The crimson glow faded away to reveal that they had teleported to a living room of a quaint little apartment.
It was not the apartment that Annette had stashed Daemon in during his three-day coma – that was one of her safe houses she used for her hero work – this one was new, and belonged entirely to Daemon. Well, belonged in the sense that he was renting it. He had nowhere near the money needed to buy an apartment outright.
It was small but a clean place, the kind of place that felt lived in rather than staged. A couch with a blanket draped carelessly over one arm. A low table cluttered with a half-finished notebook, a phone charger, and an empty soda can. The faint hum of the fridge filled the silence, grounding and mundane in a way that sharply contrasted the frozen block they'd left behind.
Dinah blinked, then looked around slowly.
"Is it over? Are we safe?" She asked after a moment.
Grayfia released the magic circle and let it fade into nothing. The oppressive cold that had clung to her like a mantle finally receded, though the air still held a faint, crystalline chill.
"For now, it is," she replied, before gesturing at the couch, "Take a seat, I will get you some refreshments."
She headed toward the kitchen, only to pause when the hallway mirror caught her eye.
Daemon stopped with her.
The reflection staring back at him was wrong in a way that made his stomach twist. He was tall, taller than he was used to, poised in a way that felt effortless and alien at the same time. Silver hair fell in smooth sheets over narrow shoulders, framing a face that was coldly beautiful, refined to a degree that felt almost inhuman. Grayfia Lucifuge stared back at him with detached silver eyes.
Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he could feel the domineering nature of Grayfia Lucifuge recede, sinking back into the depths of metamorphosis.
And with that distance came awareness.
Too much awareness.
Every sensation was sharper than it had any right to be, as though his nerves had been tuned too finely. Like everything had been dialled up to eleven.
The weight on his chest was impossible to ignore, pulling at him with every breath - full, heavy, unmistakably not his - contained by the bra underneath the blouse that rubbed against it in such a way that made the nipples perk up. The pressure beneath it was constant, intimate enough that he became acutely aware of how sensitive the ginormous breasts were, of how they reacted to even the slightest change in posture.
Movement brought new sensations.
Air brushed against bare skin where he wasn't used to feeling it, the hem of the skirt swaying with each step.
The sheer black tights hugged every curve of legs that were suddenly longer, sleeker, stronger. The four-inch heels forced his weight forward onto the balls of his feet in a way that should have ached, but Grayfia's muscle memory made it feel natural, almost elegant. Each step rolled his hips in a slow, unconscious sway he could not stop. What unsettled him most was how easily he adjusted. How natural it felt. As if Grayfia's body knew what to do and simply expected him to keep up.
He could feel it, a hollow feeling where the familiar weight of his cock and balls were supposed to be, now replaced by smooth, bare vulnerability and the soft, alien press of folds that weren't supposed to be his. Worst of all was the constant awareness between his legs. He could feel the thong riding up his ass, getting in between like nothing he'd ever worn before did.
It was honestly unsettling, and it just felt wrong.
A hitch caught in his breath before he could stop it.
"Get a grip Daemon," he muttered under his breath, voice smooth and cool in a register that wasn't his own.
The moment he entered the kitchen, he reached inward, not to transform again, but to borrow. He drew upon Grayfia's memories, making sure to be careful not to sink too deeply. Enough to grasp habits, motions, and skills. Her distaste flickered faintly at the state of his fridge, at the mess there was in the sink, and what kind of food there was in the fridge - but it was distant, muted.
His hands moved with practiced precision that wasn't his. Water heated to the exact temperature. Tea steeped just long enough. Ingredients were arranged, sliced, and assembled with almost ceremonial care. It was efficient. Refined. Effortless in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable.
When he was done, he carried the tray back into the living room and set it down neatly on the table.
Only then did he release the transformation.
The silver-haired woman stared in her reflection in the cup of tea for only a heartbeat before light rippled across her form. The cold peeled away from his skin, and his flesh started to twist and turn. The maid uniform dissolved into casual clothes, silver hair darkening, braids unravelling. His body shrank back into its familiar proportions, sensations dulling to something manageable, his.
Sensations realigned without friction and balance restored without resistance, until the world felt properly scaled once more.
Grayfia's presence withdrew like a receding tide, her confidence and precision fading into memory rather than vanishing outright. Daemon steadied himself, heartbeat slowing.
When he faced the mirror, it was him again – fourteen years old, grounded, and whole.
Daemon staggered slightly as the transformation finished.
"Ugh." He braced a hand against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath. "Yep. Still hate that part."
It wasn't painful – not like it was before he'd taken on the curses, but your body transforming into something completely different felt just weird and wrong – like there were thousands of maggots burrowing under his skin.
