---

Eclipse Bay, Simply Storage Solutions, Unit 13

Superhero news was always something, wasn’t it? Nova City Bank had some robbery going on, and it sounded like every damned superhero in the city was fixing to dogpile whatever band of misfits was—gas? Oh, this was getting juicier. Normal bank robbers kept things simple. Straightforward. Money in the bag—no dye packs—get out. Power outage across a whole city block? One of the channels reporting creeping vines? Pink smoke seeping out from under the door? That kind of showmanship certainly narrowed things down. It had to be supervillains. Plural. Even if there weren’t multiple in there, there absolutely had to be multiple hands on this one.

Look at that! The news was catching on too! Shame they weren’t getting any close-ups. A tablet screen was small enough already without the police barricades being so far out!

Georgia set her tablet down with a sigh. The news was just repeating the facts. Half of the live coverage was snapping away to get back to their stupid twenty-four hour cycles. And the local channel was still straight-laced enough that it wasn’t going to make any reaches.

‘So let’s think about this…’

Who would be in there? Vines were easy. There were only a handful of superhumans with any given power set, and an even smaller handful in play in any given location.

“Proud of you, hun,” she mockingly chirped. The local news had cracked it. Obviously vines meant Poison Oak. Who else could it have been? Someone from out of town? But the gas didn’t sound like his style. He’d use his pollen, wouldn’t he? Yes, that sounded right. So it was definitely, 100% the work of more than one villain. But that begged the question of who?

Villains counted a fair number of chemists, chemical-enthusiasts, and generally mad scientists among their numbers, definitely. Poison Oak was one of them—but definitely not the sort that’d be working with something looking like that. Did Poison Oak have any friends? Scratching her head, Georgia couldn’t think of any. The man didn’t often collaborate. At least, she’d never fought him and another villain at once. But the world was changing, wasn’t it? This wasn’t Poison Oak’s normal crime scene. Nothing about this was altogether that normal, except for how a bank robbery was just absolutely typical fare for supervillains. Banks were big. Banks were bad. Banks were easy punching bags, for how they pushed the little guy around and yet had the inconvenient weakness of having all that money just sitting around. It took a brave bastard to raid a gold reserve. It didn’t take supervillainy to mug a rich guy. But banks? Banks were just right for villains.

If she were ever going to go after such a big haul on her own, she’d do things differently. This was sloppy. This was showy. But that was the only choice a lot of people had, wasn’t it? And banks were getting ever-wiser to creative approaches anyway. Georgia could still remember the first time she’d toured the Federal Reserve and seen all the anti-teleportation measures that they’d implemented. There were good guys working on fixing weaknesses, after all. But even the best defences can be blown up, burned, or otherwise shredded through with the right will.

So banks. What mad scientists were into banks? That was a frustratingly long list. It wasn’t as if there were many evil universities giving out evil research grants. So supervillain scientists needed to get their money from elsewhere. And again, banks were just really good targets. So that really didn’t narrow it down either, did it?

But that meant there were two mad scientists in there. Poison Oak and someone else. Maybe there was a mad scientist convention going on in Nova City? Now that sounded interesting. Some new work would be nice. It had been a week—a maddening, painfully paralyzing week since her last job. Anathema needed to get going. Her fingers itched with a need to do something. Do anything. The seeds of wrath were sprouting again, damn it all. They were sprouting and getting ready to bear fruit!

Georgia’s glance snapped back to her tablet. Oh, mercy below and above! There was so much to be done.

She had to at least see it! She had to at least hear it! The carnage was beautiful—hopefully the building would explode. But the people! But the burning! That was too good to miss. A job or a show—either would be something. Georgia looked at the little trash can full of wrappers and empty cans. Maybe a nice bed for a little while would be good, too. Most villains had—or could easily get their hands on—a perfectly good bed to sleep on in their lovely, lovely, vile, vile bases. And air conditioning. And showers. Better showers than the private gyms had, anyway. The water texture and quality definitely varied. But it was so, so much better. And to have purpose? Something to do? Something to distract from the all-consuming silence?

