Brent shook his head violently, trying to shake off the awful burning sensation that arose from everywhere. Oh god, it was literally searing him, wasn't it? Was SCN Wild Turkey some sort of euphenism for 'feed him poison'? Or maybe he WAS drinking it wrong the whole time. More studying then...after he stopped tearing up like a twelve year old watching an emotionally-manipulative movie about puppies.
"You flatter me, Director," Brent said, wiping tears from his eyes, "Never thought I had dignity to begin with."
As his face flushed further, he eyed his drink apprehensively once more. Round two? Would he even survive? Or would he start stripping and partying hard? Brent turned to Sophia, then to Steve, and finally to Zhang, before deciding that they probably weren't close enough to him to be amused by THAT sort of thing. With that, he nodded to himself.
"A challenge for another day then."
WIth that, he worked on that mountain of meats instead, chewing thoughtlessly as he watched the Director check her phone once more. He watched, and then, his eyes narrowed, just a little bit. Bad news from the battlefield. He stopped eating altogether when she got up, telling the duo to follow her.
"Guess we were drafted," Brent muttered to Sophia. He plucked the ice cube from his glass and tossed it in his mouth, crunching down on it as he jogged to catch up with the Director. He was totally fine with showing off his powers. He was even fine with fighting when there was already a hole in his dominant arm. But Sophia going to battle? What sort of monster ability did she have, for such a timid kid to get sent there?
He disliked that...but he was also curious.
The night air felt pleasant against his flushed skin. It had ultimately been only a sip or two, and while the initial effects were a surprise, Brent could say that his thoughts were lucid once more, and he no longer had the desire to take off his own top. Especially not when he was going to have to compete with Shane's bandaged yet muscled figure. The Director, if nothing else, seemed against it, but, on the other hand...
Such determination was absolutely lovely.
"You're planning on dying for them or something?"
A question to test the waters.
The heavily bandaged Arbiter looked towards Brent for the first time, stiff anger on his face softening at the familiar figure. He quirked a weak grin before replying, "Don't even joke. If Decker heard that, he'd literally sew my ass to the floor and use me as a footstool--oh, sorry. Decker's the healer I told you about earlier."
The thought of his dead teammate set something else in motion and the student took a deep breath, groaning as he forced himself to stand up straight. He eyed the Director, his conviction adamant even as his body screamed in every soundless way.
"I--" he started to speak, only to be interrupted by Director Zhang.
"If you manage not to fall apart before reaching the battlefield, I'll approve the request."
"Wh--really?" The incredulity in his voice was mirrored in the surprise on his face.
"Really," and something in the Director's tone immediately made the student's almond eyes narrow suspiciously. He was justified a second later. "And you'll take these two with you," she gestured neatly at the two students behind her.
"You're...completely serious," he stared at the injured kids behind her. "Do they even know how to fight?"
"They'll learn soon enough. I'm just helping them earn their stripes," the Director replied with a faint smile. "But the next time you decide to cause a commotion in my office, Mr. Alkana, I won't hesitate to shoot you somewhere vital. Be glad Ms. Schur was there to prevent Commander Kardos from doing the same. I take it she also pointed you here?"
"Mr. Alkana" nodded quietly.
"I'll let the issue slide this once. Thank Mr. Roless for that," she nodded at the boy behind her. "Commander Kardos will forward coordinates to your phone, as well as the positions of healers and relevant information about their powers. We have two in the current batch. Make sure you take advantage of them."
The student's phone was in his hand almost immediately as he sifted through the information streaming in. Once he had given everything a careful enough glance to catch all the necessary details, he pocketed the standard-issue IP69 phone all certified personnel were required to carry.
Without another word, the student took a deep breath and stepped backwards several meters. A brief moment passed before glimmering, pale blue hexagons danced in the air around him, the shapes sliding into and out of each other aimlessly as they drew themselves rapidly on his body and flaked off, folding and shifting at impossible angles.
The Director stepped aside quickly, giving the group plenty of space as the Arbiter formed the crystalline skeleton of a winged creature around himself and the other two students. The magical construct slowly filled itself in around them, flickering hexagonal lights dancing all along its body. The student stopped every so often to create more of the crystalline solid around his body, slowly maneuvering more and more pieces onto the rough skeleton.
"You could have taken the trucks," she pointed out, the spectacle quite a sight to behold no matter how often she saw it.
"This is faster and gives me more ammunition," the Arbiter replied without missing a beat.
It was true, of course, but she wondered how much of it was out of efficiency and how much was out of his need to look impressive no matter his state.
When the impossible avian was finished, it resembled a sharp, stylized hawk with six wings and a svelte body, the entirety of it meticulously faceted and sparkling like it had been made from flawless diamonds. Ritzy. The glittering hexagons that signified the Arbiter's power in effect only made the giant bird even more conspicuous and the remaining people in the dining hall were crowding up against the glass of the doors and windows to watch. With the Director armed and in view, however, they didn't dare step outside.
Director Zhang had to resist scoffing as she eyed the group of three now nestled snugly in the hollow of the crystal bird's chest. Impressive for display and efficient for the sheer quantity of the material generated in advance. She hadn't selected him as the original team leader for his pink hair, that much was certain. And then there was something to be said for the stability of his personality. Despite everything that had fallen apart throughout the year, he had never lost the little idiosyncrasies that made him unique--from the carefully brushed dye job on his fringe cut to the bits of flair in everything he did. Rosa had been confident in this student's success from day one. The Director had to admit that for all her silliness, the woman had yet to be wrong.
Inside the glowing bird, the Arbiter heaved a pained breath and sat down while the construct simultaneously took off towards the battlefield, flapping its six wings only for show. The magical effects still drifted off his body, but he didn't seem any worse for the wear even after creating something as wide as one of the dorm buildings.
After several moments of catching his breath, he looked up. And grimaced. Oh, Jesus. Icebreakers. It was day one with his team all over again.
