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The Colossus Saga: Dispatches

Summary:

A "Mind Games"-verse "Colossus Saga" Anthology

A series of one-shots offering different, smaller vignettes within "The Colossus Saga"

1. Tom's Pâtissière
2. The Pilgrim
3. An Ozashiki
4. That's big...
5. It's in Colorado Springs...
6. Now it's in St. Louis...
7. A sick hero
8. Cleaning up their mess
9. The New Atlantis Spaceport
10. A Surprise in Africa
11. Visiting the Cemetery
12. Landfall in Lisbon
13. Archaeology
14. After the Wedding
15. Recovering Together
16. Cards with New Friends
17. Girls Hanging Out
18. School in the Camp
19. The HOUK's Glorious Return
20. The Lynchpin-ions' Pow-Wow
21. An Olympic-level Threat?

Chapter 1: An Eight-Year-Old Pâtissière

Summary:

Sometimes at a bakery there's just too much to do in a single morning by yourself. Good thing Tom has help.

Notes:

Cosette first appeared in "Patrol Logs" Chapter 30

Chapter Text

Tom stood at the bakery counter, carefully kneading the dough for the day’s second batch of bread, a tray of petit fours sitting on the cooling rack, waiting to be dipped in chocolate and decorated. He wiped his forehead with the short sleeve of his shirt. He had been up since before four, with the oven running almost constantly since then, leaving the kitchen sweltering despite the cool air that seeped in through the windows. Sabine had just come in a few minutes earlier for a refill on éclairs, macaroons, and croissants – if it followed the usual Saturday routine, the midmorning rush would begin in about fifteen minutes. And they had an order to fill for a dozen specialty cakes, all to be delivered that afternoon. But fortunately, Françoise would arrive shortly to fill that order, leaving him free to focus on the rest of the usual Saturday necessities. Tom smacked the bread dough to test its firmness and nodded judiciously. With his hands he separated it into loaves and set them to the side to rise again before baking. Straightening up, he started to wipe his hands on his apron.

The kitchen door swung open with a smack. “Good morning, Papa Tom!”

Tom glanced across the kitchen to find Cosette, the little “pâtissière” that Marinette had asked him to look after, standing by the door and beaming up at him, a half-eaten croissant in her hand. “Good morning,” he greeted her, smiling back. “And how are you this morning?”

“Amazing!” she replied, taking another bite of her croissant. “Maman saw the doctor yesterday, and he said that she’s all better now! You remember last week I said my brother loves football? Well, I don’t know how he knew to do it – or that it was Mathie’s birthday this week – but it’s so awesome! M. Adrien dropped off a football for him on Tuesday, so this morning he went out to play with some of the kids in the apartment building next door! M. Gorilla dropped of a bunch more books this morning, and I started reading one – that’s why I’m so late today. I–”

“Child,” Tom interrupted her gently, putting a hand on her shoulder and cutting off her babble, “you didn’t need to be here for another 45 minutes!”

“I know.” She nodded, wide-eyed. “But I wanted to be early.” She grinned eagerly. “Are we going to make croissants today?”

“What’s that in your hand?” Tom shook his head, grinning ruefully. “I don’t want you to pan-ic, but the croissants are already done for today. But tell you what,” he continued, seeing her face fall, “we can make a special batch this evening for dinner so you can take some home for your Maman and little Mathieu – it’s the yeast I can do!”

Cosette giggled and stuffed the rest of her croissant into her mouth. “You’re silly!” She grabbed the small apron off the peg by the door – it was one Marinette had sewn herself around that same age and embroidered with flowers growing out of a flour bag. Tom smiled fondly: that had been ten years ago, and he had expected it to be another ten at least (twenty if he could help it!) before he had another eight-year-old “pâtissière” in the kitchen. But of course Marinette had had other plans.

Cosette’s eyes roved around the kitchen before alighting on the petit fours, and the macaroon cookies cooling next to them. “What are those?” she asked, leaning over and sniffing them excitedly. “Can I try one?”

“Be careful,” Tom warned her. “Eventually those will go to customers, remember.” He watched carefully as she wafted the aroma toward her nose, inhaling more judiciously before looking up at him expectantly. Tom hummed thoughtfully. “Why don’t you help me decide how to finish them?” When her look turned curious, he explained, “Taste one of the petit fours, and then tell me what kind of flavor you think would go best with it. Then we’ll finish them together, and put them out. We’ll call them ‘Cosette Fours’!”

“Wait, really?” She stared up at him in surprise. “I get to come up with my own flavor?” Tom nodded. As she reached for one of the un-dipped cakes, he cleared his throat, and she sheepishly went across to the sink and washed her hands thoroughly. Finally Cosette took one of the cakes, bit off half, and swallowed, her eyes lighting up in delight. “These are so good!”

“Remember how I told you to taste it,” Tom instructed her.

Cosette nodded obediently and nibbled off one corner, holding it in her mouth for several moments before taking another bite. She hummed thoughtfully. “It tastes like… orange?” she wondered. Tom nodded encouragingly. “What about… strawberry and blueberry! Only the strawberry is the frosting, and we put a blueberry on top as a decoration!”

Tom chuckled. “Berry clever!” While he talked Cosette through mixing the strawberry into the frosting and making it the right consistency, Tom checked on his bread loaves to find them risen satisfactorily. He quickly touched up the loaves, brushed the tops with oil, and placed them into the oven. Cosette carefully stirred her pink frosting, mixing the strawberry puree into the sugar base until it reached the correct consistency. With the bread entirely taken care of, Tom washed his hands and dipped a spoon in the frosting to check it. “What do you think?” he asked the girl, handing her a clean spoon.

Berry-licious!” she replied, grinning.

“That’s what I think, too!” he agreed, with an encouraging nod. “Now, you remember how to fill the frosting bag?” She nodded obediently. “Fill a frosting bag with your strawberry frosting, and then start giving the top of each petit four an even coating. Once you finish that, we’ll finish them with the blueberries.” He frowned. Françoise hadn’t arrived yet to prepare the cakes, and he still had to start on the gougères and madeleines to go with their lunch special. He glanced up at the clock. The cakes had to go in the oven within the next hour if they were to be ready on time. “Honey?” he called out the door toward the front counter while watching out of the corner of his eye as Cosette carefully frosted her first petit four.

Cosette had finished her third petit four before Sabine finally poked her head through the door. “Yes, dear?”

“Where is Françoise?”

Sabine grimaced. “She only called a couple minutes ago,” she replied. “She wasn’t feeling well this morning, so she thought it best for her to stay home so she doesn’t get anyone here sick.”

“That’s good, but it still leaves us short-staffed.” Tom let out a heavy breath. “Did she find someone to cover?”

Sabine shook her head. “Everyone else was busy already.”

Tom frowned. “I need someone to help me with these cakes,” he explained. “Otherwise there’s no way I can get lunch ready in time. Could you call Marinette? Or Adrien? I’d just need them for a couple hours.”

Cosette paused what she was doing and cocked her head curiously. “Cakes?”

Sabine shook her head. “Don’t you remember what she said at dinner last night? She and Adrien are in meetings all day today to get the ball rolling for their Summer Line. There’s no way either of them can help today.”

“I can help! I’d love to try baking cakes!” Cosette offered, bouncing up and down on her toes. She spilled a dollop of frosting from her piping bag onto the counter.

“What about you?” Tom asked Sabine, ignoring the girl. “Could you leave Marie to run the counter and at least get the batter started for me?”

Sabine glanced over her shoulder at the counter and grimaced. “I might be able to jump in and help for a few minutes,” she replied regretfully, “but with the rush…”

Tom nodded in resignation. “You’d better get back to it, then,” he told her.

“Sorry I can’t do more,” Sabine apologized, a worried look on her face.

Tom pressed a kiss to her lips and gave her a small smile as she returned to her place behind the counter. He turned back to the kitchen, folding his arms with a frown.

“I can help more!” Cosette announced, grinning eagerly, eyes wide. Most of the petit fours were completely frosted, albeit sloppily.

Tom let out a breath. The frosting job on the petit fours could be improved a little – not that they really needed it, considering they had been frosted by an eight-year-old. Another adult to help bake the cakes really would have been better, especially since they really weren’t trying to put Cosette to work, but he didn’t have anyone else available. “I suppose…” he agreed slowly. As Cosette quickly finished frosting the rest of the petits fours and pressed a single blueberry into the frosting on top of each one, Tom pulled out the large mixing bowl, as well as the cake ingredients. The first time he had really trusted Marinette to bake, she had been only about seven, and he had been in a rush to put together a catering order for one of the Mayor’s galas. That had been before they were ready to start hiring workers, and he had needed someone to help. Enter little Marinette, who had baked and iced all the macaroons for that gala. But Marinette had already understood baking from doing it together; Cosette had never actually baked before starting to “work” at the bakery last month.

Cosette washed her hands and grinned excitedly. “So what do I do first?”

Tom nodded. “Okay, so, the first thing to do is to measure out the ingredients, just the way I showed you,” he began, talking her through the steps for the batter while he laid out the ingredients for the madeleines. For the next several hours, Cosette worked steadily, carefully measuring out and mixing the ingredients before Tom tasted the batter to make sure it tasted right and had the correct consistency. When it was ready, the two of them poured the batter into cake pans and set them in the oven. While the cakes were in the oven, Tom finished the gougères and Cosette watched him, munching on one of her “Cosette Fours.” Finally, by the time the lunch rush began, the cakes were out of the oven, the madeleines and gougères were ready to go out, and Cosette had taken a special box up to the apartment to eat lunch and play on Marinette’s game console for a “break.” With an hour before the cakes had to be delivered, Tom turned his attention to frosting and decorating them. While mixing the frosting, he chuckled wryly.

Who would have thought that the eight-year-old pâtissière would prove so helpful?

Chapter 2: The Pilgrim

Summary:

A pilgrimage with an unexpected ending

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun had dipped back behind him for the day. The chill February air whipped around him, and he pulled his jacket close. This close to the end of his journey, he was ready to finally walk into the city, stop in the center of the Plaza de Obradoiro, look up at the Cathedral, and declare this pilgrimage over. Maybe by then he would have regained some notion of what he was supposed to do.

Francisco frowned, fumbling with his water bottle and taking a long swig. He had been walking for almost two weeks now, through town after town, staying in almost-deserted hostels along the pilgrimage route and buying some food from the neighboring shops to take with him for lunch before setting out each morning. The first few days of the trek had felt new and exciting – he was finally off on his own, having the “adventure” that he had always thought was missing from his life. By the end of that first week, however, he had almost stopped right then and there and called the whole thing off. Crawling into his bed in the ratty old hostel, his legs rubbery from the unaccustomed exertion, he had pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the power button, almost ready to call his parents and return home.

But he had paused, hesitant to turn on his phone and see what he had missed. He just wasn’t ready to face it yet.

He sighed, pumping his legs as he climbed up the next hill. When he had checked out that morning, the manager had noted that for most pilgrims, his hostel was only a single day’s hike from the end of the Camino. Unfortunately, the manager had neglected to mention just how many hills he would have to traverse on that day! And at the top of each rise, the wind struck him full force, the clouds threatening to dump snow on him again.