Dinah spun toward him, eyes wide. "You! You're-!"
"Daemon," he said quickly, forcing a smile despite the lingering echo of cold in his bones. "Same guy. Different… everything."
He flexed his fingers. No frost. No overwhelming power humming under his skin. Just him.
Dinah stared at him for a long second, then nodded once, decisively. "Okay."
That almost made him laugh.
He moved to the couch and dropped onto it with a tired exhale, rubbing at his temple. "Welcome to my home. You should be safe here, at least today."
She hovered near the doorway, still unsure. "They won't come?"
"Not unless they want to become ice sculptures too," he said, then paused. "…Sorry. Bad joke."
A moment of silence reigned as Dinah nibbled on the sandwiches. After a while, Daemon breached the topic again.
"So, you want to explain what was going on out there?"
Dinah looked up from the cup of tea she was slowly sipping on. "I ran," she said quietly. "I wasn't supposed to. But the numbers kept getting worse."
Daemon leaned back into the couch, giving her space, voice gentle. "Worse how?"
"They change," Dinah replied. "Not like normal. Usually they're… fuzzy. Probabilities. Percentages. But when they started watching me, everything sharpened." She swallowed. "Every path that ended with them catching me went really, really bad."
"Snake man?" Daemon asked.
She nodded immediately, almost violently. "Coil. He keeps splitting timelines until he gets what he wants. The numbers say he always gets me eventually." Her eyes flicked up to him. "Except when you're involved."
Daemon went still.
"That's when the numbers break," Dinah continued. "They don't go to zero. They don't go dark. They just… stop. Like you are pulling in fate to yourself, everything converges around you."
That sent a shiver down his spine.
He remembered his father's ramblings from when he was young. About the song of ice and fire and how Aegon is the prince that was promised. That Aegon had a grand destiny to fulfill, and that Daemon shouldn't interfere with what is meant to be Aegon's – and from experience, Daemon was pointedly aware that everything is meant to be Aegon's from his mother's and his father's perspective.
Fate was something Daemon had no wish of involving himself with.
"So I followed the convergence until I ran into you," she finished. "It wasn't safe. But it wasn't hopeless."
Daemon exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Great," he muttered. "As if I wasn't dealing with enough problems already. Now I'm an anomaly in fucking Fate."
Dinah hesitated. "Is… that bad?"
He glanced at her, then shook his head. "No. Just means someone's going to be very unhappy I exist." People usually were when something unexpected came along. And this world had enough thinkers who can see the future, that his presence and his newly discovered…convergence of fate thing that is going on around him is bound to step on some seer's toes and ruin their plans.
So, let's just say Daemon had some very interesting days ahead to look forward to. Dinah shifted on the edge of the couch, knees tucked in, eyes darting briefly to the door before returning to him. "You don't understand," she said, voice tightening. "It's not just that he wants me. It's that he's patient. He keeps trying until the numbers line up."
Daemon frowned. "Line up how?"
"Where I stop running," she answered. "Where I'm tired. Where I trust the wrong person." Her fingers curled into the sleeve of her sweater. "Most futures end with a room underground. Bright lights. Questions that never stop."
Daemon frowned, his mind racing a mile a minute, "What about the PRT? Why haven't you gone to them?"
Dinah's face paled, and she violently shook her head, "NO!" she almost shrieked out, and Daemon could only hope that none of his neighbours had heard her or decided to call the cops. The little girl took a long breath to calm down. She took a sip of the tea before saying, "I mean no. The numbers always go above ninety-five percent when the heroes are involved. I don't know how, but he always gets me if the PRT gets involved, and then it's all -"
Dinah shuddered as the thought crossed her mind, a look of abject horror crossing her face.
That did it.
Whatever lingering levity he'd been clinging to drained away.
"Okay," Daemon said, sitting forward now, elbows on his knees. "Then we don't play his game."
Dinah blinked. "You… don't?"
"No," he said firmly. "We change the board."
She hesitated. "That's not how it works. He can-"
"Split timelines, yeah," Daemon cut in. "I know the type. Control freak with a god complex." His mouth twisted. "I've lived under worse."
She glanced up at him, a curious look on her face, like she'd just come to a realization. "You're not scared."
"I am," he corrected. "I'm just used to ignoring it."
That earned him a small, uncertain smile.
"Coil will look for you," Dinah warned. "For both of us. He'll try different routes. Bribes. Threats. Heroes. Villains."
"Let him," Daemon said. "This place is visible enough that random mercs can't just stumble in without people noticing, and Annette will notice if something big moves in Brockton Bay."