"So...uh...my name's Shane and I generate," he gestured briefly at the bird with his hand, "this stuff within a hundred meters or so of my body. Can't do it if anything's in the way. Fine control is within 300 meters, but I can roughly maneuver this stuff for about 500 meters, so I've got range. Looks like some kind of crystal, so they just call it crystal, but the properties are apparently 'off the charts' and have the researchers freaking out. I dunno.
In combat I really just shape it into something sharp, throw it at things, and hope it works out. I can only manipulate what I create, but I can't really make a ton more while moving the stuff. Tends to just make both aspects worse.
Last thing: I am on enough painkillers to probably give birth through my dick and not feel it, so that should tell you how much this damn injury hurts. Which is to say, if I don't look stoked about meeting you, it's a lie. I'm stoked. I'd be treating you guys to a home-cooked meal right about now if shit wasn't hitting the fan."
While Brent had his drink and exchanged words with Director Zhang, Sophia focused on her meal. She ate quickly and neatly, though she still kept an eye on the people seated beside her. The good food combined with her hunger made her plate empty at a quick rate, but she was still only half done when she heard the Director mention her name along with an order. Putting down her fork, she stood up as the Director did so, now even more worried. The wariness that she felt as a pistol was revealed didn't last long as she heard Brent's remark. It was replaced with fear. They had been drafted? She was pretty sure that the only thing you could be drafted for here was for fighting.
Trailing slightly behind as the two began walk, her unpleasant thoughts continued from where she had forced them to stop while in the cafeteria. Thoughts about how useless she would be in fighting, how that meant she would probably die, about how she didn't want to die yet. They excited the building, but she barely noticed until someone approached them and began to speak. She pressed the palms of her hands over her eyes for a second before removing them. Focus. Pay attention.
Listening to the conversation between the Mr. Alkana and Director, it was soon unfortunately clear to her that she would be joining the man on the battlefield, along with Brent. Did she know how to fight? No. Was this fighting going to help her earn her stripes? No. Glancing over at Brent, she wondered if his power was more useful than hers, and if he was scared or just viewing this as an exercise or something like that.
When the strange blue hexagons appeared out of thin air as a result of Mr. Alkana using his magic, she watched carefully, her eyes flicking from one hexagon to the next. A little of her fear was forgotten as the shapes began to form around them, creating some kind of a many winged bird. It looked amazing when it was finished, but at the same time it made her feel so much smaller and insignificant. So that was what his power could do.
A soft gasp escaped her as the creation lifted off the ground with her inside it. This was one kind of flying that she had not tried before. The man began to speak from his position on the floor, and she made sure to repeat it to herself inside her head so she would remember it. After Shane went on to let them know in a little too much detail how much pain he was in and expressed how stoked he was to see them, all she did was nod, her arms now crossed. Now she needed to figure out how to introduce herself.
Brent smiled back, that beautiful expression this time tinged with something genuine. Good, that was an answer he could fight for. There's no meaning after all in saving everyone else if you weren't going to save yourself, after all. The best ending was where all the monsters died and all the good guys survived, and aiming for anything else wasn't a sign of naivety. It was a sign of being a weak-spined bitch.
Before he could dwell too much on all this, though, Zhang decided to approve Shane's request as well, and apparently, she did it because of something he did?
"Wait, what did I d- ho shit, that's a big bird."
A giant eagle with six wings, made entirely out of goddamn DIAMONDS, stood up above them all, a construction created from someone who was just recently bisected. This...wasn't even Shane's full power then, and the thought of it made Brent shiver. It was almost pointlessly gaudy, and definitely a waste of energy if one thought from a purely combative point of view, but goddamn, it was going to be one badass ride to whereever they were heading.
The inside of the bird was equally resplendent and luxurious. Though a hard crystal surface didn't make it the most comfortable seat around, Brent was way too busy trying to pick out all the details to care. He was even too excited to realize that, considering his own power, they really would have been better getting driven there on an armored truck that was probably loaded to the brim with weapons.
Once Shane finished with his own explanation, Brent said, "Sharp shit getting thrown usually does do something, so hey, useful shit's useful. And I'm Brent Roless, 18 years old, would be graduating from high school if it wasn't for sudden surprise superpowers. I can magically scientifically improve objects with my power, basically. Had researchers celebrating until they realized that magical technology was more magical than technological."
"A homecooked meal does sound nice though. After us three musketeers save the day, wanna have a BBQ party with all the other battling dudes? Oh, wait, Sophia, you're not a vegetarian, are you?"
She was clamping up again, after all, so perhaps a lighter topic would get her to start talking again. Hopefully.
Brent could improve items scientifically using his magic, that was interesting. Now it was her turn to say something, but she wasn't ready to speak yet. Since Brent had mentioned his age and grade, should she do that as well? Too bad the two others hadn't talked for longer. Sophia swallowed hard, then decided to answer Brent's question first. "No, just... no beef." Her voice was soft and whisper-like. There, now he had his answer.
After a second, she continued. "I... I'm Sophia Lemane." She paused again, this time for longer. Each second she remained silent made her feel more and more tense, and she uncrossed and uncrossed her arms. She knew they were waiting for her to say something. Time to say something, she thought desperately. Like, now would be a good time to begin.
Sophia opened her mouth, then closed it. Now beginning to count the seconds that passed in her head, it was after another five slow counts before she managed to speak again. "I'm thirteen." She drew a breath, not looking at either of them and turning to that her side was towards them. "I should be in 8th grade." She really hated how wavering her voice sounded. "And for my power... I can, like, either see through translucent things, see in the dark, or... uh... see all around me. 360-degree vision." She bit her lip before adding, "But I don't think I can see living things..." Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.
"So, recon and item buff," Shane mused after they finished. He pulled out the Institute-issued phone again, checking through the information Commander Kardos had forwarded. The list had been updated to include Brent and Sophia once the Director had ordered the two onto the battlefield, but he had wanted to get a genuine introduction in. Cross-checking what they mentioned with the given information, Shane was glad to not be dealing with any pathological liars. Because that sure hadn't been fun the first fucking time.
Satisfied, he tapped the phone's edge against his leg, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression while he stared at Brent.