The night before he left, he had told his friends about his plan, and they had scoffed at it: they were only a few months from taking the Selectividad, and this wasn’t a break. Would the school even let him ditch for a few weeks? But Francisco had pointed out that it didn’t really matter. No one was forcing them to stay in school – not after 16.

Fernando frowned darkly, his jaw jutting out as he continued his ascent. The only reason he was even still going to school was because his parents demanded it, not because it was really what he wanted to do. His parents were the ones who wanted him to go to university, to take over the family business eventually. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more. He could feel that he was called to do more than just settle down with a family and become a manager in his father’s hardware store. He wanted excitement and adventure – not the mundane and everyday.

And if after this he decided to return, his grades were high enough that he could accept the small dip from his extended absence. And anyways, maybe he wouldn’t do what his parents were expecting him to do. Maybe he wouldn’t even go to University. In that case even still being in school for the last year and a half had just been a waste of time. Jorge had looked askance at him when he mentioned his plans to him – no one just skipped out for two weeks in the middle of February! And especially not for this. Most people went in the summer, when it was warm. Francisco had told him that the path would be clear and the accommodations less crowded – which they had been. That had satisfied his friends.

He couldn’t exactly tell his friends the real reason. Even if they might find out soon enough…

“Don’t you love me?” Marina asked, looking up at him with tears streaming from her eyes, tracing rivulets down her cheeks through her makeup. “I–I thought you would be excited…”

Francisco swallowed back the lump in his throat, a heavy weight in his stomach. Marina cradled her stomach, lower lip trembling, a pleading look in her eyes. He blinked, turning away. “I mean… yeah I loved you,” he finally managed. “We had fun together. But we were just playing around, right? You–you didn’t really expect a Bachillerato romance to last forever, did you?” He looked back to find her staring at him in confusion, the hurt plain on her face.

“But–but I thought–” Her voice broke and she sobbed. “You said!” She glared at him reproachfully.

His shoulders slumped. “I–I know what I said,” he admitted. “But I–I think–” He cleared his throat. “Priorities change. I… don’t think this is really the life for me.” He shrugged, frowning. “Maybe God has something else in mind for me.”

Marina collapsed to her knees, sobbing. “But what about me?” she pleaded. “What about us?”

Francisco steeled himself. “I guess you’ll just have to figure that out by yourself,” he told her firmly. “I have enough to worry about with myself right now.”

That night Francisco had told his parents he would take a couple weeks to trek the Camino de Santiago. His father had looked askance – why walk the pilgrimage now, when spring was still a month away? And in his last semester of school, too? His mother had fretted about what would happen if he got hurt, alone on the road. They had tried to persuade him to wait until the summer and walk it with a friend, but he had been adamant: it had to be now. In the end, despite their protests, they had acquiesced – the pilgrimage was a tradition, after all. Francisco had packed his bag the same day and driven to Oviedo. Marina had called him twice while he was driving, but he had turned his phone off after ignoring the second call. Couldn’t she accept that he needed to leave? That he needed to figure himself out? What she was asking of him… it was too much – more than he could give. He couldn’t worry about her demands when he still didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Francisco let out a slow breath, stopping at the crest of a hill, looking down on the city of Santiago de Compostela spread out below him. “Finally,” he murmured to himself, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. Looking down at the pathway leading down the hill toward the city, he pursed his lips. He was almost there, but still no closer to discerning what he was going to do now. He had hoped for some flash of enlightenment, but it had never come. And he couldn’t exactly return home to face Marina – or his parents. And by now Marina’s parents had to know…

The two weeks had helped to get his mind off of his troubles back home, but now that his pilgrimage was almost over, what was he to do now? He still didn’t have any better idea of his purpose, of his calling. He couldn’t just return home to the mundane life waiting for him there. Francisco shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and plopped it to the ground, resting it against the path marker at the top of the hill. His legs felt worn and exhausted from the weeks of walking. He collapsed to the ground and leaned back against the path marker, pulling a bag of trail mix out of his backpack as he did so. Popping a handful of nuts, dried fruit, and candies into his mouth, he hummed contemplatively. Perhaps he could continue on from here, to Finisterre or Muxía. Santiago didn’t have to be the end of the journey, after all. Maybe his purpose would become clear if he went a little further. He placed on hand on the ground and twisted his back, stretching the tightness out of his shoulders.

Francisco frowned. His finger had brushed against something hard and rough. He stared down at the ground beneath his hand. The top of a pale yellow scallop shell with five ridges was just visible through the thin grass, poking out of the dirt. Eyes narrowed, he leaned in closer, brushing the scrub grass and soil out of the way. Finally he poured a little water over the shell, rinsing away the last of the dirt and revealing a necklace. A single pale yellow shell set on a wide dark blue band with a clasp behind it. From the appearance it had to be valuable: clearly someone must have dropped it on their own pilgrimage. Curious, Francisco picked up the choker.

A brilliant yellow light emitted from the choker, searing Francisco’s eyes before he could clench them shut. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he stared at the mystical being that had appeared from it. No larger than a toy, pale yellow with a dark blue beak, the tiny bird turned to look him in the eye. To Francisco’s utter astonishment, the creature spoke.

“Greetings, Pilgrim. I am Perry.”

Francisco’s jaw dropped.

Notes:

The miraculous in question is in the Wiki. Tomorrow look for the first chapter of the next main story, “Encounters with Nature.”

Chapter 3: A Dinner Full of Surprises

Summary:

A simple dinner party goes sideways

Chapter Text

“Kampai!”

“Kampai!” Yuki echoed the guest next to her. She held up her glass, smiling brightly, watching Miyoshi out of the corner of her eye as she spoke animatedly with the man who had hired them for this business dinner, a client for whom she had hosted many previous events. Before tonight’s dinner, Miyoshi hadn’t explained much about their host’s business, just that it was in the Kikai Tower downtown and that they had been paid double the standard fee for them to come here rather than hosting it at a restaurant closer to their okiya. Yuki had shrugged: at this stage of her training, any opportunity to learn more was appreciated. Miyoshi moved on to visit with the next gentleman at the table, so Yuki followed suit.

“The next shipment should be more than enough to satisfy him,” the man informed his neighbor as Yuki knelt between them. He looked up at her in surprise when Yuki bowed and carefully refilled his cup from the available teapot. “Thank you, my dear,” he told her, raising his glass. “A man could get used to being waited on by beautiful women!”

Yuki gave him a coy smile and took in the name on his business card while replacing the teapot. “You are too kind, Tsuruta-san!” she replied. “To meet fascinating people is a true joy. I am delighted to meet you and your esteemed colleagues.” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a man on the other side of the table staring intently at her and Tsuruta-san. Something about him looked familiar, though she couldn’t place his face.

“I am glad your employer arranged for this,” Tsuruta-san’s neighbor commented. “We so rarely experience the finer elements of our nation.” Turning to Yuki, he asked, “And how many of these parties do you attend?”

“Oh, as many as my onee-san is invited to!” she answered brightly. “Many weeks we will be invited to three, four, or even more, and each one is just as exciting and pleasant as the last.”

“I will be sure to engage you the next time I host an event.” The man, Fukuzawa-san, hummed and turned back to Tsuruta-san. “I hope this shipment will be satisfactory.”

Seeing that they had returned to their conversation, Yuki bowed and backed away from them. They made no acknowledgment as she moved away and continued down the table, kneeling beside the next guest, a woman around Yuki’s own age.

“This is such a fascinating experience,” the woman observed. “I didn’t realize women like you were still around, to be honest.”

“This is your first experience with an ozashiki?” asked Yuki, her eyebrows rising in mild surprise. Her smile widened as the woman nodded. “In that case, I am grateful for the opportunity to show you true, traditional Japanese hospitality!”

“So tell me,” the woman asked, fixing her eyes on Yuki with a curious expression on her face. Yuki could sense the woman examining her closely. “How long does it take for you to get ready? It’s so ornate and detailed.”

“Makeup only takes an hour.”

“And the hairstyle?”

“… Longer.” Yuki giggled lightly. “We have an entire routine to prepare for parties like this, all for the purpose of ensuring the best experience for guests like you.” Miyoshi had moved again, so Yuki smiled and gave the woman a bow. “If you have any questions, please ask…”

“Keiko.”

“I am gratified to meet you, Keiko-san.” Yuki rose and carefully made her way around the table, continuing to make talk with the guests until she finally came to the man she had recognized. Kneeling beside him she picked up the teapot and topped off his cup, watching him carefully with her peripheral vision. His eyes darted quickly around the table before returning to her.

“Thank you, Yuki-san,” he told her as she replaced the teapot on the table.

“You are most welcome, Nihito-san,” she responded, smoothing her kimono. “I trust you are comfortable?”

“Very comfortable,” he assured her. He took a sip of his tea and glanced across the table at Tsuruta-san and Fukuzawa-san, who were speaking quietly.

At the obvious dismissal, Yuki was about to stand up when she paused, frowning. She examined his face carefully. Surely this crossed a line. But with a deep breath she plunged ahead. “You look familiar for some reason, Nihito-san.”

“Really?” he asked, turning back to her in surprise. Something flashed through his eyes. “Perhaps I just have one of those faces.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m certain that we have met before, though I can’t think where.”

“You can call me ‘Hiro.’” He furrowed his brows in thought. “It couldn’t be from another ozashiki, could it? It has been some time since I was invited to one.”

“ ‘Nihito Hiro’…” she repeated slowly. “I am sorry I do not recognize your name.” She hummed. “I don’t think it was a previous party. Do you do kendo?”

His eyes widened. “Yes… perhaps that is it.” He cocked his head, giving her a curious look. “But then how did you go from the shinai to the shamisen?”

Yuki laughed delicately, letting out a relieved sigh. “I suppose it was a natural connection,” she replied. “Both kendo and geisha are integral parts of the tradition and history of our country. Both require grace, delicacy, and precision.”

He nodded. “That is certainly true of kendo!” he agreed. “But all the same, I would not think to make that association.”

Yuki smiled proudly. “My mother used to tell stories about her ancestor who had entered an okiya. They were all so fascinating to me, and I just had to experience it for myself. The opportunity to keep this tradition alive is quite precious.” Out of the corner of her eye, Yuki noticed Miyoshi looking in her direction, giving a subtle head tilt toward the open center of the room. “And speaking of the tradition, I hope that you will enjoy the dance – my onee-san is one of the most accomplished dancers in our okiya.”

“I look forward to it,” he agreed. “And also to your music, Yuki-san.” He raised his teacup in acknowledgement.

Yuki bowed gracefully and stood up. However, she had only taken a few steps away from Hiro and toward the corner where she had placed her shamisen when movement drew her attention back to the table. Tsuruta-san was staring across the table at Hiro, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Hiro looked back, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Don’t I recognize you?” wondered Tsuruta-san, pursing his lips. “Your face, it looks so familiar for some reason.” He cocked his head. “Yes… your father–”

“I have no idea what you are talking about!” Hiro interjected, laughing derisively. He rose to his feet, his eyes searching for the door.

“But it was at a business meeting… I’m sure of it.”