That was perfect. News sucks anyway. Better to see it in-person.

Georgia chucked her iPad down on her bare mattress. There was a coffee shop across the street that wasn’t technically off limits, so it seemed. But what to wear for observing? A tank top torn along the back and underwear wasn’t going to cut it. The armour was way, way too much and too conspicuous. Fuck it, no point wasting time. Georgia called a clean pair of athletic shorts from the top of the basket full of comfortable day clothes. Neon green? Nope.

She chucked it to the floor and flicked her wrist to call the next highest out. Red was better. Sure. Red running shorts would be fine. She pulled them up and then hit her tail.

“Right. Can’t have fucking high-rise. Because why could I have it good?” Georgia scowled as she gripped the waistband and ripped the shorts clean off of herself. She chucked the shredded remains into the garbage can and walked over to the basket of comfy clothes. After rummaging through the neatly-folded clothes, she produced some black shorts that definitely wouldn’t go up too far. Fine. That would have to do.

As she pulled them on, she groaned as she remembered the irritating case of her tail. She whipped off her shirt, plucked yesterday’s bra off the back of her chair and clipped it on, and then pulled her tail up and weaved it through, and then pulled the mutilated top back on. With a scowl, she picked out the largest hoodie in eyesight. It was a piece of her own merchandise that so happened to be irritatingly comfortable. She’d scratched off as much of the print as she could be bothered to, but bits and pieces still cling to it, leaving cracked plastic on its front. A bit of one of her old blue eyes. Part of an H and an e. A bit of the flaming sword. Only one of those bonkers superfans would have guessed it was once a Hostess Hoodie, but seeing the bits she couldn’t scrape off still drove Anathema nuts. The stupid grey thing was just too comfortable to chuck.

With a sigh, she pulled the hoodie over her head.

“That’ll do.” she shrugged, mumbling to herself as she inspected herself with her phone camera and preened her hair out of habit. She shook her head, put the phone in the hoodie pocket, and then looked around the room for a moment. Binoculars would be great right about now. She fumbled for her phone again, and found a random hiking supplies store in Nova City.

“Where’s the damn thing…” she continued, waving her phone around the room before laying her eyes on a pocket knife. She tried to flick it open twice, muttered “Goddamnit,” and then pulled at the blade with her fingernails to get it out. Once she got it out, she took a deep breath, held it, rolled up her left sleeve, and slashed her left wrist. A wellspring of deep red blood began to pool as Georgia hissed in pain.

She took a step towards the blood-stained garage door. She slammed her wrist into the metal, pulled it to the left and then right as she fell to the ground, helping keep its trajectory with her hand, and then pushed it back up, right then left, as she stood, to create an oval of blood. She held her hand to her bleeding wrist, and, with a flash of fire, cauterized the wound. As she folded up her knife, she let out a frustrated sigh and whipped around. She slipped on socks, shoved her feet into black tennis shoes, and then grabbed a third sock from a little bin full of socks with holes in them. She shoved it into the centre of the blood oval and scorched it into a fine mist. A rift opened up, showing the interior of the hiking supplies store. Right before she put her foot through the door, she groaned again, flicked both of her wrists, summoning a tote back off the floor and several socks with holes in them, donned the bag, shoved the socks in it, flicked her wrists again to summon her phone and her wallet, and then stepped through the rift.

As she stepped through, she caught movement in the corner of her eye. An employee was standing there, frozen and looking at her with the wide eyes of a man uncertain if he was breathing his last breaths.

Suddenly, Georgia asked, instinctually adopting the flowery, gentle tone she once made a habit of as Hostess, “Sorry, what aisle are the binoculars in?”

The guy flinched as she grimaced and tensed her jaw right after speaking.

“Sorry,” she chirped, before hissing at herself and saying, “I mean...grab me a pair of binoculars. Adjustable ones.”

Looking at the frozen man and giving him not more than a moment to respond, Georgia snapped, “Fucking go on. Git. I’ve got shit to do.”