Before long, a small chunk of the construct's body split from the inner wall near Brent and hovered in front of the boy. The piece was as long as his forearm and dangerously sharp, tapering down to a needlepoint tip.
"That. Can you improve that?"
"No idea what I'm supposed to..."
Brent stopped and thought for a moment. No, this was a sharp point, meant to be used as a projectile, magically launched via Shane's manipulation. The function would be to pierce then. So, in order to improve that...
He grasped the crystalline arrow, before reaching into his inner reserves. Silver veins raced from his shoulders to his hands, before extending into the weapon itself. He felt a momentary drain in energy as the quicksilver left from his fingertips, before, rather suddenly, it retracted, flowing back into his body. Brent blinked, before releasing the object.
"Weird. Pretty certain I can improve rocks and shit, but I can't do anything with this."
"Okay," Shane nodded, seemingly unsurprised. The shard melded smoothly back into the eagle's body. He tapped his phone against his leg again before continuing. "Can you improve guns?"
"The best use for my power, really. Though I never actually tried it yet."
"Does it last permanently?"
Brent laughed. "If it did, that would have made my first time so much easier. Five minutes, tops, but I can refresh it by buffing it again. And I can do that three times, at the risk of making it explode...so 15 minutes."
"Retrospectively shoulda raided that truck before we went on our magical journey, eh?"
A snort of laughter followed by a quick wince was all Brent got as a reaction before Shane doubled over again, breathing hard for several long seconds. When the Arbiter finally recovered, he nodded again, filing away the small details for later use.
"Definitely trucks and soldiers there," he commented before flashing Brent a sheepish grin. "Was gonna have you buff my phone if it lasted longer."
"Gotta get a better inferface to deal with those bullshit Angry Birds levels?" Brent cracked. He really should stop this, considering Shane's whole die-on-the-inside-with-every-joke deal, but it just came so easily.
Shane shook his head with a grin, biting his lower lip to stymie the laugh. After a while, he huffed a quick "Hah, you know it." His eyes lit up as a thought came to mind. "Wait, what happens if you try that on your shirt?"
"My shirt?" Brent gave Shane a look, before turning to his own bloodspecked shirt. "Hm..."
Placing his hands upon his shirt, the amethyst-eyed youth pushed silver circuitry from his heart to the shirt once more. The lines traced all over the textile, before glowing vibrantly. Each individual fiber burst away from him, temporarily revealing Brent's toned pecs and his taut stomach, before they wrapped around him once more. He let out a soft hiss as the oddly warm cloth touched his skin, before it all 'cooled down'. N0 NAME was emblazoned on the front of the white shirt. It now felt noticeably more comfortable, and Brent was fairly certain that it kept him warmer as well, but...
"Yeah, that's pretty much it. Guess it made it more comfortable? Changed the material?"
"Damn. No extra defense, then," Shane replied, disappointed.
"Think it needs to function as armor to begin with."
Duly noting the distinction, Shane nodded and turned to Sophia.
"So, Recon. How far can you see?"
"Uh..." Tilting her head to one side, she tried to estimate the range of her power. "Ninety... or a hundred feet?"
"Hmm, that's not too far," Shane was looking at his phone again, gauging the ETA from the coordinates. 11.6 miles north of Crimen Culpae 1's border was typically 12-18 minutes by the interstate, so if he wasn't heading in the completely wrong direction, their travel method would have them there in little over five or six minutes, and at least two had passed since takeoff.
He was tempted to push the speed even faster than the rapid 190 or so kilometers per hour they were already going at, but moving this quantity of his supernatural crystal any faster would actually put a strain on him. He was saving strains and pains and all that general bitching for the actual battlefield, so with a quiet grumble Shane went through the notes on the emergency instead.
An attack from Menagerie. Okay. Ramifications of that later.
42 category one hostiles and 1 potential category three on the northern outskirts, 21 students sortied, 6 soldiers on standby to escort them, 17 of them brand new. He trusted Ethan to handle the majority of Menagerie's category one types with ease, but Shane had never been one to leave the heavy lifting to his teammates. The amount of enemies concentrated in one location was also suspicious.
Nice guy reputation or not, Menagerie had never been known to be stupid. If the Precursor had truly wanted to attack the Institute, it would have been a simple matter to amass literal hundreds or thousands of creatures somewhere safe and march them to the school before their week-long expiration period hit. East's last year had been unbearably difficult and an all-out attack at the school's weakest moment would have easily accomplished an objective like "obliterate."
So that probably wasn't the objective.
That, or this wasn't Menagerie, which meant Shane was working with an entirely different set of similar-looking powers and limitations. The phone's information page noted the "Menagerie" target designation as a manual input from the Director herself, so supposedly the information was trustworthy. But the pieces didn't fit and he didn't have enough information to understand why.
A sigh of frustration escaped his lips. It was pointless to consider angles where Dreamcatcher's magic was involved, so he'd have to just wing it under the assumption this was Menagerie's power. Technically speaking, the creatures shouldn't have posed much of a threat and he half-expected to arrive at the battlefield just to mop things up.
But two years fighting against Dreamcatcher's monsters had honed Shane's instincts to a fine edge, and it was that instinct combined with a strange dream about Decker that had woken him up in a panic earlier. When the phone displayed his teammates as "Sortied," he had practically torn the hospital wall apart to get to the Director's office. The structural damage would repair itself, courtesy of more utility-centric mages the Director had 'acquired' through deals made with the other USARILNs, and punishment had been the least of his concerns then.
If the Director wanted to throw him in one of the containment chambers for a month afterwards, he'd take it. So long as he could make sure his teammates survived to tease him about it. The furrow in his brow worsened when no one from his team responded to the brief message he sent as a cursory check. A simple location ping in response would have sufficed--and they knew it.
Assuming the cuffs weren't malfunctioning--and they never had as far as Shane knew--his team was still very much alive. Which meant they were extremely occupied at the moment.