The man sitting beside Hiro turned, staring intently at Hiro. Suddenly his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “I can’t believe that I didn’t realize it before: Kamiken!”

Hiro groaned. “Why does everyone still call me that?” he muttered, starting to turn.

The man next to him sprang to his feet and reached under his coat, and Yuki caught the glint of steel moments before the tonto came out of its concealment. The blade flashed in the light. On the other side of the room, Yuki heard Miyoshi gasp in shock. With quick, precise movements, Yuki crossed the space separating her from the two men, reaching into her kimono sleeve as she moved. Her hand closed around the handle of her kaiken, and it came out fluidly just as she reached them. Her free hand caught the attacker’s wrist, and she parried the tonto with her own blade, knocking it to one side and away from its intended target – Hiro’s side. With a little pressure, Yuki broke the assailant’s grip, and his tonto clattered onto the table.

The sword tinged off a teapot, and pandemonium ensued.

Covering his head with one hand, Hiro raced from the room, ducking as he did so to avoid a thrown teacup that shattered against the far wall. The man Yuki had attacked jerked his hand out of her grip and turned on her, fist raised to strike, only to freeze in place, staring at her in shock. Guests rose to their feet around the table, and three started toward the door.

“Stop.” Ishii-san’s voice didn’t rise. “Hashimoto-san owes our honored guest an apology for raising a hand against her. And for ruining this evening’s party.” At his words, the man in front of Yuki put his hands together and bowed sullenly. Yuki stayed still, her kaiken still out, unsure how to react. Ishii-san looked over the assembly before turning to Miyoshi. “In light of recent events I must ask you to leave while we attend to important matters,” he told her. “However, I hope you and your hangyoku will consent to return again. Before this… unpleasantness… the evening was very enjoyable. I would like the opportunity to watch your dance.”

Miyoshi bowed low. “I must apologize for my hangyoku’s action. If you invite us back, we will both be happy to join you once more.”

“The shame is not on the one who defended,” Ishii-san replied, “but on the one who would attack another during the ozashiki – even an enemy.”

“Of course.” Miyoshi turned to look at Yuki, who bowed, her shoulders slumping. Miyoshi knelt at the door and left, giving Yuki a pointed look to follow.

Yuki collected her shamisen from its corner and went to leave, but Keiko-san stopped her near the door. “Your blade skills are impressive,” she praised her.

“Thank you,” Yuki answered slowly, looking away in embarrassment.

“That kaiken… I didn’t get a good look, but it doesn’t look modern.”

Yuki shook her head, reaching into her kimono sleeve and running a finger along the kaiken’s handle. “It has been in my family for many generations – my ancestor was a samurai, and this is the only of his weapons that his daughter was able to bring with her.”

Keiko-san chuckled. “You’re a descendant of samurai, and you’re a geisha? You’re full of surprises.” She grinned. “That’s funny; as it happens, my own ancestors were part of a ninja clan.”

“Isn’t history fascinating in that way?” asked Yuki, pushing her embarrassment aside and giving a warm smile.

“That it is,” Keiko-san agreed. “It is nice to meet you, Yuki-san. Perhaps I will see you again some time.”

Chapter 4: A Walk in the Woods

Summary:

A pair of novices are in for a surprise in the woods

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

John let out a breath, panting in exertion from the morning’s hike through the woods. Birds chirped in the trees around him, the buzzing of insects flitting about providing a faint hum of white noise for his walk and threatening to put him to sleep. But he couldn’t afford to show weakness – today of all days. He had lived at the Temple for as long as he could remember; this was the only life he had ever known. The mountain forest surrounding the Temple was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. He had dreamed of this day, of finally becoming a full Acolyte, since before he could walk. And now that goal was within sight. Last night, he had kept vigil in the forest, the final part of his promotion from Novice to Acolyte. The only thing left to do was to take the path back to the Temple and report to the Novice-Master of his success. That would be the culmination of the vigil.

Then he could have some coffee. Or a nap.

He heard rustling from the woods beside him, and in his sleep-addled mind he could almost imagine the winged miraculous holder swooping down from above to drag him off. His grip on his staff tightened, his free hand finding the chi-putty stored in the sleeve of his robe. The bushes parted, and he automatically flung a piece of chi-putty at the person who emerged, his foot dropping back in a defensive stance as he raised his staff protectively.

“Whoa!” Jake held up his hands in front of his face and spat irritably, blinking furiously to work the chi-putty out of his eyes. “Chill out, man. It’s just me!”

John’s staff dropped to his side. “Oh… sorry, bro.” He grimaced sheepishly. “I guess I’m just a little on edge.”

Jake shrugged, rubbing the chi-putty off of his hands and flicking it to the ground. “It’s probably my bad. Honestly, I probably would have attacked you if I’d heard you first!”

John yawned involuntarily and immediately covered his mouth, looking around nervously. Acolytes were supposed to be in the woods to watch over them during their vigil; if any of them saw his moment of weakness… But as the silence around them dragged on he allowed himself to relax. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jake watching him carefully. “Don’t tell the Circuitor,” he warned.

Jake grinned. “Of course not… as long as you don’t tell him that I yawned right after you!”

“Deal.”

“So what’s got you so nervous?” Jake asked as they emerged from the woods and followed the cliff toward the start of their path back to the Temple. “After all, last night was the hard part!”

“Just thinking back to last year, the first time we were supposed to sit our vigil,” explained John, grimacing. “The Eagle Miraculous user flying above the Temple almost all the time.”

Jake shuddered. “Yeah, that was pretty hairy for a while,” he agreed, nodding. “I’m not sorry to see that he’s gone.”

“As long as he really is gone…” John muttered, surreptitiously glancing up at the sky.

“Didn’t the Prior report seeing him in Paris a handful of times?” asked Jake. “If he’s there, he can’t exactly be here.” John gave him a confused look. Jake smirked mischievously. “There’s a reason I volunteered for cleaning duty. The meeting room isn’t nearly as soundproof as they think it is.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” John began dubiously, his voice trailing off as he stared off over the cliff side at the small clearing below and the forest beyond.

Jake grinned. “You can’t deny that this is an exciting time to be an Acolyte!” he pointed out. “Nothing for hundreds and thousands of years, and suddenly miraculous are just coming out of the woodwork. Maybe that means we’ll get a chance to fight a few miraculous users!”

John raised an eyebrow. “Maybe…”

Jake frowned, pursing his lips. “Of course, it doesn’t exactly sound like any of the deployed brothers have had much success,” he noted. “I heard them reading reports from all over. The Prior hasn’t managed to do much of anything in the last year. The Vicar somehow managed to get bogged down in England. The Heirodeacon hasn’t found anything yet, despite all the reports of miraculous users in the area. The Sub-Prioress has yet to find a suitable location for the new monastery…”

“You’re just full of good news, aren’t you?” John commented wryly, stifling another yawn. He paused alongside the cliff opposite the trailhead for the main path to their Temple. Although he couldn’t see it, the old Pueblo village that had served as an outpost of their Order for centuries was carved into the cliff face below them. The rising sun at their back cast the valley below into dark shadows. “Where do you think they’ll send us now?”

Jake shrugged. “It’s up to them, isn’t it? But wherever it is, I wouldn’t mind somewhere warm. Maybe Africa?”

John hummed. “Too bad Matty couldn’t do the vigil with us last night.”

Jake shrugged. “Hopefully next time he won’t feel so sick.”

John nodded, looking around himself curiously, scanning the clearing in either direction for signs of movement. The brothers were supposed to meet them here to escort them back to the Temple, but where were they? The bluff was clear and quiet aside from the two of them, and even the birds had stopped chirping. He was about to turn back toward the forest when the ground beneath his feet rumbled, shaking the bluff. His eyes widened and he stared at his twin in shock, his jaw falling open.

Jake gave him a bewildered look. “What’s going on!?”

John gasped in realization as the ground below them shifted again. “Get away from the edge!” he shouted, sprinting for the forest. Only a moment later, Jake took off after him, running pell-mell for the forest cover, minimal though it might be against an earthquake. Around them the ground shook again, harder. And then–

BOOM!

The cliff behind them shattered and crumbled, the stones churned to powder and exploding outward from the cliff, dust caught in the breeze. Something lowed behind them, a deep, rumbling sound that threatened to stop John’s heart. The shattered cliff began to slide downhill as the mountain destabilized. Without slowing down, John sprinted another couple steps and dove forward just as the ground beneath him began to collapse, grabbing onto the protruding roots of a tree on the edge of the forest. Next to him Jake had managed to squeeze his arm into the root system of a different tree. Their legs dangled over the empty space where once there had been a bluff, and John scrambled to find purchase on the jagged cliff face with his boots. Glancing below them out of the corner of his eye, John got only a quick glimpse of a dark brown monster on four legs that had emerged from the cliff, standing two-thirds as tall as the trees at its shoulders, as it put its head down and charged into the forest with a deafening bellow. John blinked dumbly, staring after it.

“What the hell was that?” Jake demanded, mouth hanging wide open.

John shook his head mutely and tugged at the roots and trying to pull himself up. His toes finally stuck into a facet of the stone, pushing away more of the loose earth, and he crawled up, hand over hand, onto the cliff edge. Beside him, Jake let out a grunt and reached up with one hand. John grabbed his wrist and hauled him up until they were both lying sprawled on the edge of the cliff, just inside the tree line. “I don’t know, but we need to tell someone about it.” His stomach clenched in a tight knot. “We need to talk to the Archimandrite.”

Notes:

And on that note, tomorrow will be the beginning of “Quest for Claire”… which takes place more or less on the other side of the planet.

Chapter 5: Colorado Springs

Summary:

The United Heroez have a threat to deal with

Chapter Text

“Alert! This is a Level One Alert!”

The Huntsman set down his soda and glanced up from his book to find the holographic form of Mr. Tremendous hovering just above his head and looking down at him. He sighed. Today was his shift on duty in the Denver United Heroez’ headquarters, and he had been looking forward to a quiet day to catch up on his reading. The city itself had been fairly uneventful for the last month. Baseball had barely started spring training, Colorado University wasn’t anywhere close to the tournament, and the Broncos hadn’t been relevant since their last Super Bowl victory. And Brain Pan hadn’t shown his face in three months; he still seemed to be recovering from the flying jellyfish fiasco at Christmas. At the moment, nothing was supposed to be happening in their little area of the country, or at least nothing demanding superhero intervention.

So what did Mr. Tremendous want?

“Oh, hey, what up, ‘Tree’?” the Huntsman called, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

Mr. Tremendous frowned, eyeing him with a look of disappointment. “I see that Denver hasn’t improved your attitude,” he observed acidly. “We have received a report of a large animal in the area of San Isabel National Forest, potentially moving in the direction of Colorado Springs. Our next satellite pass will be in less than ten minutes, but we need your team on standby to respond in case this is another attack by the Ringmaster – or worse.”

The Huntsman shrugged and marked his place before tossing his book on the end table. “Sounds like fun.” The hologram gave him a dubious look, which he ignored. Picking up his glass, the Huntsman hit a button on his wrist and left the room. Over his shoulder he called, “We’ll be in the air just as soon as the others get here.”