And he burst into a sprint. Georgia clapped her hands once, and the rift closed. She had just long enough to check her phone and see the latest update from the situation at the bank before he returned, panting and shaking. Georgia took the box in her hand, tore it in half, and incinerated the shredded halves with one hand as she put the binoculars in her tote. Then, she whipped out her pocket knife, pulled it open with her fingernails, and then snapped at the worker again, “You’re done. I’m satisfied with my service. Bye,” as she cut the same wrist again and quickly drew another blood oval. She cauterized the same wound, and then pulled another sock out of her tote, pressed it into the circle, incinerated it, and walked through into the bathroom of the coffee shop across the street from Nova City Bank.

Nova City, a coffee shop across the street from Nova City Bank

Fortunately, this one was empty. The only bad part about appearing in the bathroom was that sometimes there was someone using it, just ready to make a quick pee break into shitting after seeing someone step through a definitely evil-looking blood-red rift. She stepped out of the bathroom, took one look at the line, and then scoffed. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

Georgia walked casually to the spot where the phone-orders were left, spotted what looked like a large caramel or chocolate frappé, pulled her wallet out of her tote, and grabbed two random bills out of it. She pulled the tagged cardboard bit off the drink as she took it, set the cardboard piece back with one of the bills—a twenty, it looked like—in it, and then craned her head to look at the counter as she stuffed her wallet back into her tote.

Georgia frowned and sighed as she gathered that there were no good donut options. After squinting to see for a moment and grabbing some napkins, she reached out the hand holding napkins with two fingers, and used her three free ones to beckon a croissant, a chocolatine, and—hell, why not—a piece of banana bread out from behind the counter. She caught them in the napkins, fumbling for a moment, and then set down her drink in order to slap the other bill on the counter. Then, she walked out with the stolen drinks, shooting back behind her a glare, daring the overworked baristas and the impatient customers to question her cash. That bill was a fifty, anyway. They’d live.

Finally, she was outside, ready to see the crimes unfold. It was always so much better as a live feature. One of the tables was bare, its chairs stolen by a larger group that looked like it was either done or waiting, but nonetheless eager to see the scene as it unfolded. Georgia hopped up on the table, set down her drink and food, and whipped out her binoculars to begin taking in the show.

This was gonna be good. And maybe there’d be a job opportunity to come…

The Dragon reclined in his ornate leather armchair, a serene but menacing smile curling on his lips as he watched the chaos unfold on the massive wall-mounted screen before him. The footage was shaky but vivid: masked criminals storming Nova City Bank, civilians screaming, and smoke filling the air as the news anchor breathlessly narrated the scene. His glass of amber liquor caught the dim light of the room as he swirled it lazily, the ice clinking softly—a sound almost drowned out by the murmurs of his lieutenants gathered behind him.
The hideout itself was a testament to The Dragon's wealth and influence: an underground lair hidden beneath one of Nova City's most unassuming ramen shops. The walls were adorned with intricate Japanese artwork, and a sprawling koi pond reflected the soft glow of paper lanterns overhead. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, and encrypted communications buzzed quietly from a nearby operations table. It was both sanctuary and command center, an untouchable fortress hidden in plain sight.
The Dragon’s eyes, sharp and calculating, studied every detail on the screen. The bank robbery was chaos personified, but for him, it was opportunity. While the police force was being drawn to the heart of the city and the city's vigilante heroes were undoubtedly rushing to respond, his organization could operate in the shadows, making decisive moves that would further cement their hold over Nova City. “This is what the West calls a perfect storm,” he mused aloud, his voice deep and smooth with a faint accent.
“Boss,” said one of his lieutenants, bowing slightly as he stepped forward. “What are your orders?”
The Dragon leaned forward, setting his glass down on a carved wooden table. “We strike while their eyes are elsewhere,” he said, his tone as measured as it was ruthless. “Mobilize the enforcers in the Eastern District. The businesses there have been... resistant to our offers of protection. Send a message—loud and clear. Burn one, and make sure the others know why.”
The lieutenant nodded sharply and stepped away to relay the orders. The Dragon continued, turning to another subordinate. “And the West Docks? What is the status of the shipment?”
“It’s ready, boss,” the man replied. “Weapons and contraband. No one will interfere.”
“Good,” The Dragon said, his smile returning. “Tonight, we ensure that Nova City's underworld knows there’s only one kingpin in this city.”
As the screen showed images of police barricades and hostages, The Dragon’s mind raced with other possibilities. The robbery was just the kind of distraction that could blindside the authorities. He could use this chaos to infiltrate city council members with bribes or threats. He could stage an attack on a rival gang's stronghold and make it appear as though the chaos had spilled into their territory. Or perhaps he would target a key utility, such as the city’s power grid, creating further disorder and asserting his dominance over the infrastructure itself.
Finishing his drink, he stood, his towering presence commanding the room. “Tonight, we take Nova City one step closer to being ours. Let them play their games at the bank. We’ll be the ones who write the next chapter of this city’s history.”
The room erupted in murmured affirmations as his lieutenants scurried to carry out their orders. The Dragon returned his gaze to the screen, the chaos outside a stark contrast to the calm control of his lair. He wasn’t just watching the city’s downfall—he was orchestrating it. And soon, Nova City would belong to him.