"Okay, here's how this is going to work," he addressed the two in front of him, "We're going in assuming everything's at least a category two--so dangerous enough to wipe out a few city blocks with ease, in short. There was a recent update that changed one of the targets to a category three, but until I figure out which one that is, we're going in a little blind. No notes on high-flyers, so I'll be keeping us in the air until we get a better grasp of how everyone's doing on the field. Sophia, when we're close enough to the ground for you to use your power, I'll need you to light up and tell me if any of the monsters have structural weaknesses--" he held up a hand to explain in case she was going to point out again that she couldn't see living things.
"Generally speaking, their magical bodies are usually 'alive' and have varying resistances and properties, but anything that's not magically incorporated into them often follow the laws of this world, and more often than not don't have that same quality that makes them 'living.' I've seen plenty of exceptions, so don't take that too literally, but against category ones and twos, that little rule of thumb is a safe bet. Against Menagerie's spawns, it's a really safe bet. If you can spot it, I'll shoot it."
"We're getting pretty close so I'll keep the rest short. Once we're there, I'm breaking the bird apart for ammunition and keeping us in a floating chunk of crystal unless one of you wants the floor. If I find any weapons in range, Brent, I'll see if I can spare the concentration to bring them up to us. Let me know if you spot something, or better yet, ask Sophia."
He looked between the two of them before his mouth quirked into a small smile.
"Any questions?" he joked, knowing full well they probably a million tangent questions they weren't going to ask for now.
Brent had a million tangent questions that he wasn't going to ask at the moment, but he also had a couple of important ones that he did plan to ask. After all, though he was a hard-headed tryhard, he also wasn't THAT emotionally insensitive. It didn't take much to put two and two together as he watched Shane drift into quiet contemplation about everything that was going on. He WAS concerned for his team, even if he focused more on the mission than on salvation.
Probably out of concern for the two plebs that were cramping up his bird-space, really.
"Yup. Describe your team for me. Dunno how many you can magically float, but seems like East's having a bad time with mortality rates and all. If it looks like hell's not on earth yet, maybe I can drop down and get them in the air with you?"
And then you can stop worrying about them and unleash your full power?
Stupid thoughts like that crossed Brent's mind, but the core concept was the same. Destroying the enemy and rescuing your allies were both win conditions, but doing both, simultaneously or consecutively? Bi-winning~!
"If something's giving them trouble, you're better off staying topside. As for what they do..." Shane swallowed and grinned again.
"Ethan's got my gear at the moment, so he should be pretty shiny since he's our personal snappy solarbeam. Kind of. Throws exploding balls of magic. They're really fucking bright. Myla's the only sensible noggin in the group now and she's got cutting lines that she needs to draw and launch. Looks like neon lights from afar. Genevieve's our precocious barrier maiden, because that's exactly what she does with attitude. Hurts her when the barrier takes damage. And Eric's our good guy Steve--wait, that sounds weird; good guy Greg, that was it--he's our backup power supply. We run out of juice, we tap Eric for more." He stopped a second, grin settling down into a rueful smile. "And that's my team."
"Sounds super flashy," Brent said. So Genevieve was the protector, who can use Eric to maintain the whole group's defenses if her own energy runs out, while everyone else had some form of long range offensive ability, huh? It really did sound like they were a 'safe' team then, especially if they could turn their 'fortress' into a flying 'battleship' with Shane's ability. Toss in Decker's healing, and it made sense that the main team could stick around for so long.
Well, at least until now.
"Well, here's to hoping there IS a chance for me to go...bottomside then. Never actually shot a gun before, so it'd probably be a bad time, trying to hit things from afar...unless you wanna do drive by shootings? Got some thug music on that phone of yours?"
"You've never...?" Shane looked surprised at the revelation that Brent had never shot anything before. He had been used to students coming in knowing a lot of hokey self-defense and gun habits, because between displaced people-turned-criminals and smaller Dreamcatcher monsters, the last ten years had a lot of good reasons for civilians to become roughshod militia.
"Never mind on buffing a gun," he quickly recovered from the surprise, reevaluating how best to put Brent to use. "Has to be a melee weapon, then, since we can't trust your aim. But sending you down.... I'll decide once we see what the battlefield looks like. Speaking of--we're almost there."
He pointed towards the near distance, but even from their height of nearly five hundred meters above ground level, it was hard to miss the two massive green circles drawn in the air above where the fighting was happening. Another stroke of luck: there was enough moonlight in the clear night sky to make out the military trucks parked near the moving figures and grotesque monsters. "I should be able to see Ethan from here. I don't."
As if on cue a flash of emerald light colored the distant battlefield a sickening green before fading, and a mist in the same shade of green quickly obscured the fighting.
"Of course," Shane muttered, slowing the bird down as they neared their destination.
When they had covered enough ground to see more details, and Ethan's typically eye-searing presence still wasn't in plain view, Shane breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. Later.
Confirming his teammates' safety came second to regaining control of the battlefield, as much as it grinded his gears to set those priorities. He shifted his focus to the mass of crystal he was moving, fully concentrating on the needlessly fantastic bird. Flair aside, moving one large hunk of the material was a hell of a lot easier than moving multiple pieces at the same speed for the same distance, but if he was going to take the time to prep that much beforehand, it would at least look better than some floating, misshapen mass.
In the painkiller-induced haze that glazed over a good chunk of his consciousness, a dumb conversation with Decker came to mind.
"Literally, how do you even handle yourself, you flashy motherfucker?"
"Fabulously," Shane had responded, sliding breakfast across the table to a fresh-out-of-bed Decker blinking the sleep from his grey eyes.
"In what shithole of a universe is it okay for you to wake me up at--" he had squinted at the square, glass wall clock striped with blues, purples, and whites (and without any actual tick marks for the damn times) "--five in the fucking morning to check out a new...piano outlet?"
"Loro Piana, Decks, get it right. Quality cashmere in CC1? We need to be there at oh-800 sharp for the grand opening."
"Am I allowed to kindly fuck off from another of your damn shopping trips?" Decker had groused magnificently, digging angrily into the Eggs Benedict in front of him.
"Sacrilege. Where would I be without your keen eye and sharp tongue denigrating my every move?"