After dropping his glass of in the kitchen, he jogged down the hallway to the headquarters armory, right next to the elevator. The headquarters for the Denver United Heroez took up the top two floors of an office building near the center of the city, with a half-floor on the roof that housed their hangar and a hidden subbasement for their ground vehicles. Although officially the space was leased to a multinational conglomerate, it was an open secret that Hercules Inc. was a shell company for the United Heroez.

But that was Mr. Tremendous’ problem to deal with.

Ten minutes after receiving the alert, the Huntsman finished his preflight check and climbed into the helicopter’s cockpit to find his two partners waiting for him. Sliding on his headset and keying into their frequency, he carefully taxied out of the small hangar before starting the rotors, kicking up the wind around them.

“What’s the mission, boss?” asked Wolf-Man from the backseat, folding his arms with a curious look on his face.

“Whatever it is, it had better be important,” the Sorceress warned, frowning. “I had to cut my spa day short!”

Wolf-Man grinned. “As if you need it!”

She rolled her eyes. “Some of us actually like to be presentable…”

Blocking out the excess noise, the Huntsman gently pulled back on the controls to lift the helicopter off the helipad, nimbly threading his way between the buildings and ascending to altitude. The Denver Airport air traffic controller acknowledged him, and the radar screen began to clear as planes adjusted to make room for the United Heroez. The helicopter display lit up with an incoming message. Turning toward the south, he settled into his flight path and finally pressed a button on the control stick. One corner of the windshield shimmered and turned black before blinking into a real-time image captured by the United Heroez’ closest domestic satellite. “What does that look like to you?” he asked the others, taking a quick glance while keeping his eyes on the sky ahead of them.

The Sorceress leaned in closer and furrowed her brows, her eyes narrowed in concentration. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but it looks big, whatever it is. And is–is that a building next to it?”

Wolf-Man hummed. “It definitely looks like a building. And it has something resembling horns on the front…”

“Four legs,” began the Sorceress, “brown, horns, and it’s bigger than a two-story building. What are we going to do with it?”

“The same thing we always do,” the Huntsman replied. “Stop it and keep civilians out of the way.” The helicopter quickly cleared Denver airspace, and he hit another button to update their course. The interactive windshield displayed a superimposed map of the surrounding countryside, with a flashing red indicator near Colorado Springs to show the location of the monster. With a wave he zoomed in on that location. “Our closest intercept point will be Pike’s Peak,” he announced. “We’ll engage it there, and neutralize it before it reaches the city.”

Wolf-Man cracked his knuckles. “Excellent; it’s been a hot minute since I had a good fight!”

As he flew, the Huntsman mentally reviewed his inventory, trying to determine which of his arrows might be most useful in the coming fight. He frowned. He had refilled his quiver after his last mission, but he had used up a couple arrow-types completely. And if the scale of the enemy was accurate, then he might not have anything strong enough to penetrate that hide; he had used his last adamantium-tipped arrows on Bundie last week. But he still had a few tricks up his sleeves…

Steering around the mountains, the helicopter came up behind the creature, dropping over the hills and skimming the tops of the trees until suddenly the trees cut off, forming a wide avenue that stretched east and west as far as the Huntsman could see. Whatever it was, it had carved out a long swath of the forest, as though a pair of semi trucks had driven through the forest side by side in a straight line, snapping off trees and churning deep furrows in the ground as they went. The remains of a small hunting lodge lay strewn across the ground directly below them. But at the end of the swath, still moving at a steady clip, several miles in front of them, was the monster.

From the back, all the Huntsman could see of it was its long thin tail, the powerful haunches, the tips of the horns protruding from its head. In spite of himself he leaned in closer, staring intently. “Is that – is that an Ox?” he wondered, blinking.

The Sorceress nodded, frowning. “It looks like it,” she agreed. “But what’s it doing?”

“I don’t know,” Wolf-Man told them, “but I’ve been craving a hamburger for a week now!”

The Huntsman pushed the helicopter forward, flying straight down the avenue, looking to fly past the Ox and land in front of it. The Ox, however, show no signs of stopping, or even of slowing its steady gallop. On the contrary, it seemed to build speed with every mile it went, forcing the Huntsman to push the helicopter to its limit to make up the distance. Finally, with Colorado Springs already visible in front of them, he spotted a break in the forest just large enough to accommodate the helicopter. Even before the engine was completely off, the Huntsman grabbed his bow, affixed his quiver to the back of his jerkin, and gestured to his companions to follow. At a sprint he led the way back to where the Ox was just passing between the mountains, breaking through the edge of the forest.

Wolf-Man took one look at the Ox and crowed, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “Now this is going to be fun!” He dropped to the ground on all fours, pounded the dirt with his fists, and rolled his shoulders as dark brown fur emerged from every part of his body, absorbing his bodysuit into his new form. Finally his head condensed and nose elongated into a snout and he threw back his head, howling into the sky before taking off toward the Ox at a gallop.

The Huntsman and Sorceress ran behind him as fast as they could, though he quickly left them in the dust. In the distance, Wolf-Man slalomed between two trees and burst out in front of the Ox at full speed. Landing in the soft grass and skidding slightly to turn and fact the Ox, Wolf-Man let out a primal growl. The Ox turned its head in his direction and lowered its horns to gore Wolf-Man, who nimbly dodged around it to land directly in front of it. Coiling his legs, he leapt at the Ox’s throat, sinking his teeth into its neck, growling furiously and digging his claws into it. The Ox, however, bellowed and swung its head to either side, building momentum before throwing Wolf-Man off. He spun through the air end over end and landed on his side with a whimper.

Running out of the woods, still a quarter-mile away from the Ox, the Sorceress wound up and spread her arms out, casting a wide silvery barrier into the air between the Ox and the city. The Ox stared at the ward for a long minute before snorting out its nose and pawing the ground. Finally it pushed forward, driving both horns into the barrier and attempting to force its way through. The Sorceress grimaced, her arms shaking as she attempted to hold the barrier in place.

“It’s… too… strong…” she gasped, strain in the corners of her mouth, her eyes clenched tightly shut.

Examining the Ox as well as the barrier, the Huntsman whipped out an arrow and fired it in a high arc to land in contact with the barrier, directly in front of the Ox itself. The Sorceress sighed in relief, tension leaving her face as the magic totem carved into the arrow shimmered and took on the same silver color as the barrier, relieving some of the strain on her. She clenched her fist, her eyes setting into a hard expression, as she fought to keep the barrier in place against the Ox’s constant battering. A pair of police cars drove up to the barrier, turned around, and raced away with their sirens blaring.

On the far side of the clearing, Wolf-Man pushed himself to his feet and shook his head before his eyes once more fixed on the Ox. Snarling, Wolf-Man charged the Ox, narrowing the distance in mere moments and springing onto it. He crawled up the Ox’s front leg, digging his claws into the tough hide, and leapt at its head. The Ox let out a deep, rumbling low, and Wolf-Man stumbled before his jaws could find purchase in the shaggy neck. It stamped its feet on the ground, pawing the earth, and threw itself to one side, with the hapless Wolf-Man scrabbling to maintain his balance on top of its head.

Finally, the Ox lowered its head and threw Wolf-Man up into the air and off his face. Wolf-Man yelped as he went airborne. Shocked back into his human form, he flailed his arms about as he flew through the air, only narrowly missing one of the Ox’s horns. The Huntsman’s eyes narrowed in concentration. Wolf-Man was moving too quickly! The Huntsman started to draw an arrow… When Wolf-Man was only ten feet off the ground, the Sorceress dropped her barrier shield and threw out her other hand to form a smaller pad directly below Wolf-Man. The Ox stomped the totem arrow to dust and burst past the spot where the ward had stood before the Sorceress could restore it. It was just entering the city now. Desperately, the Huntsman fired a dozen arrows at it in a spread around its head, detonating all of them at once in a cloud of shrapnel. The Ox threw its head back and bellowed, shook itself once, and charged forward, down the street.

“Everyone out of the way!” the Huntsman shouted, switching his communicator to a public address frequency. He took off after the Ox, joined by the Sorceress, leaving Wolf-Man behind near the edge of the woods to recover and lick his wounds. Doors opened and closed up and down the street. Cars raced away from the Ox as it trampled parked vehicles and drove its horns into the sides of the buildings.

The Sorceress raised another barrier directly in front of the Ox. The barrier shimmered silver for a moment before the Ox threw its head into it. The Sorceress cried out in pain and pitched forward as the barrier faded away. The Huntsman shot another arrow at the Ox’s feet, but before the foam could expand and trap it, the Ox had already charged down the street, well out of its reach.

Chapter 6: St. Louis

Summary:

The St. Louis United Heroez take on the Ox

Notes:

This is the first appearance of (canon) United Heroez characters in the “Mind Games”-verse, and you can consider this an example of how I plan to handle them. For the most part, the United Heroez will be very different from the versions in the show.

Chapter Text

Walking from the gym back to the main building of the high school Fern rolled her eyes, trying to ignore her sisters’ bickering. It was a nice sunny afternoon in St. Louis, they only had another couple hours left of school, and their team had absolutely wiped the floor with the boys’ team in Ultimate Frisbee. And all Lexie could talk about was Blake.

“I hope I didn’t embarrass him too much,” Lexie fretted, glancing over her shoulder worriedly to where the boys were slowly making their way back from their locker rooms.

“What, are you afraid he won’t ask you to the prom, just because you faked him out so badly he face-planted on the turf?” Sandy asked, raising an eyebrow at her and grinning.

Lexie buried her face in her hands, moaning in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to do it! I just got so caught up in the excitement, and it was just second nature!”

“For you, it is,” observed Sandy, stifling a laugh. “For him? Not so much…”

“He’s going to hate me now!” Lexie whined. “And he was just starting to talk to me again, too. “Now we’ll never move in together in college. Or get married. Or have six kids–”

“Wait – you really want to be pregnant six times?” Fern finally demanded, staring at Lexie in bewilderment.

Lexie shrugged.

“Well, multiples seem to be genetic,” Sandy pointed out. “If a family has twins in one generation, then they’re more likely to have them in the next. So that’s a possibility.”

“That would still be three times…”

“There’s always triplets.”

“What about if you are a triplet?” Lexie asked curiously.

Sandy raised an eyebrow. “Given how rare triplets are to begin with, I wouldn’t count on it – especially not twice. The odds of that happening…”

Fern rolled her eyes, only to freeze when her phone buzzed with a special alert. She looked at her sisters, both of whom wore identical expressions of surprise, and answered the phone. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“I just received an alert from Washington, girls,” their father responded immediately. “We need you right away.”

“Will you and Mom be joining us?” asked Sandy, eyes already narrowed in concentration.

“We aren’t planning to come,” their father replied. “See if you can handle it on your own. If you can’t, we’ll be there.”

“Looks like the Calculus test will have to wait,” Lexie teased, raising an eyebrow at Sandy.