"Annette?" Dinah echoed.
"My… guardian," he said after a beat. That wasn't exactly true, but she had helped him a lot. Hell. She'd even saved him from dying back in his own world! But he had no interest in explaining the delicate nuances of their relationship to a little girl already bearing more weight than she should be. "Hero. It's complicated."
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, just heavy.
"The numbers say you're dangerous," Dinah admitted after a moment. "Not bad. Just… disruptive."
Daemon snorted. "Story of my life."
"But," she added quickly, "they also say you don't let people get taken. Even when it costs you."
He met her gaze then, steady. "That part's accurate."
Her shoulders loosened a fraction.
"So what happens now?" she asked.
Daemon leaned back, thinking. "Now, I call in someone smarter than me." He tapped his phone. "Annette Hebert. She's… complicated, but she cares. And she knows this city." Even as the thought left his lips, he had pulled up the Multiverse Chat Group and was typing up the message.
[Bastard of Ice and Fire: So, any advice on what to do when you are trying to shield a 12 year old girl from a potentially Pedo bond villain?]
He sent the message, but didn't do anything on the phone. He had no idea if this Coil was able to look at his texts, but the group was an infinitely safer choice to communicate with.
Dinah's eyes widened. "A hero?"
"Something like that," he said. "And after that, we figure out how to make you invisible to a man who hates uncertainty."
She considered that, lips pursed. "The numbers like that idea."
"Good," Daemon replied. "Because I'm fresh out of better ones."
For the first time since they'd met, Dinah smiled – it was small and tentative, but it was real. And seeing that little curl of the lips loosened something in Daemon's heart that he didn't even know had tightened.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Daemon waved it off, though his chest felt tight. "Don't thank me yet. This isn't going to be easy."
A quiet settled between them, not uncomfortable, just heavy.
"…Can I stay?" Dinah asked finally. "Just for tonight."
Daemon didn't hesitate. "Yeah. You can."
He had no reason to say no. This girl needed help, and by the Old Gods and the New, was he going to help her. Daemon couldn't help but feel that he had just declared himself a player on a very intricate chessboard. That he'd just become a piece that didn't move how it was supposed to.
Daemon turned his gaze onto Dinah and met her looking at him.
The two exchanged a smile.
But for this little girl who had been running for so long, it was worth it.
Daemon made a vow in his heart, he would protect this girl – ah, what was Elijah's favourite saying again – ah yes, Always and Forever.
***
The office was crowded tonight, Annette thought
Not in the sense that there were bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, but in the way that too many crises had decided to coexist in one room. Radios crackled nonstop. Screens showed images from all over Brockton Bay, several city blocks washed in white and blue, streets fractured by ice thick enough to swallow entire cars whole.
Director Piggot sat behind her desk, hands braced against its surface.
"Status," she barked.
Armsmaster didn't hesitate, "Rescue operations are ongoing. Velocity is doing perimeter sweeps and rapid extraction where possible. Triumph and the Wards are assisting emergency services with structural breaches," he said, the visor covering his eyes full of activity as he went through all the data that was being fed into his heads-up display.
He pressed a button, and a screen flickered to life. Vista was on the screen, warping a frozen stairwell just enough for the firefighters to rescue the civilians trapped within. Another showed Clockblocker, using his powers to tag ice formations to stabilize collapsing walls.
Piggot's jaw tightened, "And casualties?"
A wave of hushed murmurs swept through the room, but it was cut short by Armsmaster's next words. "Unconfirmed. But judging by how much area has been frozen, it is likely."
No one argued.
Several blocks frozen solid, buildings flash-encased from the inside out. Even without knowing the details, the math was brutal.
Armsmaster's fingers moved as he rapidly typed on a keyboard, scrubbing through a grainy video feed he'd just pulled up on a screen. The image jittered, distorted by distance and interference.
A boy stood in the middle of a street facing a group of armed men, a smaller girl standing behind him. The footage glitched, and suddenly, he wasn't a boy anymore. The frame caught just enough to be unsettling, a tall woman in a black-and-white maid outfit, silver hair whipping as waves and waves of ice exploded outwards as a lethal bloom. The image froze again as the camera failed, then it started again after a few moments, just in time to show a crimson circle appear below her and swallow her and the other, younger girl whole.
Teleportation.
Annette kept her posture perfectly still as the footage looped again. She slotted in one of her thinker powers, one that allowed her to control all her facial expressions perfectly. She suppressed the instinctive reaction before it could touch her face, locking it away behind practiced composure. In a room like this, even the smallest tell would be noticed.
To everyone else, she was just another observer.
Inside, a single thought cut through the calm.
What are you doing, Daemon?