The healer had snorted, scratching at an itch in his sun-kissed brown nest of a morning bedhead.
"Probably still going around putting the moves on people by sticking crystal flowers in their hair. Like the sap you are." He had chewed thoughtfully on the food for a while before continuing, "And probably still making your retarded animals on the field. 'Cept you still do that. And I think it's just to piss me off at this point."
"Yeah, probably," Shane had agreed, sitting down with his own plate.
The construct's six wings split apart from the main body, feathers like blades serrating into existence all along the wingspan and reshaping into layered spears of crystal that eventually detached from the main body. Shane slowed the bird down gradually, having learned his lesson a long time ago about sudden stops. The creature's shape diminished steadily and methodically as shards flecked away from its form, shifting into sharp weapons instead. While the bird's body broke down to its core, Shane maintained a thick barrier around the floating group, reinforcing it slowly while repositioning the almost invisible air slits towards the ceiling of the barrier--away from the green mist settling across the combatants.
By the time the mass of crystal came to a stop above the battlefield, most of it was a sparkling array of vertically aligned javelins each at least 30 meters in length. They centered around a smooth sphere of the same material, with the bottom sixth of the sphere filled in to make a level floor where two people stood beside an injured third person sitting down.
Shane pulled out his phone, tapping Decker's name out of habit before cutting off that communications line and reconnecting to Ethan instead.
"Eyes up, guys. Give me priority targets."
β
Shane's voice blaring from the phone in his pocket had Ethan stock-still with surprise. Then he had looked up to behold Shane's typical method of air support--raining sharp things down from afar. Except with Shane, those sharp things would hammer down, then drill until they broke whatever flesh the DC creature was sporting. Or they'd bury themselves into the ground and detonate as crystalline land mines. And then Shane would move closer until his power's fine control could pick up the crystal particles and repurpose them for more damage output.
For fleshier things, crystal dust could tear them apart from the inside out before they even realized what was happening.
"The next Merlin" was how a lot of the older students at the Institute referred to Shane, but last Ethan checked, Merlin just fired various elements at things. He didn't get creative with combat. He didn't get down and dirty. He didn't play for keeps.
And Shane had thoroughly blamed Ethan for the fiasco that had lost them Decker.
As terrible as he had felt for thinking it, Ethan had been glad when Shane had been hospital-benched for the weeks following that fuck-up. It was a harrowing experience knowing that if Shane really lost his shit, Ethan would be dead before he could even retaliate. Except that Shane never lost his shit. And that was somehow scarier.
"You fucked up," was all Shane had deigned to say the last time Ethan had been coerced into visiting him in the hospital two weeks ago. He hadn't visited since.
When he didn't pick up his phone immediately, Myla pulled out hers, instead, entirely too aware of why Ethan was hesitating. And entirely too aware that this wasn't the time for that kind of nonsense, especially as the poisonous fog seemed to progress its effects. She held her stomach for a moment, waiting for the fluttering sensation to pass.
"Two PTs," she answered at last, "golem construct on us is a potential cat three. Converter or regenerator. Has a core somewhere in the chest. Second PT is a caster--it's emitting the green fog. Stuff's poison, so stay out of it."
"Caster near you guys?" Shane's voice had a strained edge to it, and Myla knew it was the injury.
"No, source was around 150, 160 meters from us. I don't have a pinpoint. Golem's making no moves for now, so PT1 is the caster."
"Where are the others?"
Ethan flinched at the question.
"Ethan's with me. Out of juice. Gen and Eric are out cold--can you get the three of them up safely?"
"Wait, what?" Ethan spun around at the suggestion. "What about you?"
"I'm staying down to be the spotter," Myla responded, tone brokering no argument. She drew a line straight upwards from where she stood.
The golem's head followed the neon pink line as it extended upwards, past the green mist.
In response, Shane hovered closer to the ground, until he was in range to fine tune ten of the spears into a large, bowl-shaped cradle, maneuvering it several meters away from Myla's line.
When the cradle (bowl) dropped slowly beside her, the golem moved forward, its arm reaching for the new object.
"Get back!" Myla shouted, moving away immediately, though her gait was unsteady in the worsening nausea. Ethan was already moving with a quiet groan, having recovered from the shock of Shane's appearance.
"What's--" the rest of Shane's question was muffled in the golem's rumbling approach.
In the air, Shane swore. The location markers on the phone's display showed him right above a group of dots with labels corresponding to Myla, Ethan, Lawrence, and a pair of new students--Hazel and Kusari, but it was too risky to gauge safe shots from just that, and the green fog was blocking most of his visuals.
The fog needed to go. Immediately. On top of being poisonous, obstructing his line of sight was wasting time he could be helping.
Slamming a hundred of the javelins together into five ceiling fan blades each about 50 meters in length, he aligned them into a circle and rotated them. Really fast.
Simplest solution and all that: a giant fan.
The effect was entirely expected: the downwash mixing of clear air pushing into the fog layer dispersed the green air below. Focused on rotating the fan blades at speeds fast enough to produce winds that could snap power lines and moving the entire setup across the battlefield, Shane couldn't spare the attention for precise attacks, yet--and he sure as hell wasn't about to rain the rest of the spears down willy-nilly. But getting a clear view of the fight was a crucial advantage for him, especially if the caster could produce more fog on the fly and render his efforts wasted. Myla was right--that would be the first target.
A bit of strain tugged on the back of his mind, and his injuries reminded him that they'd be coming back in full force once the painkillers wore off. Keeping his breaths shallow to avoid aggravating much of his torso, Shane blocked out the background noise with a refocus on every bit of crystal he had at the ready. The cradle near Myla caught his attention, and he wanted to leave off on the fan and just get his team out of there, first, but finding the caster was arguably more important here.
Again, he set those priorities and turned away from the now easy sight of Genevieve and Eric unconscious while a hulking, black golem lumbered towards others nearby.
As luck would have it, the golem stopped its advance in the wake of Shane's improvised fan.