Fern hummed and turned on her heel to sprint back toward the gym, and the small hidden changing room behind her locker, Sandy and Lexie right behind her. “Send us the information. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”


Less than five minutes later, Agents Red, Blue, and Yellow tore out of the school parking lot, their bright candy apple-red convertible already having transitioned its color to tactical black, logo of the St. Louis United Heroez emblazoned on the hood in silver. Agent Red tapped the side of her helmet to activate her communicator and connect it to the car’s systems. Her phone lit up with a notification of a new GPS location, all the way on the west side of the city. She merged onto I64 and raced down the highway, weaving in and out of the bumper-to-bumper traffic, sometimes riding up on the median wall to skirt around a car. “What’s going on?” she asked her father, slowly letting out a breath and settling into the hero mindset.

“It’s an enormous Ox,” he answered briskly. The display on the car dashboard lit up with a grainy picture of a large horned creature covered in a viscous green substance. “It’s already torn a path through Colorado and Kansas, and it’s heading this way. The Denver team managed to keep it from damaging too much of Colorado Springs, and they followed it as far as Wichita before turning back.”

“A giant cow, and it’s heading straight for us!?” Agent Yellow gasped, kicking the back of Agent Red’s seat. “What if it destroys the city??”

“Relax, Lex,” Agent Red told her. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“Has anyone determined what this Ox is or where it came from?” asked Agent Blue, swiping through the details on the car dashboard, tapping the chin of her helmet.

“No one seems to know,” their father replied. He hummed pensively. “The West Coast teams didn’t know anything about it, so it mustn’t have originated in California. Mr. Tremendous tasked a satellite to probe the Rocky Mountains, but we won’t know anything for another few hours.”

“What are we supposed to do about it if we don’t know where it’s from or what it wants?” Agent Blue demanded.

“Same thing you would do any other time: keep people safe.”

“This is seriously messed up,” Agent Yellow muttered.

Agent Red silently agreed with Agent Yellow, pursing her lips under her helmet. Most of the threats they faced here in St. Louis were of the human variety – pickpockets and drug dealers and the like. St. Louis didn’t attract a lot of more powerful villains, especially while the reputations of Hurricane and Snowflake remained in recent memory. Traffic finally began to thin as they left the western suburbs behind, and Agent Red pushed the convertible to its limit. According to the GPS marker, the Ox had just reached the Missouri River and forded across. She turned off the highway and followed city streets closer to the river. “Is there a plan?”

“Stop it in the state park, away from the city,” their father instructed them. “I have already alerted State Police to clear out the park.” He paused. “Be careful. And if you need help, be sure to call. Your mother and I will be there right away if you need us. I love you, girls.”

“Love you, too, Daddy!” called Agent Yellow.

Agent Red turned into the deserted parking area of the state park, and at first she couldn’t tell that anything was wrong. The park was quiet and deserted. But normally there would be cars parked at this time of day. Normally there would be people picnicking and playing baseball. But today there was no one; the last car they had seen had been the state police car at the park entrance.

Then she noticed the tops of the trees, brown above the leaves and swaying back and forth, always swaying further away from each other. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

She opened the car door and stepped out, followed by her sisters, to feel the ground beneath them shaking. Then the trees burst apart to reveal that part of what she had taken to be the tops of the trees was actually the Ox’s back as it charged out of the woods and into the open, its head down and horns pointed forward. Agent Red’s jaw dropped. “Oh, my god…”

Agent Blue stopped beside the car, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Don’t see one of those every day… So how do we stop it?”

Agent Red turned to the other two and let out a breath. “Better start off simple,” she decided. Pointing at Agent Yellow, she told her, “You go left, I’ll go right. On the count of three!”

Agent Red sprinted right, leaving the paved parking lot and stepping onto the grass, as Agent Yellow did the same in the other direction. Slowly, Agent Red counted down in her mind, starting the moment they both reached the grass. One. She jogged further away from the Ox, out of reach of its horns. Two. She planted her feet, centering herself, calling on her own inner heat. Three. Agent Red clenched her fists, slammed them together, and exhaled hard. A burst of fire shot out of her joined fists, straight at the Ox’s left flank. Opposite her, Agent Yellow flipped around and brought her arm down, pointing one finger and sending a discharge of electricity into the Ox’s right flank. Near the car, Agent Blue slid her foot back and leaned forward. The air around the Ox super-chilled, wicking all the heat away from its head and encasing its head in ice. The Ox stomped its hooves, twisting its head around in agitation. Agent Red’s eyes narrowed as she continued pouring fire into the Ox’s flank. Carefully she stepped toward it, not letting off the fire for even an instant. Its head covered in ice, the Ox turned in either direction, glaring at the three heroes furiously. Suddenly the Ox slammed its head into the ground, shattering the ice. The Ox snorted and turned to charge Agent Blue, its horns lowered.

Agent Blue screamed in surprise and dove away from the Ox, which plowed straight through where she had been standing, straight toward their car. Agent Blue tucked and rolled back to her feet, turning around and sending another burst of cold at the Ox, forming a thin layer of ice beneath the Ox’s feet. The Ox’s hoof slid on the ice as it barreled into the car’s front bumper, which shattered and caved in under the onslaught. Trampling over the car, the Ox continued straight ahead, stampeding out of the park. “Oh, come on!” Agent Blue groaned in frustration. “Was that really necessary?”

“Is everything okay, girls?” asked their father.

“Um… our car insurance is up to date, right?” asked Agent Yellow, shooting a lightning bolt at the Ox’s tail.

“Yes…”

“Then… everything’s totally fine!”

“Come on!” Agent Red shouted, racing after the Monster as fast as she could run. Agents Yellow and Blue fell in step behind her as they ran. The Ox continued its relentless advance, leaving deep cracks in the pavement beneath its feet. They were close to the edge of the state park now; much further and they would enter Wildwood. The line of state police loomed ahead of them, between the Ox and the city. The police fired as one, aiming at the Ox’s face. The bullets bounced off, ricocheting in all directions. Agent Red held her arm up as a hail of bullets deflected straight at her, and concentrated on super-heating the air in front of herself. The bullets melted before they could hit her.

Putting on a burst of speed, the three heroes rushed after the Ox as it cut a straight line through the police line, shoving two cars aside and knocking several officers to the ground. Agent Red sent another fire burst at the Ox’s back, but only succeeded in impelling it forward faster. Agent Yellow hit it in the rump with electricity, and it bellowed, dropping its head down and charging down the street. The suburbs rushed past them; every moment they were drawing closer to the city proper.

“Nothing we do is stopping it!” Agent Red complained, starting to fall behind the Ox.

“Hang on…” Agent Blue hummed pensively. “If we can’t attack it directly…”

“It’s gonna destroy the city!” shouted Agent Yellow, hitting a tree in front of the Ox with a bolt of lightning, bursting it apart into slivers that peppered the Ox’s head and eyes. The Ox bellowed, shaking its head.

Agent Red put on a burst of speed as the Ox slowed, and just managed to pull ahead of the charging Ox. With mere moments to spare, she planted herself in front of the Ox and sent the strongest blast of fire she could muster straight at its face. The Ox lowered its head and charged straight at her. The distance between them dropped in half in a matter of seconds, and Agent Red leapt into the air just as the Ox reached her. Grabbing onto one horn, she sprang over it and landed on its back. “Any bright ideas, Sandy?” she demanded, wrapping her arms around its neck and clinging on for dear life.

“Just give me a sec,” Agent Blue replied moments later. Agent Red clung to the Ox’s hair desperately to keep her seat. “Alright,” Agent Blue called, sprinting alongside the Ox to the left. “Direct it to the right, just a little bit, right… now!”

Agent Red grabbed the Ox’s right horn and pulled with all her might, just as a mound of ice began to rise in front of the Ox. The Ox shifted its trajectory ever so slightly to the south. Agent Red could see Agents Blue and Yellow racing along on either side of the Ox, with Agent Blue constantly forming new ice in front of the Ox, always directing it further and further south. Agent Yellow hit it in the right side of the face with tiny shocks, pulling it more and more in that direction.

“Now all we have to do is keep going like this until we get it to the Mississippi,” Agent Blue announced, panting from exertion and nearly stumbling as she formed another ice slick, propelling the Ox further south.

“Is that all?” demanded Agent Yellow. The Ox growled furiously, nearly goring her as she hit it with yet another jolt

“Well, it’s either that or explain to Mom and Dad that we managed to let the city get demolished again,” Agent Red reminded them, gritting her teeth.

“I changed my mind,” Agent Yellow joked. “I think I’d rather take the Calc test!”

Chapter 7: A Sick Teammate

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, it’s fine.”

Felix stuck out his tongue in disgust, dropped the spoon in the sink, and poured himself a glass of water. Downing the whole thing in two gulps, he glared at Anne, who was watching him with a twinkle in her eye. “There is no way that Bri wants her soup so spicy it peels a layer off the roof of her mouth and kills all her taste buds!” he retorted, pouring himself more water and guzzling it all, spilling some as he did so.

Anne waved a hand dismissively. “She has a fever. Hot will help the fever break. That’s what my oul dear always says.”

“I’m amazed you survived your childhood,” he deadpanned, raising an eyebrow dubiously. “When I was growing up, Mother always gave me less spicy foods when I was sick. That way I could actually eat them!”

Anne smirked. “Tell you what, why don’t you try making your own soup, and we’ll see which one Bri prefers!” She hummed, tapping her chin and giving him an evaluating look. “I give it 30 seconds before you throw in the towel.”

Felix scoffed. “You don’t think I can cook?”

Can you?”

“That’s not the point!” he sputtered.

“Really?” She stifled a laugh. “Because I think you just proved my point!” Anne took a taste herself, frowned, and waved her hand over a flowerpot. Pulling a new sprig off of an herb plant, she chopped it up and sprinkled it into the soup. Giving is a quick stir, she tasted it again and nodded. “There we go.”

Barkk wagged her tail and popped a piece of chicken in her mouth. “Felix’s cooking isn’t that bad… but this is amazing!”

Anne giggled. “I know you’re only saying that because he feeds you.”

Felix folded his arms. Last night he and Bri had been scheduled to patrol together, but Anne had shown up instead, saying that Bri had come down with something. He hadn’t thought much about it until this morning, when he had realized that Bri hadn’t answered his texts for two days. Finally he had asked Anne for more details after classes, and she had invited him over. Felix sighed and looked down at the bowl of soup Anne had ladled out. “She’s gonna need water after this,” he warned, pulling another glass out of the cabinet. “Her mouth will literally be on fire.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “You talk a good game for someone who doesn’t actually know how to cook,” she retorted. “I know what I’m doing.” She cocked her head, looking closer at him. Hiding a smile, she added, “But tell you what, why don’t you bring the soup and water in for her now? I’ll start the water for tea and bring in a few cups when it’s ready.”

Felix eyed her suspiciously for a moment but finally shrugged. “Why not?” Balancing the tray in his hands, he carefully walked down to Bri’s room. The door was shut, and he hesitated outside for a moment until he heard her let out a weak cough. He was about to try opening the door himself when Barkk flitted off of his shoulder and landed on the handle, using her whole body to turn it. She grunted, wrapping her arms around the knob and pushing. The latch clicked, and the door opened a crack, just enough for Felix to push it open with his foot.

“Poor Bri,” the Kwami whimpered, a sad look in her eyes.