Joseph shone a light in his patient's eye, carefully observing how the pupil dilated. "Pupils abnormally large..." he muttered, frowning thoughtfully. The doctor clicked off his penlight and scrawled a few notes on his notepad. "Dizziness, confusion, nausea... and you threw up earlier, too," he said calmly. "Yep, that's a concussion alright. I'll have to..."

His head perked up as he picked up the sounds of the microwave beeping and cutlery being set down coming from beyond his office's door. "Dammit Jackie, are you eating my leftovers again?" he yelled, annoyed. "I was saving those!" He shook his head as a muffled "Sorry, Doc!" answered him. He could swear that girl had a bottomless stomach. Then again, Joseph had been the one to give her a key to his house and let her come and go as she wished. He really shouldn't be surprised at this sort of thing anymore.

He turned back towards the man still sitting dazedly on a cot. He was pretty sure that guy was a pickpocket, not that he ever asked his patients questions. What they did was none of his business, and he'd rather keep plausible deniability. "Anyway, as I was saying, you're concussed. I'll give you some painkillers for the headaches. No alcohol for the next few days, try to rest as much as possible, and for the love of God, try not to get kicked in the head again." He gestured to the open door leading to the rest of his home. "I'll be keeping you for observation tonight. I'll show you to the guest room."

Once his patient was settled for the evening, Joseph sat at the kitchen table, groaning tiredly. He took a good look at Jackie. She was still ravenously devouring his leftovers, not a hint of guilt on her face. He was glad to see her in good health, but still. He had really been looking forward to that fried rice. "So, heard anything good lately?" Jackie, the self-proclaimed "Gossip Queen of the Underground", had been acting as his informant for the going-ons of the local crime scene ever since he'd started acting as Ironclad's local back-alley doctor. While she herself was no one important, just a small-time car thief, she had ears everywhere, and many friends in low places. Her title might be self-proclaimed, but it was accurate more often than not.

"Well," she said between two bites, "for once I've got nothin'. It's dead out there, no supers plannin' anythin'. Looks like somethin' is drawing them outta Ironclad for a bit." She gave a lopsided grin. "Sounds like you're gonna have it easy for a bit, Doc."

Joseph huffed a laugh. "Don't jinx it." His expression got bit a bit sterner as Jackie's words really sunk in. "If something's really drawing the usual crowd away, then it has to be something big. We should expect waves."

Jackie put her fork down as she began to think. "Y'know, I usually only tell you info I'm pretty sure is reliable, and keep the subject around Ironclad supers. You don't need to hear every little bit of drama about the local burglary ring. Even though it's really juicy." She leaned back in her chair, almost putting her feet up on the table, before a glare from Joseph made her put her feet back down. "But if you really think somethin' that big is goin' on... well, I heard some weird stuff through the grapevine."