Below, Ethan and Myla breathed a bit easier--though the nausea remained--as the poison fog dissipated and the golem preoccupied itself studying the floating spears above it.
While the makeshift fan made its way across the battlefield, the people and creatures below were hit hard by the cold, buffeting winds that whisked away the layer of mist, restoring full sight to the area as well as the ready support above.
Emerging from the forest with a limp Gregory in tow, Hector was the picture of a child ready to throw a tantrum. One that wouldn't come that day as a sniper bullet streaked through the air towards his head.
The metal slug flickered away as it made contact with Hector's forehead and pierced through Miranda's head instead, the creature's entire form flickering violently before losing corporeality. Gregory fell through its body and landed heavily on the dirt and leaves below.
"The next shot will kill you, Rivers. Do not move. Your pet won't be able to take another hit for you," Commander Kardos's voice rang out from the cuff as Hector stood still.
"He's not even dead!" Hector shouted, shrill in his irritation and surprise. Miranda was wholly transparent beside him, her form now ghostly, her outline wisping at the edges.
"Do not move."
Soldiers came for Hector soon afterwards, clapping suppression cuffs on his wrists before they led him away. Under the increased suppression, Miranda faded even further.
"I just wanted to play with someone..." he grumbled as they led him away.
Another group of soldiers checked Gregory's vitals before calling for a paramedics team.
When they arrived, they lifted the boy onto a gurney and strapped him down, moving him to the nearby ambulance and taking him back to the hospital building he had just left not two hours ago.
Instinctive knowledge of power basics. Not the fine details. In response to the question in the collab, she can ballpark an answer or be unsure.
For future reference, if you've asked in Discord, you don't usually need to ask again in another medium unless a day or two goes by without anyone answering the question.
The golem hadn't moved. That was the strange part. "Docile" was a word that had stopped applying to DC creatures 10 years ago, and now one was behaving in a way no one had seen since before The Slumber.
Which meant it was watching. And waiting. But for what?
Myla had no faith in luck and miracles. Where a hopeful would think this creature an exception, she saw only patience and maybe cold, careful thought. It had probably known Ethan's attack wouldn't harm it--at least not meaningfully. So it had let the attack connect to test the waters. If this was the strongest mage on the field, it likely had no need to worry about the rest.
"Maybe." "Probably." "Likely."
She knew she was projecting her own rationale too far onto a sentience with motivations no one had figured out, but it was either baseless speculation or mindless worry.
Why was it waiting? Previous encounters with DC creatures had always shown intelligent aggression--higher order thoughts and self-awareness. But never this calculating patience. Unsettling.
The past year had shown increasingly devious machinations from DC's monsters. Like they were learning. Like they were communicating, somehow. Where the creatures' initial rampage had been nothing but a worldwide raid with little organization, their current bouts with humanity were shaping into more formal tactics. And in humanity's complacency bolstered by nine years of a deadlocked battlefield, everyone had made mistakes, including the impeccable Director Zhang. One bad call after another and Myla had watched her team members die one by one as the creatures adopted more advanced tactics--reconning, baiting, ambushing, trapping.
And now this.
If it was going to do anything, it'd be...
One fell swoop.
Half of China gone in one large siege.
Grenada lost to a kraken's tidal wave.
Liechtenstein razed to the ground by a shell-backed titan pouring liquid fire across the land.
Nauru obliterated in a 9.3 Richter scale earthquake that completely subsumed the tiny country and part of the nearby Solomon Islands, with aftershocks extending as far as the US's western seaboard.
Had it not been for the simultaneous explosion of magical humans around the world the day Dreamcatcher abandoned them to their fate, Myla was sure the monsters would have finished what they had started a long, long time ago.
The golem was waiting for the full force of the gathered students to kill them all at once. Efficient. And it knew, she was damn sure it knew, that they would come.
"Ethan. I think it wants to kill us all--at once."
Ethan had just opened his mouth to respond when one of the new students tottered over on uneven legs, quipping about imminent death and how the senior students weren't living up to their reputations--but it wasn't the time to get into that banter. This one clearly wasn't in full control of her powers and had no place near a category three. Especially not one confident enough to just wait for 19 or so mages to gather and ready up.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed at Kusari. "Get back to the other groups. You can't be here--"
The ground rumbled as the golem's jagged, obsidian body separated into smaller chunks, segmenting at every rock that comprised the whole. The fragments swirled around a briefly visible axis of glowing, white lines unevenly aligned in cylindrical formation around a dense sphere of opaque, gray mist. As the core slowly rose into the air and shifted until it was out of the hole, the whirlwind of stone reassembled itself into the golem configuration again, now standing placidly on the rim of the hole.
Whatever damage it had accrued from standing directly in the center of Ethan's attack was gone and the menacing body of sharp, black rocks towered an ominous 15m above the nearby combatants. The creature's newly repaired torso was now wide enough to fully crush the entire group should it simply fall over.
It made no further movements, but the uneven, featureless rock that sat on its 'torso' seemed to be inclined in Kusari's direction.
Ethan and Myla had immediately moved in front of Kusari when the golem changed its form, and now they stood protectively in front of her, long breaths and strained vision spelling out their condition without a word on their part.
Myla was the first to catch the sound of another pair of approaching footsteps.
"Get back!" she shouted, turning around just enough to make sure the command was heard.
"Better yet, all of you get away!" Ethan followed up the order with a weak orb of light in his hand. It wasn't the intimidating effect he had hoped for. But they needed to back off. He couldn't stall for time and protect them.
Before he could throw more weight around, a flash of light from one of the monsters caught the periphery of his vision and a green mist rolled over the entire battlefield, slightly obscuring sight and swamping him with sudden nausea and disorientation.
"Holy s-shit," Ethan clapped a hand to his mouth as his stomach threatened to empty its contents.
Myla was reeling in much the same way as she struggled to resist the overwhelming urge to sit down.
Green poison mist all over the battlefield. Mild nausea and disorientation is the appetizer. "Bone app the teeth." 8D
Do whatever you want to the golem. It won't respond.