Felix hummed softly and tiptoed into the room as quietly as he could. The lights were off and curtains drawn, but in the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains, his eye was caught by a pile of laundry in the far corner near the hamper. He frowned. For as neat as she usually kept her working and living spaces, Bri had to have been feeling sick for a while to let her room get into this state. The covers on her bed were in disarray, with Bri herself nestled into them on her side, her bright green hair the only part of her visible. Felix maneuvered the tray around a handful of cups and mugs on her bedside table, which clinked as they bumped together. One started to fall, and Barkk grabbed it, straining to slow its fall.

Bri started in her sleep. “Nnnh… Anne?” she mumbled, pulling the cover down to look out. She blinked and sat up, shivering as the blanket fell away. Felix’s eyes trailed down to her sweat-soaked shirt but snapped back up to her face as she yawned. “Ugh,” she groaned, leaning back into the wall and hugging her chest, her eyes clenched shut with her forehead tensed in pain. “I hate feeling like crap.”

“I’m sorry to say you don’t look that great at the moment,” Felix noted sympathetically.

“Thanks,” she grumbled, her eyes still closed.

He flushed. “Um… not that you look bad, just unwell.”

She shivered again. “Can you pass me my sweatshirt?” she asked, pulling off her t-shirt and tossing it toward the foot of the bed. Felix turned away and rooted around for her London Bridge sweatshirt, handing it to her while staring at the dresser next to the door. “Thanks.” She coughed weakly and groaned. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I don’t know what I would have done the last couple days without you.”

“Umm…” Felix sat down on the edge of the bed awkwardly. “I’m… not actually Anne.” Bri’s eyes snapped open and she stared at him for a long minute. Felix grimaced sheepishly. “Sorry. How are you feeling, mon Fer?”

Bri covered her face with her hands and moaned. “Well, crappier than I did fifteen seconds ago…” she muttered. “I just… and you… ugh. I need water.”

Felix handed her the glass and frowned, examining her face. “When Anne said you were out of it, she wasn’t kidding.” Seeing her red cheeks, he quickly added, “I promise I tried not to look. I wasn’t trying to–um–see anything. I just – I missed you for patrol last night. I wanted to know how you were doing.”

She sighed heavily and let out a humourless chuckle. “I guess it’s no more than you’ve seen before,” she admitted glumly, placing the half-empty glass back on the tray. Felix gave her a confused look. She shuddered, her mouth twisting around, and pointed to her sternum, tracing a line from her collarbone to her navel. “You know. In the autumn? With the–?”

Felix nodded in realization, his eyes widening, and blushed. “I… actually wouldn’t count that,” he told her. “At that time I was just worried about my hurt friend and trying to keep her alive – I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.”

She leaned back, her eyes closing. Felix examined her face carefully, the beads of sweat covering her brow in a thin glossy sheen. She coughed. “So were you paying attention today?” she asked, softer.

Felix found a washcloth on the edge of the bed and carefully wiped the sweat away. “Well, I am still worried about my friend.”

She hummed, letting out a breath. She was quiet for a long moment, until Felix thought she might have fallen back to sleep. “Is that what we are?”

Chapter 8: The Cleanup

Summary:

The Heroes of Berlin help to clean up the nature reserve where they had fought the Bear

Chapter Text

As he pulled into the parking lot by the picnic area where they had come with their class a couple months earlier, Dietrich was a little surprised by just how few parking spaces were available. Between the normal spring maintenance issues and the destruction wrought by the Bear fight, the nature reserve board had been overwhelmed with problems and arranged for a volunteer workday to clean up the park. And since the Heroes of Europe had contributed to the damage, they had contacted him through the Ladyblog to ask if the Teutonic Knight and Valkyrie could participate. When he had mentioned it to her on patrol, Valkyrie had jumped at the opportunity, and since they had witnessed that fight, a few of his classmates had decided to come, also. Heinrich had been planning to drive with them, but he’d called to cancel this morning because of a bad cough. Dietrich sighed heavily. The illness was spreading – Heinrich’s family was now quarantined, along with four others from their class. And of the other heroes who had fought the Bear, only Socomem was not under quarantine, and he was needed in Portugal.

But even without the other heroes Dietrich wouldn’t be alone here. And he had had one person in the car to keep him company for the last couple hours. Unfortunately, the number of people here might make it difficult to find a parking spot. With a frown Dietrich drove up and down the rows until he finally found a parking spot and pulled in.

“It looks like they found a lot of people to help out today,” Greta observed from the front seat next to him, looking over the filled parking lot with a warm smile. “After everything that happened here, I’m glad.”

Dietrich nodded, returning her smile. He still couldn’t believe his luck with her. Even when the world seemed to be falling apart, his girlfriend could still find a silver lining. “I’m glad you decided to come out here with me,” he told her, “even if we’ll probably end up on different work teams.”

Greta grinned and grabbed a bag before climbing out of the car. “Of course!” she told him, taking his hand and bouncing on her feet as they walked across the parking lot to the tent where the park workers were organizing the volunteers. “We were here when it happened; it only seems right to help fix it up.” She looked around and spotted the bathroom building. Her hand brushed up his arm as she released his hand, moving in that direction. “I’ll only be a few minutes,” she announced. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Okay,” he called after her. “If nothing else, I’ll meet you at the car after everything’s finished!”

Watching her walk away, Dietrich blinked and refocused himself. For as much as he would have loved to work alongside her today, he was grateful for her understanding. But he couldn’t be distracted by thoughts of Greta; he had a job to do here. He sprinted the opposite direction into the woods and found cover behind several bushes. An earbud went into his ear. Then, pulling out his knife, he knelt and whispered, “Helfen, Wehren, Heilen.” The brilliant white aura covered him, searing his eyes through his closed eyelids, and he arose the Teutonic Knight.

The ranger looked up as he strode briskly out of the woods, his sword back in its sheath at his side. “Welcome, Knight,” the ranger greeted him, rising and holding out a hand. “I hope your partner will be joining us?”

“She is planning to,” the Knight assured him, “though I haven’t seen her yet. I’m sure she’ll join us soon enough. But in the meantime, what do you expect from me?”

The ranger nodded. “I’m certain there will be people here who want to shake your hand and take your picture. We thought that people would appreciate seeing the Heroes of Berlin, the ones responsible for fighting off that monster,” he explained. “Beyond that, just whatever you can do to help.”

“That will be my pleasure,” the Knight answered as a small group of preteens ran up to him for a picture. Under his helmet, he grinned, relaxing as they clustered around him and handed a phone to the ranger. He held his arms out, and the ranger took several photos. After watching his father and grandfather treat the Teutonic Knight mantle as a burden, after being ashamed to bear the Iron Cross on his chest, he finally felt acceptance from the people whom he had sworn to serve. He was actually making a difference, if children weren’t afraid to take photos with him.

“Make sure they catch your good side!” an ethereal voice called. He glanced over to find Valkyrie watching him, her arms folded over her chest and a fond look on her face. “I’m just kidding; you don’t have a bad side.”

He rolled his eyes though she couldn’t see it. If Greta heard Valkyrie talking like that… He straightened up. “Nice to see you, too.”

“Shall we get to it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow under her mask. “The debris isn’t going to clear itself, you know.”

The boys jogged away, and as they went, the Knight thought he heard one of them cough, groaning in annoyance. His brows furrowed. It could be nothing… The boys sprinted over to a group of other kids surrounding one of the rangers, grabbing trash bags out of a box and spreading out to pick up trash and waste. The Knight nodded to Valkyrie, who lifted off into the air, flying toward the spot where the Bear had entered the clearing the first time, where a group of volunteers was attempting to clear the debris. With a wave of her hand, she blew most of the debris together into a pile. The volunteers looked up at her, and she waved.

The Knight turned away from her, toward the remains of the vine barrier that Bandruí had erected on the edge of the field. Most of it had already been removed, but several vines still remained, wound tightly together and resisting all efforts to pull them apart. Landing beside the two volunteers fighting their way through it with a pair of hedge clippers, the Knight focused on the fire rune still affixed to his sword’s crossguard, superheating his blade. “Step back,” he warned them, before slashing straight through the vines in a large X. The vines peeled aside, and the volunteers nodded their thanks as they pulled the vines up and shoved them into trash bags. The Knight kicked off into the sky and drifted closer to the forest, toward another group of volunteers.

The two heroes continued working steadily through the afternoon, only taking a brief break for lunch. In the afternoon, the Knight found himself working to lop off damaged limbs on trees along the path the Bear had blazed through the forest while being pursued by the heroes. Hovering halfway up the tree, he cut a broken branch off of one especially ragged-looking tree before slathering sealer over the stump to keep insects out. Further along the path, Valkyrie was helping another group to collect all the burnt undergrowth along the edge of the forest, close to the river. The Knight floated down to land, stretching his shoulders. He handed an armful of branches to the ranger and twisted his head to either side to work the tension out of his neck.

“Thank you for your help,” the ranger told him. “I can’t begin to guess how long this would probably have taken if you and Valkyrie hadn’t come to help.”

“Happy to be of service,” the Knight assured him, clapping him on the shoulder. “After all, as a friend told me earlier, we were here for the fight, so we should be here for the recovery!”

“It wasn’t necessary for that reason,” he replied, “but it is nonetheless appreciated.” The ranger started in the direction of the parking area to deposit the branches but froze in place as the ground began to shake around them. He looked around frantically, searching for the cause of the seismic activity. The trees around them swayed back and forth, their branches rustling despite the lack of wind. The ragged tree next to them creaked and groaned. A hairline seam appeared along the trunk and expanded as, with a crash, the tree fell over, directly at the ranger.

Without hesitating, the Knight dove forward, putting himself between the falling tree and the ranger, and raised one arm over his head. “Wehren!” he bellowed. A white shield formed above his arm just before the tree slammed into it, driving his boots down into the earth. The tree started to tilt over him as a fulcrum, and the Knight straightened his arm, pushing the trunk to the side. It fell to the ground next to the Knight and ranger with a crash. The ranger stared at the Knight, his face white as a sheet. The ground shook again. “Get to the clearing!” the Knight ordered, drawing his sword and pointing in that direction.

“I–I will!”

The Knight turned back toward the river, his eyes wide in shock. He had experienced this exact phenomenon before – when the Bear first appeared. What could it mean? Volunteers rushed past him, panic across their faces. “Greta…” he whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. If this was the Bear again – or something worse – she would be in danger! He needed to protect her! The Knight immediately turned toward the spot where the Bear had first emerged along the Elbe and broke into a sprint before springing into the air with a shout of “Helfen!” As the magic caught him, he pushed higher, holding his sword in front of himself to cut through the air. Flying straight through the forest, heedless of the branches around him, trying to catch on his armor, his jaw set in concentration. He could see the ground below him starting to shake even worse the closer he came to the river. Beneath him, volunteers sprinted in all directions, most running back toward the picnic area, and the parking lot beyond. And ahead, looking through the edge of the forest, between the trees and the river, he could see the enormous head of the Bear, larger than before, forcing its way out of the ground in almost the exact same location where it had previously emerged.

