admits, ~~I gather you will be using it from now on instead of running around the city?~~
"I wish I could, but no," I sigh, "As you saw, it isn't discreet in the slightest, and secrecy is still my best defense. It also takes a bit of a wind up, and I wouldn't bet on anyone but me going through the portals it creates without any complication."
I drop back the Satanic Key atop the workbench.
"I sent UFO-chan through it earlier and it went well enough, but I don't want to take the risk of damaging the reagents I put together for tonight's ritual, so directly teleporting to the abandoned synagogue near the dock is also out," I tilt my head, before adding, "That, and I don't know if the leftover energy of the portal wouldn't mess up the balance of mystical energies it requires in the first place."
~~A shame,~~ she answers noncommittally to my diatribe.
"It is what it is," I shrug while making my way back toward the workbench I sat at prior to her arrival, "Oh, and I'm almost done with this thing too!"
She peers over my shoulder after sedately following me along right after I let myself fall back on my rotating stool.
~~Another gun?~~ she frowns, before locking her baleful yellow eyes with mine, ~~Don't you already have one?~~
"I do, but this is entirely different!" I answer back with a too-wide grin while gesturing to the extremely tinkered Uzi, "This, is a Rotweaver. And as its name implies, it spits out rounds that carry a spellform inflicting conceptual decay!"
Which is actually a form of corrupted earth magic and happens to be an extremely nasty way to die.
The laugh that escapes me following that particular proclamation may or may not be a bit unhinged.
"Ahem," I cough in my hand under Dark-chan's amused look, before adding, "Anyway, the M61 is a very good weapon to assassinate squishy targets, but this–" I pat the nearly finished machine gun affectuously, "–is tailor-made to deal with tougher targets by inflicting them with a death by thousand cuts!"
The corner of Dark-chan's lips minutely twitch upward and her free hand comes to pat my head a couple of times.
~~Very impressive, dearest,~~ the fiend ignores my pout like a champ as she straightens away, ~~And what of this?~~
She points toward a third workbench upon which what used to be Sophia's crossbow rests.
"That? It's in case things go pear-shaped," I answer solemnly, "It's called the Vulture, and its bolts hunger for life."
***
Night had fallen since a couple of hours already by the time Taylor sneaked out of her house to start her second-ever patrol.
She hadn't wanted to go so soon at first – hell, she barely managed to finish her costume two days ago! – but the gang war sending the Bay ablaze had forced her hand. One only needed to take one good look at Winslow High and the steadily increasing number of stabbing in its hallways to realize that things weren't getting any better, especially since the big fight last Tuesday.
She wasn't clear on the details, but Lung had apparently lost big time against the Empire that day. Which had made the wannabee ABB gangers of Winslow very upset and their Empire counterpart very cocky.
But that cesspit masquerading as a high school was only a microcosm of the Bay. The entire city was in turmoil as people – mostly gangers – kept dying in the streets in an eternal tug of war, one that the pan-asian gang had been steadily losing.
Things needed to change.
And since the heroes apparently weren't doing anything about it, it was Taylor's duty to do so!
A couple blocks away from her house and a costume change later, her patrol truly starts in truth as she cautiously make her way along the edge of the 'good' part of the dock and the one controlled by the ABB–
–and finds a whole lot of nothing at all at first, like the previous night.
It's only one hour in that she feels a disturbance in her swarm that forces her to come to a jerking stop.
Something, no, someone, running and jumping across rooftops with startling ease.
For a moment, she hesitates. The senses of her swarm just aren't good enough to get a good picture of the unknown, and it is possible that they are a hero patrolling like she does–
–yet ultimately curiosity and the call of heroics prevail, and she starts to trail off after the unknown at a jogging clip.
Five or so minutes and a sprint later, Taylor is panting under her mask, her hot breath misting her lenses and almost sag in relief when she notices that the unknown has apparently dropped down to street-level and is entering a building.
With steely determination and a bit of apprehension, Taylor closes the distance between the two of them as fast as she can–
–and almost stumbles, once again, as something kills every bug she had access to in the building the unknown just went in.
Confused, and more than a little frightened, Taylor slows down her approach even as she gathers a bigger swarm toward herself. A couple of careful probes later to the building and she realizes with a certain amount of annoyance that the biggest room seems to be impenetrable for her skittering troops.
Grumbling a little under her breath, she resolves to do with the eyeball Mk1 what her swarm-sense cannot.
A few minutes later, she finally finds herself in front of the building the unknown entered in.
Which just happens to be the old synagogue.
And while before she was only intrigued, her confidence now doubles. Only one kind of person would do something nefarious to a place of worship, and they happen to be fond of black, red and swastikas.
Strong with the certainty that she is going to do something worthy of a hero for the first time, Taylor slowly come closer to the door, her swarm already trailing at her back, reach for the doorknob–
–and find it very locked indeed.
Now thoroughly stumped, the heroine doesn't know what to do.
It's as she pans a look around the street and her eyes land on a nearby emergency staircase that it hits her.
Instead of trying to break-in, she should case the place! Like a PI would!
Nodding to herself, Taylor disperses her swarm and makes her way toward the rooftop directly facing the old synagogue, climbs atop of it, and settles in to wait until the villain comes out.
***
Bobby squints a little, before taking hold of his military binocular, takes a good looksie through those, and promptly swears like a sailor.
"Erh, HQ, you copy?" he blindly reaches for his radio while keeping an eye on the crouched, black clad figure standing on a rooftop and sticking out like a sore thumb.
"We copy, Eagle-four," the slightly staticky answers come in after a beat, "What's your status?"
"Say, wasn't Krieg ranting about finding a black clad chick traipsing across rooftops a while back?" Bobby asks.
"... The thief calling herself Nightflyer is indeed a person of interest, Eagle-four. Why do you ask?"
"'Cuz I'm too far to check, but I've got someone standing on a rooftop in a black bodysuit near the jews' thingie," he explains, "S'far as I'm concerned, that sounds like our gal."
"One moment, Eagle-four," the connection cuts.
Bobby settles to wait on his overwatch position, his binocular still locked on the unmoving form of maybe-the-thief.
"Eagle-four," a new voice clips through the radio, and it takes him a hot second to realize that he is now speaking with Kaiser's second, "Do you still have eyes on the perp?"
"Yes, Krieg, sir," he answers back while going straight backed, his old military day instincts kicking back in out of nowhere, "Still hasn't moved, still on the same rooftop."
"Good," a pause, one that Bobby finds particularly ominous for some reason, "Keep an eye on her. We are coming your way."
For a very short beat, Booby almost asks what 'we' means.
Then he thinks better of it.
"Roger, sir," he answers readily, "I'll be watching."
[AN: evil_laugh.jpg, times two!
For those wondering, of course Jacky would sterilize the place thoroughly before going through the ritual! Self-surgery is going to be a big part of it! And she only needs to project a very tight solid hologram on every available surface in order to do so!
Which is currently frustrating a certain skittering hero to no end, but she can deal. And buy a cell phone instead of being a moron.