Kusari's leg will cut through the superficial layer of its body after several swipes, but it won't really affect much. Additionally, her body will heal through the poison's weak opener constantly, so she'll only feel the lightest of effects. Hardly noticeable. For now. She will, hopefully, notice that her power is constantly on and seems to be gradually increasing in strength to counteract the effects as the poison gets stronger. You don't need to worry about this for now. Just take note of it as the poison's effects progress in subsequent posts.
Hazel's attacks will harm it like a living thing. No displacement. Also not much damage.
"Keep an eye on them. As long as it remains harmless, do not interfere."
...
"Then fire at will. Aim to disable, not kill."
She hung up a second later, placing the phone down on the bar counter where it continued flashing rapidly with more notifications from trackers and automated messages.
"Another?" the dignified man behind the counter asked her. He looked to be in his 50's, clean-shaven and aged gracefully enough that vestiges of a sharp face from youth still remained in alpine cheekbones and chiseled jaw. His graying hair showed hints of the original blonde and his deep-set, blue eyes matched the Director's for sharpness. In his prime, he likely would have cut an intense figure. Tempered with time, he was now wholly impressive. A thin, brushed-metal name tag displayed a surprisingly normal name: Steven.
"Two," Zhang replied.
Steven had just finished mixing the drinks when approaching footsteps drew Zhang's attention. She didn't turn to look, but her mind ran through several scenarios as she picked up another phone call.
Her public appearances were usually met with general avoidance and silence minus a few notable exceptions--Steven being one of them. Last she had checked, the other usual suspects were nowhere near the dining hall. Which left the alternative: students looking for retribution, validation, or resolutions she didn't have.
"Director Lina Zhang speaking."
When Brent Roless ordered "Bourbon. On the rocks," she sighed inwardly. Validation, then. Ordering bourbon without a name, sitting right beside her when the bar counter was otherwise empty, and making sure another student was around to tip the odds in his favor.
The voice on the other end of the line finished speaking.
"Understood. Preparations are already underway. If that's all...?"
Steven raised an eyebrow at the student, but didn't protest. There were no particular rules against alcohol at USARILN East, only that if the bartender refused to serve someone, that someone would have to find intoxication somewhere else or risk the consequences.
Zhang hung up, raising a hand to catch the bartender's attention.
"Give him the SCN Wild Turkey, rocks, with a water back and a straw," she nodded to Steven, catching the order before the bartender pulled out one of the house brands.
"Bit strong, wouldn't you say?" Steven reached for a russet bottle on the top shelf.
"Just helping him earn his stripes," Zhang chuckled.
The drink was served in an Old Fashioned glass, with a chaser glass of water and a straw beside it.
Zhang sipped from her cocktail as she eyed Brent, waiting for him to try the cask-strength, 120-proof bourbon.
No? Well, when she was basically two seats away from the most powerful person on the campus, the same person who practically threatened their lives and killed one of her own men just yesterday, Brent supposed that Sophiaβs reaction, that of trying to stay as unnoticeable as possible, made more sense than what he was doing. Well, it made more sense, but it was also losing, in a way.
βAh, a glass of wa-β
Before he could finish his request, however, the Director got off her phone and adjusted his order for him. Wild Turkey? Rocks? Water back? And why a straw? What did all those even mean? For someone like Brent, who really only drank the occasional can of beer during a particularly audacious house party, all this was pretty much lost on him.
βA challenge from the Director herself?β Brent smiled, beaming with confidence that he really shouldnβt have at all. βIβll gratefully accept then.β
With that, the drink was served, and a glass of water was placed as well. Blinking, the amethyst-eyed youth nodded slowly. Truly, Steve was an experienced man, to be able to tell what his complete order was without even needing to hear the entire sentence. Itβd probably have been better if the glass was a bit bigger, but, well, maybe thatβs just how it is for classy establishments.
Sliding the chaser glass to Sophia, Brent looked at the βgauntletβ that was thrown. Was this something he chugged? Sipped? The straw implied the latter, but the former was all he did in the past. Really, he needed to take note of these sorts of drinks in the future. Figure out what the hell they meant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Director Zhang casually look over, assessing him.
Alright, no more pussy-footing around. ALL IN. ALL OUT. LETβS GOOO.
Mustering up his determination, Brent grabbed the glass, brought it to his lips, and chugged.
For the entirety of a split second, before it felt like he just got punched in the nose by a heavyweight boxer. Before he could sputter out the burning concoction, he forcefully gulped it down and felt live coals run down his throat. Perhaps, if he was experienced, he would have noticed the wonderful flavors and the deep, mature texture, but all he felt was fire and blood. His heart was pounding in his reddened ears as his eyes watered ferociously. He was almost tempted to slam down the glass, but instead, restrained himself.
Slowly, he brought the glass down, one-third finished, before letting out a long, long sigh. His tongue was numb, every part of his body was just soβ¦so uncomfortably hot. But his thoughts were still his own, and, with a lopsided grin, he laughed, βWhat the fuck is this?β
"Your dignity slipping away," the Director replied, managing to look both amused and unimpressed at the same time. She stared pointedly at the flush rising up Brent's throat and face with the tiniest of smirks and a subtly arched eyebrow. He looked like he was going to burst into tears at any second. Validated something all right.
Before she could continue, a humming vibration from her phone scattered the relaxed atmosphere and the Director was all business again. A quick check of the screen followed by an inscrutably blank expression for several seconds revealed nothing other than the palpable tension. Eventually, she tapped the screen rapidly, responding to the message.
"Mr. Roless. Ms. Lemane. Come with me," the Director spoke curtly. She reached into her suit, towards the left side of her torso, and drew a gun from the holster there. It was a black semi-automatic pistol vaguely resembling a 1911, but without any manufacturer labels or screws holding the frame together. The only visible marking was a faintly shining pair of white stag antlers meticulously embossed on the barrel.