Valkyrie hovered directly above it, her arms pointing straight down at its head, her hair whipping around her face in the stiff wind gusting about her. More and more wind she poured down at the Bear, pushing its fur back against its scalp, peeling up its eyelids and forcing its cheeks back. The Bear bellowed its displeasure, only for the sound to be forced back into its throat. But she couldn’t keep it up forever. The Knight could see tension in Valkyrie’s shoulders, even as the wind around her started to die down. Finally her arms slumped at her sides and the wind died down to nothing. The Bear swiped at her with one of its paws, pulling itself out of the hole with its claws, as Valkyrie started drifting lower in the air.

“Wehren!” bellowed the Knight. A white shield manifested directly above the Bear, and the Knight pressed the shield down against its head. The Bear scrabbled against the smooth metallic surface, a screeching wail that rattled the Knight’s teeth. He held his breath, watching anxiously, but the shield held. The Knight swooped down and grabbed Valkyrie by the arm, a couple meters above the shield.

“Thanks,” she gasped, breathing slowly and deeply, shaking her head.

He nodded but winced as the Bear slammed a paw against the shield, which bent under the assault. Activating his earbud, he called Pegasus. “We need some help here!” he reported urgently.

“I apologize,” a robotic voice answered him. “Pegasus is not here at the moment; the Heroes are extremely busy right now. What is happening?”

“That Bear is back!” the Knight retorted, grimacing as the Bear pulled out enormous chunks of the earth around the chasm, scratching huge gouts in the metal and forcing its way out from beneath the shield.

“Unfortunately, there is very little I can do now,” the robot apologized. “I wish I could, but I do not have Pegasus’ power.”

“So what the hell are we supposed to do!?” demanded the Knight, finally dismissing his shield. The Bear pulled itself out of the hole, and the Knight swung his sword around, sending a wave of flame at its head. The Bear bellowed, fixed its gaze on the Knight, and charged. Pushing Valkyrie away from him, the Knight leapt into the air as the Bear swiped at him with its claws extended, each claw almost as long as the Knight’s sword.

“Do what you can,” Turing instructed him. “That is all we can ask of you.”

“Easier said than done,” the Knight grunted, dropping almost to the ground to avoid the Bear’s claws. Valkyrie swung around and threw a blast of wind at the Bear, which shrugged it off and lumbered away from them into the woods.

The Knight and Valkyrie turned to look at each other, Valkyrie looking as scared as the Teutonic Knight felt. “It’s back.”

Chapter 9: A Spaceport Walkabout

Summary:

Hoda stops to see her father at work

Chapter Text

“Hi, Father!” Hoda called, stepping into the maintenance hangar at the New Atlantis Spaceport and finding four people working inside. Two humans – one of whom had the Sorcerers’ Guild emblem on her shirt – stood beside a stack of tan heat shielding panels next to a space-plane with the outer shell on half its left wing removed. The girl paused what she was doing, glanced up, and nodded to Hoda, who waved back without stopping. Instead, she walked past them and headed across the open room to where the other two figures, a human and a Shunjar, huddled over a holoprojector just outside the offices and lab against the far wall.

Her father looked up and smiled on seeing her. “Good afternoon, daughter!” he greeted her, beckoning her over. “Come and see our progress!”

Hoda laughed. “I have already seen some of it, you know,” she replied, stopping next to the table to examine the plan projected over the table, which appeared to be for a new space-plane with a larger carrying capacity. Her team had practiced rapid-deployment tactics last month, using the space-plane to drop into the middle of the Australian Outback after taking the portal into the upper atmosphere. “You know, I felt quite a bit of drag on our plane during reentry.”

Cissy stroked her chin, humming thoughtfully. “Phantom commented on that, too,” she mused. “Do you have any ideas, Kassim?”

Hoda’s father furrowed his brows, looking intently across the hangar at the space-plane’s nosecone. “I remember having a similar problem with one of our excursion craft on my first tour,” he began, pondering his words. “The wings were not aligned properly for atmospheric flight. I recall that those craft were far less aerodynamically balanced than these, however.”

Cissy nodded. “The original design wasn’t made with atmospheric conditions in mind – it was mostly just designed for space – but that didn’t fit our mission parameters. Max altered the wings and balance to improve the aerodynamics.” She frowned. “We tested the miniature in a wind tunnel, but the wind tunnel test couldn’t really tell us how it would behave while passing through the atmosphere.”

He hummed pensively, scratching his chin. “For our purposes, that was only of secondary concern, so we didn’t worry too much about it,” he told her. “In this case, however, we should probably give it some more thought, given that the space-planes are intended to pass through the atmosphere on a regular basis.”

“At least now we know how it behaves on reentry,” added Hoda, nodding.

“A complete redesign could be expensive,” Cissy warned.

Hoda chuckled wryly. “It would be worse if a space-plane crashed,” she pointed out.

Cissy shuddered. “That would be terrible.”

“We can keep that in mind for the next ‘generation.’ But changing the design may not be the only solution,” Hoda’s father noted. “If we change the fuel mixture, we could increase the velocity, which may reduce the shimmy.”

Cissy raised an eyebrow dubiously. “How much faster are we talking?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Forty percent?”

Cissy’s eyes widened. “That fast? What would that do to the craft? The handling?”

“Physically, I think the craft as it is designed could easily handle the added strain,” he replied. “The onboard computer would require recalibration to handle the speed, but it’s possible.”

“Let’s work up a simulation,” Cissy decided.

Hoda’s father nodded. “That would be a good idea,” he agreed. He glanced up at Hoda. “Do you remember your classes?”

She frowned. “Not quite well enough to help you figure out the proper fuel mixture,” she answered, shaking her head. “I’ll see if Allira needs help while you do that.” She nodded to the broken down space-plane for emphasis.

“Very well,” her father replied with a shrug. “Hopefully this will only take a few minutes, and then we can leave for dinner.” With a glance back at Hoda, he and Cissy headed into the lab while Hoda jogged over to the space-plane.

The tech crouching on the top of the wing turned off her welding torch, pulled up her welding mask, and glanced down at Hoda as she approached. “Arvo,” Allira greeted her, nodding.

“How are you?” Hoda asked, taking the torch she passed down to her and setting it on the ground beside the fuel can.

Allira shrugged and jumped from the space-plane, throwing her hands out and hovering just above the ground before dropping to land. “Just another day in paradise, right?”

Hoda smiled warmly, baring her teeth. After everything she had been through since arriving on Earth, she could easily agree that New Atlantis was a paradise. She had made friends on Earth – Aisha, Chloe, Bri, and Sabrina were just the closest ones she had made outside of the island – but now the girls from therapy weren’t her only friends. Since coming to live here, she had made a dozen friends – some of them, like Allira, had become close friends. When she had first arrived, she had felt completely out of place; people had stopped to stare all the time. But now she was perfectly at home: everyone welcomed her. “Got that right,” she finally agreed.

Allira gestured to the stack of heat shielding panels. “Mind giving me a hand with this?”

“Can’t do it all yourself?” Hoda teased. She grabbed the topmost panel, flipped it around, and held it up where Allira directed her.

Allira rolled her eyes and gestured to a bucket of bolts. A dozen lifted out and shot upward, aligning with the holes in the panel and spinning into place. “There’s a difference between a swarm of bolts and a four-meter-square of metal,” she told Hoda.

“Are you saying you can’t lift one of this?” Hoda retorted as the bolts tightened into place.

“I can; I just can’t manipulate the bolts at the same time.”

Hoda chuckled while Allira grabbed a wrench and started checking the tightness of the bolts. “You tried it, didn’t you?”

Allira grimaced. “I might have…” She let out a breath. Hoda turned away while Allira welded the bolts down. “Your dad wasn’t too thrilled when he found one of the bolts I missed!”

Hoda hummed, grabbing two more panels. “Sounds like the time I left my Ginder bricks lying around growing up: father almost locked me in my room for a week after that.”

“Huh.” Allira cocked her head in surprise. “I just thought your feet were more… tough?”

“They are.” Hoda nodded. The bolts screwed into place on the first panel, and she grabbed the second on the pile and held it up next to the first as another set of bolts flew out of the box. “We can still feel things with them, though. And sometimes it can really hurt.”

“Good to know.” Allira was silent for a few minutes tightening and securing the bolts. Finally she put her welding torch away and leaned against the body of the space-plane. “So how is it?” she asked. Hoda cocked her head. “Being on an Intervention Team, I mean?” Allira clarified.

“So much fun!” Hoda folded her arms, her mouth splitting into a toothy grin. “It’s like when I was with the Shunjar Navy, but I feel like I’m doing more here than I was back then. With the Navy I was just an… ensign? I think that’s the equivalent rank. I was so new that I was still the one doing a lot of the work that no one else wanted to do. Learning on the job still. But here I’m actually going out and doing things.”

“That’s nice.”

Hoda examined Allira closely. “Do you wish you had volunteered?”

Allira frowned. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “My grandmother was on an Intervention Team for a year – my great-grandmother was a miraculous user. I don’t know… I’m glad I decided to come to work here, but there isn’t that much excitement just working on planes.”

Hoda gave her a sympathetic smile. “Every role is important,” she pointed out. “We wouldn’t be able to get around half as quickly without your space-planes.”

Allira giggled. “Bloody oath.” She looked up at the clock and stretched. “Time to leave for the day,” she announced. “Up for a swim?”

Hoda glanced across the hangar at the office, where her father and Cissy were still hunched over a computer. “Sounds good!”

Chapter 10: An African Encounter

Summary:

There aren't just three

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Where did this thing come from?”

Tenedaw nimbly spun to one side around the stinger, which drove a meter into the sand right where she had stood moments before. Time almost seemed to slow down when she used Chee-Burst: as she watched, the Scorpion pulled back its stinger in slow motion, sending a spray of sand into the air. The sand caught in the wind and flew toward Tenedaw, who clamped her mouth shut and averted her eyes. The Scorpion scuttled forward, its stinger darting forward at her. Tenedaw shook the sand out of her hair and ducked beneath the first strike. When the Scorpion struck again, she brought up her sai, caught the stinger between the tines of one sai, brought the other sai around to enclose it, and leaned to the side away from the stinger, redirecting it over her shoulder. “If I had an answer for that, I’d tell you, Harba,” she grunted. The Scorpion jerked its tail back, and Tenedaw tugged, trying to hold the Scorpion in place as Harba flicked its flank with his cloak. The Scorpion hissed angrily, and Tenedaw leaned back, evading the Beast’s snapping claws. Suddenly its tail rose higher into the air, Tenedaw’s feet left the ground, and she released her hold on it. Dropping back into the sand, her feet slipped on the sand dune, and she pinwheeled her arms to remain upright, twisting her body to avoid the Scorpion’s pincers. Tenedaw grimaced. Even after four years of living surrounded by sand, she still wasn’t entirely used to trying to run on the sand dunes of the Sahara. She had sprained her ankle once the first time she tried.

Unfortunately, if she did that this time, it might just turn out to be her last.

“Any information you can provide would be useful,” Jueran Eazim informed her, a pensive tone to his voice.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him crouching atop a dune less than a hundred meters away, his eyes focused on the Scorpion and the three miraculous users darting in and out around it. Hakɛto stood next to him with her arms folded. Tenedaw let out a breath and paused for a moment before sprinting around the Scorpion to come at it from the back. “All I know is that it wasn’t here an hour ago, but Hakɛto told me to take another look, so I did. And on my way back, there it was,” she reported. “No idea where it came from, but it was scurrying north as fast as it could.”