"Now, you know I try to keep away from all that mafia shebang, but I know a guy who's a bit less careful. Word is, there's a lot of movement back in Nova City." Jackie began to dig into her (stolen) meal anew. "Someone is tryin' to push all of the other groups out. Some foreign syndicate or other. I even heard the boss is supposed to be this really strong super."

Joseph sighed tiredly. Supervillains going quiet, power struggles back in Nova, a superpowered crime boss making moves... that was bad. Really bad. They seemed to stay away from Ironclad for the moment, but whether they'd start trouble around here wasn't a matter of if, but a matter of when. The doctor had a feeling that this was just the calm before the storm...

The Rescue

Chemical Girl’s feet barely made a sound as they touched the cracked tile floor of the bank’s second story. She moved quickly but quietly, her translucent form shimmering faintly as her powers kept her insubstantial. The room was dark and hazy, the remnants of Pestilence’s gas clinging to the air. Her eyes scanned the space, zeroing in on four hostages tangled in thick, writhing vines. The tendrils constricted tightly around their arms and legs, rendering them immobile, and the hostages’ muffled cries of fear broke through the eerie silence.

“I see the hostages, Puzzle,” she whispered into her commlink, crouching low to avoid detection.

“Good,” Puzzle Box’s calm, analytical voice responded in her ear. “The vines are organic but infused with a strange energy—it looks like they’re actively resisting being cut. You’ll need to use your phasing ability to pull them free. Just be quick; Pestilence’s tricks always have a nasty surprise.”

“Got it,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tension crackling through the air.

Chemical Girl approached the first hostage, a middle-aged woman whose face was streaked with tears. The vines twitched and tightened as she reached out, almost as if they sensed her presence. She placed her hand lightly on the woman’s shoulder, her fingers shimmering as her power activated. In a fluid motion, she phased both herself and the hostage out of the vines’ grip. The woman gasped as the constricting pressure vanished, and Chemical Girl gently guided her toward the stairs.

“You’re safe now. Head to the ground floor and stay low,” she said softly.

The woman nodded shakily before bolting for the exit. Chemical Girl didn’t waste a second, moving to the next hostage and repeating the process. One by one, she phased the terrified civilians free, each time feeling the strange resistance of the vines trying to hold their prey. By the time she reached the last hostage, her breathing was steady but deliberate, her focus razor-sharp.

“They’re free,” she reported into her commlink as the final hostage ran toward safety.

“Good work,” Puzzle Box replied. “But the clock’s ticking. That bomb’s not going to wait for you.”

The Bomb

Chemical Girl turned her attention to the central lobby below, her sharp eyes locking onto the bomb sitting ominously in the middle of the chaos. It pulsed faintly, wires tangled around its surface like a steel spider’s web, and a red light blinked in a slow, menacing rhythm.

[“I’m heading to it now,” she said, her tone resolute.

“Careful, kid,” Puzzle Box warned. “This isn’t your run-of-the-mill explosive. It’s rigged with airborne dispersal tech—shrapnel and gas designed to spread destruction far and wide. But you can disable it with the Puzzle EMP. Left compartment of your belt. It’s keyed to short-circuit the trigger mechanism. You’ll only need to get it close to the core.”

Chemical Girl landed softly near the bomb, her shimmering form solidifying as she surveyed the device. The tension in the air was palpable, the faint hum of the bomb’s mechanisms sending vibrations through her fingertips as she reached for the EMP device.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the sleek, glowing gadget toward the center of the bomb. The EMP latched on with a sharp click, and a pulse of blue energy rippled outward, causing the bomb’s blinking red light to flicker and die.

“It’s disarmed,” Puzzle Box confirmed after a beat. “But it’s still live. You know what to do.”

The Phase

Chemical Girl nodded to herself, stepping closer to the bomb. She knelt, wrapping her arms around the heavy device. Its weight was nothing compared to the stakes at hand. Taking a deep breath, she let her powers wash over her body, turning her insubstantial once again.