Piggot stared at the looping footage. "That's all we have?"
"Yes," Armsmaster replied. "No audio. No clear facial data. Power interference fried half the sensors in range."
Assault leaned back in a chair, smirking. "You mean there's a maid out there turning streets into giant ice trays?" Battery, standing next to the red-clad hero, smacked him in the arm for his quip.
Piggot shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
Assault leaned against the wall and grinned, "Hey, if we're doing first impressions? Ice powers, dramatic outfit change, magical girl vibes, " He snapped his fingers. "Maiden. Like Iron Maiden. But colder."
Dauntless snorted despite himself.
"Ethan," Battery hissed to him. "Not now!"
Miss Militia didn't smile. "This wasn't a show of force," she said. "This was efficient. Whoever that was neutralized an armed force in seconds."
Whoever it was, they hadn't showboated the way most villains Miss Militia had encountered over the years tended to. There were no speeches, no threats, and no attempt to draw attention to themselves. The situation was assessed, addressed, and ended in a single, overwhelming action. It was efficient, detached, and carried a level of professionalism that unsettled her more than any theatrical display ever had.
Piggot turned back to Armsmaster. "You said mercenaries?"
"Yes," Armsmaster confirmed. "Equipment suggests professionals. Military-grade weapons, no identifying markings. No known affiliation."
"Do we know who she's working for? Or why?" Triumph asked.
"No idea," Miss Militia said. "She's an unknown. And the mercenaries she took out? We haven't been able to find anything on them. They're ghosts."
Armsmaster replayed the grainy footage again. "Look at the efficiency. A boy, then a woman, instantly neutralizes a full team of trained soldiers. Freezes the surrounding area. Then teleports. No hesitation, no mercy. That's more than just power. That's someone used to combat situations."
"Which means," Piggot said slowly, "someone hired them, and someone else wiped them off the map."
Silence settled.
[Bastard of Ice and Fire: So, any advice on what to do when you are trying to shield a 12 year old girl from a potentially Pedo bond villain?]
Annette's eyes widened by the barest fraction before discipline snapped into place. Her thinker power slid over her expression, sealing away any trace of the sharp jolt that had gone through her at the message. The phrasing was bad - worse than bad - and far too specific to be hypothetical.
What did you get yourself into now, Daemon?
The plump woman pinched the bridge of her nose. "And what about the target? What were they after?"
Miss Militia shook her head. "We haven't been able to find anything that would indicate what the mercenaries were after."
"What about the other girl? Do we know who she was?" Dauntless asked quietly. "The one they were chasing?"
Miss Militia hesitated. "Unknown. No records match the description. No missing-persons reports that line up. The girl is a complete mystery."
Dauntless frowned. "So let me get this straight: unknown parahuman with city-level destructive capability, unknown girl she's protecting, unknown mercs dead on site, and half the city frozen? That's it?"
Armsmaster nodded. "That's all we have. And that's just the footage. Field teams report mass structural failures and civilians trapped. Teams and emergency services are on-site, but casualties are likely."
Director Piggot slammed a hand on the table. "So basically, we've got a powerful ice maid who just nuked part of the city, and nobody knows anything about her. Great. Fantastic."
Assault grinned, unrepentant. "Yeah, but admit it, she's dramatic. I vote we call her Maiden. 'Ice Maiden.' It's catchy."
Piggot's scowl deepened. "This is not a joke, Assault. People could be dead. Entire blocks frozen. The city is melting down while we sit here debating nicknames."
"Noted, boss," Assault said cheerfully.
Miss Militia stepped forward. "We have Wards actively rescuing civilians. Velocity is prioritizing life over property, but we can't get to everyone immediately. The magnitude of the freezing suggests she has high-level Cryokinesis, plus the ability to teleport. This is—"
"—a catastrophic unknown," Armsmaster finished for her. "We have no intel on her. Power classification is also preliminary, but at minimum: Changer, Cryokinetic Shaker, and Mover via teleportation."
"And threat level?" Piggot asked.
He paused. Just long enough to matter.
"If hostile," Armsmaster said, "severe."
Piggot's fingers drummed against the desk. "Get me every scrap of footage. Every eye-witness. Contact emergency services for casualty reports. I want civilian locations, structural threats, everything. No one moves in until we understand what we're dealing with."
Assault muttered under his breath, loud enough for some to hear: "Seriously though… Maiden. Works on so many levels."
Piggot whirled on him. "Do not. Say. That. Again."
Dauntless exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'm almost scared she'll hear that nickname and get offended."
And as the discussion about Brockton Bay's newest topic of interest continued, somewhere in the distance, rescue sirens wailed.