Without waiting for an answer, she stood up quickly, heading down the two flights of stairs and out of the dining hall. Before she had put even 15 meters between herself and the building, a tanned young man with short, black hair styled in a pink-trimmed, angular fringe cut stumbled up to her. He was topless, white gauze covering his entire torso. The Arbiter would have looked quite fashionable with his trim figure, black slim jeans, and high-top trainers. Except for the mixture of agony in the harsh set of his narrrow jaw and anger in the glare of his amber eyes.
"Mr. Alkana. I don't believe you're well enough to be out of the hospital," the Director remarked calmly, unfazed by the sight.
"You sent my team out! Without me!" his voice rasped from pain and medication, and he looked ready to collapse on the spot.
"I could hardly send out a student recovering from a near bisection. Perhaps if Mr. Gottman were still alive..."
That struck home and the fire went out of him as his jaw tensed further.
"Send me out. They need me. You wouldn't have sent them out if it wasn't serious," he continued, subdued now. The Arbiter doubled over with a loud groan of pain, gripping his knees to keep from falling. It wasn't the most convincing display of strength, but he was ready to fight tooth and nail for this.
He breathed heavily, refusing to let the reminder of his teammate's death quell his determination.
If your character followed Zhang, great, you're at this scene. Collab with me for the next bit. If your character ran off or didn't follow, she'll deal with them later.
Miranda was gone by the time Gregory turned around, her movements soundless as she slipped into the forest cover during the seconds Gregory took to run into the darkness of the trees. A cacophony of hissing far to his right announced the creature's position before a tree in that direction crashed to the forest floor with a thunderous applause of cracking branches and rumbling earth.
Hector, fifty or so meters ahead of Gregory's position, giggled under his breath. He sent another reminder at Miranda to hiss as he slid into a large tree hollow, tucking himself soundly inside. Rosa had always disapproved of Hector's penchant for tormenting the new students--something about how his games were always unfair because Miranda was so silent. So he had made the projection hiss. That would solve Rosa's concerns, right?
Personally, he thought the complaint was silly.
It wasn't like DC's creatures would give warning before they struck, so he was practically doing everyone a service by keeping the students on their toes.
In fact, he was doing everyone a service now.
Not a week ago, Rosa had suggested a new assessment methodology that would do away with the hassle of prepwork, and it had comprised of "controlled combat," among other things.
The original proposal had been to pit the best (and most stable) students against the new kids while a proctor judged the results. Something about more accurate readings in an actual combat setting.
It had become almost common knowledge across the USARILNs that the safe and cozy testing methods always yielded underwhelming values across the board, whether that was because the students in question weren't trying or because they were deliberately hiding their capabilities to avoid being sent into the field. USARILN East had the luxury of mages who could mitigate that kind of behavior, but West and Central left the issue at two-to-one.
Too complacent, regardless. Training dummies didn't fight back. Training dummies didn't strike fear into their hearts--and if there was one thing they absolutely had to learn, it was to fight with terror in the backdrop.
More stringent testing was in order, and of course USARILN East was the first to try new and exciting things.
Hector had been selected as a opponent candidate, to no one's surprise, but in the middle of discussions on how to manage the new tests, the emergency had struck. And he had grown bored of waiting.
They wanted to push the new students, didn't they?
Sure, nothing had been finalized, yet, and technically he wasn't supposed to be testing anybody before they could hammer out the details, but he had left a note somewhere before running off. That would be fine, right?
And it wasn't like one more dead subnatural was anything new at USARILN East.
Miranda's hide-and-seek would do the trick. A shame he couldn't play with more of the new students, but he had trailed Rosa and her busybody habits long enough to know she'd find the new kids for him. And lo and behold, he had found a Gregory. A Gregory who had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker. Amazing that he had even offered the walk first and saved Hector the trouble of leading up to it. The Aberration boy shuffled into a more comfortable position in the tree's crevice, tapping his anklet curiously.
"Commander Kardos," he whispered innocently, "Are you watching? I'm doing 'Gregory's' combat assessment. Wanna keep an eye out?"
A small light on the cuff blinked brightly in the darkness.
"Don't taze me, okay? We're just getting started."
"The Director has not cleared this assessment," Kardos's deep voice cut through the silence of the tree's natural alcove.
Several hundred meters away, Hector had Miranda smash down another tree for distraction, letting the distant fall resound through the forest.
"She sent out the newbies to fight category ones. I don't think she'd mind me messing a bit with this guy."
"You have no authority to make that call, Rivers. Cease. Now."
"Why don't you check with her before you make that call. Not like your title's 'Director Kardos,' is it?"
"Do not test me, subnatural."
Hector clicked his tongue in irritation and mild offense at the way "subnatural" dropped from Kardos's mouth. The man had no love for the students, that much was clear.
"Director Zhang values efficiency, doesn't she? Wouldn't she find it a lot more efficient to have this test going as well so there're more results to collect? Gauging the newbies on the battlefield is basically the same thing. You're just upset I'm not doing this to your specifications."
The cuff's light winked out and a long period of silence followed. Hector braced himself for the taze, hoping Kardos had the mercy to only do it once.
Instead, the speaker light turned back on a few dozen seconds later.
"The Director's cleared the assessment."
When Kardos said nothing further, Hector smirked.
"But I bet you're setting the snipers up as we speak, huh?"
The speaker light disappeared again, and this time Hector was sure the conversation was over. As he signaled Miranda to hiss again, Hector briefly wondered if Gregory tasted good.
Only one way to find out.
Emerging from the shadows in front of Gregory, Miranda lunged forward, body still moving without bipedal locomotion. A forked tongue lashed out from the vertical maw, flicking across Gregory's cheek and leaving a thin cut before the creature grabbed his arm and flung him several meters sideways.
And then it was gone again, back into the shadows. A cat playing with its toy.
An automated voice from Gregory's cuff intoned a notification: "Temporary exception set by--Commander--Michael Kardos. Suppression module off."
One more hiss from behind Gregory to indicate position. A scraping noise as a follow up warning.
Hector gleefully noted that Gregory tasted like chicken.
Gregory likely did not hear the sounds of conversation over the noises of trees falling. As far as actions he is allowed to take, most are fine. As usual, ask if unsure.
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