The bomb shimmered as it phased with her, becoming intangible in her grip. With a swift upward motion, she lifted off the ground, her natural ability to fly carrying her seamlessly through the chaos. She phased through the shattered floor, descending into the earth below the bank.

“How deep are you going?” Puzzle Box asked through the commlink.

“Deep enough that no one gets hurt,” she replied, her voice calm but focused. She passed through layers of dirt and rock, her surroundings dark and silent as she descended to a safe depth.

Once she was sure the bomb was far enough underground to prevent airborne damage, she released it, allowing it to solidify in the earth. She reemerged from the ground moments later, her form shimmering back to solidity as she landed gracefully in the bank lobby.

“It’s done,” she said, brushing dust from her hands.

“Good work,” Puzzle Box replied, his voice filled with pride. “Now get back in there and finish this.”

Chemical Girl smiled faintly as she turned back toward the fray, ready to dive back into the chaos and help bring this nightmare to an end.

_{Interactions:Rift @Aku the Samurai, Halcyon II @Half Pint, Glutton @BurningCold, Bloodlust @Vidar the Quiet}

---

The sounds of blood curdling screams echoed out from the lobby as one goon after another was felled. Some had it lucky. They were only disarmed. But others? Others had their actual hearts ripped out.

In cases like these, who were the real villains here?

Regardless, the lobby was quickly neutralized. Of course, the only sounds the heroes and police would hear now was the sound of melting concrete as Ethan shot him, Pestilence and Pine up to the rooftop.

The hostages themselves were tightly affixed with vines. It would take some serious knife work to get them out. Of course, Pine would probably have the option to attach more vines. So perhaps getting to the root of the problem was the better idea?

---

_{Interactions: Pestilence @Goblininamech, Everyone outside the building.}

---

Ethan directed his focus to the police barricading the building. They would have to take care of that first, before taking off. Wouldn't want to be easy targets in the sky now, did they?

So, Ethan raised his hand, ”Fast and quick it is, Pestilence.”

Stars of varying sizes blossomed out of his raised hand, collecting around him in almost a flower shape, before they shot forward.They rained down on the police and civilians gawking below, like holy fire, prepared to smite the weak. If any of these yellow stars were to connect, they'd ignite their targets easily, burning through flesh and clothing like paper. Anyone under the hellstorm would be severely injured, if not dead by the end of it.

He watched, hoping to have the group out and away in the next thirty seconds, if that was enough to decimate the police force.

***

@Kensai

As Violet Lightning would happen upon the scene at Nova City Bank, she would be in for a shocking surprise. All the police officers, police cars, and bystanders too close to the hailstorm were moments away from being rained on by little yellow stars that would most certainly act like the burning insides of a kiln, prepared to burn people alive.

If she had any ideas to combat the stars, she could take that action. Or wallow in the misery of being a fraction too late.

---

_{Interactions: Hellfire @Archazen, Sir Arcticus @ManyThings}

---

Syla attempted calling Hellfire. Poor bloke must have been too busy watching his TV, though, as it went to voicemail.

Ah well. She'd leave a voicemail then.

”Hellfire. The Masked Solaris has asked that I reach out to you. His stunt today is just first of many big-time cases. He is building up a coalition that will one day rival the Dragon and throw him out of the city. You know the Dragon won't stop until he has devoured this city.

That's why he is offering you a job. A partnership. Come join us, and forge your destiny in hellish flames, like they were meant to be. You have my number if you're interested.”

She pocketed her phone, turning the corner to come face-to-face with Sir Arcticus, staring confusedly as a police cruiser took off. He was right where the office boys said he'd be. Now she just had to initiate plan Distract.

”Sir Arcticus. There is a bank robbery. You must act with haste and apprehend the suspects, people are in danger.” She said, like she was talking about the weather instead of evident peril.

She pointed to the left. ”It's at Dewdeny Bank, ten minutes that way.”

Though, that couldn't be right. Nova City Bank was in the opposite direction, the same direction the cruiser had gone in. But would Sir Arcticus be able to tell if she was lying?

---

_{Interactions: Georgia @enmuni}

---

There was a slight step-step behind Georgia as footsteps approached her. With her hands placed behind her back, space given to the thorns in her left arm, the veiled magnificence of Aster stood beside Georgia, watching the chaos of Nova City Bank unfold.

”Beautiful, isn't it? The rich suffering for their sins through the actions of a few noble supers. As we speak, the Masked Solaris, Pestilence, and Poison Oak are doing their duty to the city, ridding it of corruption.”

Her veiled eyes glanced down at Georgia, and she almost seemed to smile. ”You deserve to be up there with them, bathing in the glory of righteousness today. But… Perhaps there are… other opportunities for you?”

She leaned in close, as if she was confiding in a secret for Georgia and Georgia alone.

”The Dragon is on the move. If we want a chance at punishing him for his sins, we will need more capital, more manpower. And more importantly, we need you.”

Aster leaned back slightly, taking in Georgia’s reaction. ”What do you say, Fallen Sister?”

---

For the police to have driven off in such a rush that they even failed to hear the booming voice of Sir Arcticus, something truly serious must have been calling their attention. The knight glanced back towards the alleyway. Was there any trace of which direction the man-eater had fled? Given his dark magic, it was quite possible that he had disappeared without leaving tracks in any particular direction. In that case, what were the chances that the officers were heading to the scene of Glutton's latest crime? They hadn't even found the remains of the gunmen in the alleyway yet, so it seemed unlikely, but perhaps he was doing something more publicly violent this time.

But even if Glutton wasn't there, it was the responsibility of a knight to respond to any incident in the city. Resolved to follow the police, Sir Arcticus, prepared to move. Frost gathered in the air around him as his armour creaked, only to settle down once more as a young woman approached him.

Although she spoke quite sedately, her words were deadly serious. As she told it, there was a bank robbery ongoing, in the direction exactly opposite to where the officers had been heading.

"Hm..!"

The knight gazed down at the girl, his frozen helm giving no hint as to what he was thinking. Brilliant blue light shimmered within the helm's eyeholes. For a moment, it seemed as though those cold flames were going to burn straight through her and expose the lie within.

"You have my thanks, young maiden. Thou'rt wise to bring this devilry to mine attentions. I shall pursue the pilferers forthwith!"

Luckily, it seemed that the icy hero had no idea he was being tricked.

The girl looked and spoke in a strange way, to be sure, but for Sir Arcticus to judge her for that would have been terribly ironic, given his own style of speech. As for the matter of the police cruiser heading in the other direction, it only meant the knight's presence at the bank was even more desperately needed! If those officers had another crime to fight, he would have to stand in for them.

Regarding Glutton, Sir Arcticus figured it was unlikely to find him at a bank. Even so, if he was needed, he would go. He would most likely have to wait for the monster to rear his head again before he could have a decent chance of finding him, anyhow.

Giving Syla an appreciative nod, the knight gazed down the road that led to Dewdeny bank.

"However, good maiden..." Frost began gathering in the air once more as he spoke, and a sharp chill filled the air. "...Did you say 'ten minutes'?"

Pale light wreathed the knight's jagged form, concentrating around his gauntlets and the space in front of him. Bystanders on the street, who up to that point had only been shooting the hero excited glances or snapping pictures on their phones, now stepped back in awe and confusion. Was he forging a weapon? Something else? Amidst the swirling light and frozen air, it was impossible to get a clear glimpse.

"I know not if you meant ten minutes on foot or in one of those horseless chariots that have become so popular in the city. But worry not!"

As the light reached its apex, even Sir Arcticus' form was completely obscured. As cold air decompressed and billowed out, it was impossible to stand near him. And yet, his voice was still quite audible, carrying over the blast.

"Sir Arcticus shall not take even one minute to come to the rescue of those people!"

In the next moment, he was gone, leaving the white-haired girl alone on the street, with tiny flakes of snow drifting around her.

As for the knight, he was already a block away. His movement was accompanied by the high ringing sound of crystallized ice striking against the road, but he was not on foot.




The knight sat astride a great mass of ice formed into the shape of a large, monstrous horse. The beast's body was almost crystal clear, but its form was covered in the same jagged plumes of ice that adorned its rider's armour. Frozen mist huffed from its nostrils and around its hooves as it carried the knight down the street at an ever-rising pace, leaving icy hoof-prints in its wake. With each movement, tiny cracks opened at the joints of its legs, neck, and tail, and in the next moment the cracks refroze, only to open again in the blink of an eye.

Syla had fooled Arcticus, no doubt, and she had sent him off on a wild goose chase, but this display was beyond what she would've been able to research about the capabilities of a hero from a different city. More than that, it was impossible based on what was publicly known about Sir Arcticus' powers. Videos and reports could be found online of him accomplishing many strange and impressive feats in Skyline City, but there was no way he was capable of creating a sentient being like this.

Of course, Borealis was not a sentient being. Each movement it made, from the twitch of its tail to the beating of its hooves, was managed by Sir Arcticus' control over ice. In essence, it was a puppet that merely appeared to be imbued with some supernatural essence of life. It doubtless would've been more efficient and simple for the hero to just ride around on a big levitating chunk of ice, but that sort of thing simply wouldn't do for a knight!

And now that he had taken the time to learn to create and manipulate the Faerie War Steed of the Winter Court, it was as easy as riding a bicycle.

Thanks to the passage of the police with their sirens on, the road immediately before the Hoarfrost Horseman was relatively clear of cars, with many still pulled over. As his noble steed picked up the pace further, it far surpassed the speed limit, and in a breath the girl who had kindly warned him of the bank robbery was many blocks behind him, out of sight.

As Sir Arcticus rode down the street, blitzing past cars and leaping clear over busy intersections, he couldn't help but notice the occasional police car passing him by, all heading in the opposite direction from him. Was there some other situation ongoing in the city that required their complete focus? Did none of them know about the robbery? If that was the case, why had that young lady walked for ten minutes to find him and tell only him about it?

Trying to push doubts from his mind, Arcticus tugged on the ice-chain reins that he held in one gauntlet, urging his steed forward as he focused on navigating Nova City's unfamiliar streets. A bank ought to stand out, he reasoned.

Borealis' speed had now risen far beyond the capabilities of any vehicle on the road. Weaving seamlessly between cars, its trail left a surge of cold wind behind.

Mere moments later, the knight found his objective. A squat, stone building that had clearly been designed to radiate a sense of reliability and security.

Coming to a stop near-instantly, Borealis and its rider were immediately shrouded in a cascade of mist and light snow. True to his word, not even a minute had passed since he had first learned of the threat to the people at the bank. In a brilliant flash, a twelve foot long polearm of jagged ice appeared in the knight's free hand, pointed skyward. It was a mighty entrance, aimed to strike fear into the hearts of any evil-doer who caught a glimpse. As Sir Arcticus looked around, though...

A warm breeze blew across the flowers planted in front of Dewdeny Bank. Two squirrels nuzzled one another in a nearby tree. A robin landed on a lamppost overhead. The front door opened, and an elderly woman took shaky steps out of the bank, guided arm-in-arm by her grandson. They stopped when they saw the lance-wielding warrior, looking a bit startled, as if he was the most exciting thing they'd seen so far in their day.

The hero breathed a sign of relief at the serene state of the bank. He let the polearm disintegrate in his hand. Then, he thought for a moment, and his heart sank. Was he at the right place? Had his sense of direction failed him in this new city? But this really was Dewdeny Bank! Had he misheard the young woman? Or had she misremembered which bank to send him to? Tugging at the reins, Sir Arcticus turned his horse around and tried to judge which direction all the police vehicles had been heading in. Just as quickly as he had appeared at Dewdeny Bank, he was off again, aiming to get it right this time. At that moment, all Sir Arcticus could say for certain was that something was happening today.