“That was when I called you,” explained Hakɛto.

Jueran Eazim hummed, nodding judiciously. “We cannot be too careful with these Creatures,” he agreed. “Have you contacted the others?”

Hakɛto shook her head. “Unfortunately, both Mihaela and Willem said they had teams in the field already to deal with local matters. Mohamed said that he would get his team here as fast as he could, but one was on a mission and the other two were in the village.”

He frowned. “They may be too late if they are not here yet…” he warned. Studying the Scorpion closer, he mused, “Its behavior does align with Pegasus’ theory that these beasts are all converging on a single point.”

“Well, good for him,” muttered Tenedaw, sliding through the sand to avoid the tail stinger.

“A pity he couldn’t warn us sooner,” Hakɛto noted. The warning had only arrived an hour ago, when Pegasus contacted them with the warning that the rise in cases of this unexplained illness in such a remote area could not be accounted for otherwise.

“Are you sure you can’t find where it emerged?” pressed Harba. Jumping on the Scorpion’s back, he looped his cloak around the Scorpion’s face to cut off its sight. The Scorpion hissed, its mandibles clicking together in agitation as it bit the cloak, trying to pull it away. “From what they’ve said, pushing it back into the same hole is the only way to stop it!”

“No, I can’t!” Tenedaw retorted, hurling a sai at the Scorpion’s tail that ricocheted off. She dove after it, grabbed it before it hit the sand, and regained her footing just as the Scorpion passed her. “Why don’t you go and search the entire Sahara for a hole in the sand that’s probably already filled itself in… because it’s sand!”

“So what do you suggest we do!?” he shot back heatedly, retrieving his cloak and waving it in front of the Scorpion’s head to draw its attention.

Motion from the side drew her attention, and she turned to look, her eyes widening in shock as Buq Hayij barreled straight at the Scorpion from a dozen meters away, head down in an all out charge.

Falling forward, Buq Hayij clenched her fists and pounded them into the sand, launching herself helmet-first straight into the Scorpion’s side. The Scorpion let out a hiss as it slid in the sand, its legs slipping and tracing long lines behind it. Buq Hayij stumbled and fell face-first into the sand. Spinning itself around on its spindly legs, the Scorpion grabbed Buq Hayij with its claws, pulled her up into the air, grabbed her other arm, and started pulling her apart. Tenedaw’s jaw dropped open in horror as Buq Hayij cried out, her head lolling back. The Scorpion’s stinger darted out, and Buq Hayij lowered her head so the stinger impacted her horn, deflecting off of it to one side with a resounding clang. It struck her arm, but the miraculous suit didn’t break. Buq Hayij shook her head in a daze, blinking. “A little help here!”

“Mother!” shouted Harba, standing rooted in place, staring at the scene.

“Hold on, Amina!” called Jueran Eazim, fear in his voice.

Tenedaw tried to spin around to face the Scorpion but slipped, sinking up to her thighs into the sand. She waved her arms for balance, throwing sand up into the air. On the opposite side of the Scorpion, Harba had a look of fear on his face, staring at Buq Hayij as the Scorpion tugged on her arms, its tail striking again and again. Her mouth set in a thin line and eyes narrowed, Tenedaw pulled herself up out of the sand and planted one hand on the sand in a sprinter’s stance, tensed to run. Sand sprayed out behind her as she raced straight at the Scorpion, springing up onto its back and driving both her legs into the joint of one claw. The Scorpion hissed and clicked, its stinger darting out at her, though not fast enough to catch her. She sprang off of that joint and into the other claw joint before grabbing onto the stinger with one hand, swinging herself around the tail and jabbing it repeatedly with one sai as the Scorpion flailed it around. The Scorpion pulled again on Buq Hayij’s arms, drawing her closer to its mouth, and she cried out, even as she flexed her muscles, trying to resist its pull.

A javelin lanced through the air and struck the Scorpion in one of its claws, deflecting off to the side. The Scorpion rotated to see where the new attack had come from, and Tenedaw released her hold on its tail, flipping up and around to sprint down the tail before dropping onto its body. Amdeɣimal held out his hand, the javelin flew back to him, and he dove aside as the Scorpion jabbed at him. The stinger embedded itself in the sand, and Amdeɣimal held out his javelin lengthwise, pushing the stinger away from him and holding it in place in the sand.

“Glad you finally joined us,” Tenedaw grunted, leaning over the Scorpion’s body and kicking the closest leg a couple times in the joint. The Scorpion clicked furiously, shaking from side to side and almost dislodging Tenedaw.

“It appears I didn’t get here too soon!” Amdeɣimal replied as the Scorpion finally pulled back its tail, sweeping it through Amdeɣimal and knocking him to the ground as he did so. He jammed his javelin into the ground to push himself back up to his feet, spitting out sand as he did so.

“Did you find anything?” demanded Jueran Eazim urgently. “Did any of your successors interact with this creature?”

Amdeɣimal grimaced. “Nothing. With only five minutes I couldn’t search in depth, but as far as I could tell, none of them faced it or something like it.” He frowned bitterly. “I suppose that must mean that we will defeat it…”

“I sure hope so,” muttered Tenedaw. She scanned the Scorpion from front to back again as it drew Buq Hayij closer to its mouth, its mandibles grabbing at her. Harba slid in underneath Buq Hayij and threw his cloak over the Scorpion’s mouth and eyes, grabbing both sides and pulling on it in a desperate attempt to hold it back from trying to eat Buq Hayij. It shook from side to side, its mandibles clattering as it tried to remove the obstruction.

They were running out of options.

Amdeɣimal gave Tenedaw a curt nod and grabbed onto one of the Scorpion’s claws, poking his javelin through the space between the claw and Buq Hayij’s arm, and twisting it sideways. Tenedaw ran down the length of the Scorpion’s body, dodging around its tail as it darted out at her, and slid down its other claw. She jammed both her sai into the claw in front of Buq Hayij’s wrist, pushing in opposite directions to pry it open. On the opposite side, Amdeɣimal strained to lever his claw open, strain creasing his forehead. The Scorpion drew itself up off the ground on its back legs, pulling Harba up to dangle in midair, and he lost his grip on his cloak and fell between its front legs. Tenedaw swung her legs up and wrapped them around the Scorpion’s forearm, gritted her teeth, and continued pushing her sai apart. The Scorpion slammed back to the ground directly above Harba, who rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the Scorpion’s mandibles. It jabbed forward with its stinger, aiming for Tenedaw, but a golden ankh spun through the air, caught around the end of its stinger, and deflected it into the sand to one side, centimeters away from Harba. Bit by bit Tenedaw and Amdeɣimal slowly pried its claws loose, and Buq Hayij fell, collapsing into the sand between the Scorpion’s front legs.

“Th–thank you,” Buq Hayij panted, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, sucking in big gulps of air, clenching and unclenching her fists. The Scorpion clacked its claws above her angrily. Buq Hayij stared up at it, turned over, and slowly crab-walked backward away from it, careful to avoid drawing the Scorpion’s ire.

“Harba, get her out of there!” ordered Jueran Eazim, dropping to sit prone on top of the dune.

Tenedaw clenched her jaw as Harba pushed himself to his feet and rushed in closer, stopping just inside the range of the Scorpion. If Jueran Eazim was going to attempt to infiltrate the Scorpion’s mind, he would be in an incredibly vulnerable position until he finished. Harba grabbed Buq Hayij under the armpits and started to drag her to the side while Amdeɣimal stepped between them and the Scorpion, spinning his javelin in a shield to fend off repeated strikes from the Scorpion’s tail, deflecting them to either side and sending waves of sand up into the air. Tenedaw looked around, pursing her lips in thought. Suddenly she took off at a dead sprint, racing around the Scorpion in ever-tightening circles. A cloud of sand, kicked up by her feet, soon enclosed the Scorpion, obscuring its view of the other heroes. The Scorpion’s tail darted out, but Tenedaw simply deflected it behind her with a single sweep of her sai.

“I… I do not sense a mind anywhere in this creature!” shouted Jueran Eazim. “It is nothing but an empty void!”

Tenedaw groaned. What were they supposed to do against this thing? Her necklace beeped – she needed to pause for a moment, or Chee-Burst would end. But if she did that… Harba and Amdeɣimal had only managed to get Buq Hayij a few meters out of the Scorpion’s range; even now the Scorpion was pressing forward, so Tenedaw’s sand cloud only barely covered it. She took her eyes off the sand in front of her and glanced to the north, ahead of the Scorpion, but she couldn’t see–

Tenedaw’s foot slipped as the sand shifted beneath her, and she pitched forward. Barely catching herself before diving headfirst into a dune, she spun around and hit it with her back, sending a plume of sand into the air around her. Suddenly free of obstruction, the Scorpion raced north and disappeared out of sight. Tenedaw collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

Jueran Eazim rushed down the dune to Harba and Buq Hayij, pulling Buq Hayij into a tight embrace. She returned it weakly as he whispered into her ear, holding her against his chest. Finally looking up he frowned. “That may cause trouble eventually for our friends in Paris.”

Hakɛto let out a breath and folded her arms. “We did the best we could. They cannot fault us for that.”

Jueran Eazim nodded slowly. “Very true.”

Leaving the others, Harba waded through the sand to Tenedaw and helped her to her feet. He placed one hand on her shoulder, which she covered with her own. “Thank you for rescuing my mother.”

She nodded, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion. “Of course.”

Notes:

Tomorrow, look for the first chapter of “Unexpected Information,” which picks up in Japan.

Chapter 11: A Morning in the Cemetery

Summary:

Nath visits his Opa

Chapter Text

Nath let out a breath, rolled back onto his heels, and let Marc help him back up to his feet, fighting the urge to stretch his legs and arms after squatting for almost 5 minutes on the mound of soil covering his Opa’s grave. His eyes, itchy and sore though they had been for the last week, remained dry. He had probably cried himself out within two days of Opa’s death. It had been almost two weeks since that fateful day. While he and Marc had been talking to Opa when it happened, it had not been the same – watching over video chat rather than being in the room with him. The funeral the next day had been sparsely attended, with only Nath’s family, a couple of Opa’s friends, and the rabbi present. Marinette had sent condolences for herself and Adrien, but they had been worried about passing on the mysterious illness that had infected everyone in the Mansion – the same illness that had killed Opa. Many others had sent their regrets along with their condolences for the same reason.

While a part of Nath could understand the precaution, unfortunately, that meant that only two of the Heroes of Paris had been present to lay to rest one of Paris’ first heroes.

Marc wrapped an arm around Nath’s shoulders, supporting most of his weight. While he could sense Marc looking around and taking in the scenery around them, Nath couldn’t tear his eyes away from Opa’s grave marker.

“Your parents picked a nice location,” Sabrina observed standing next to them, looking around the cemetery in appreciation. The morning sunlight felt warm on their faces, a faint breeze rustling the leaves on the trees as it played through their hair. “This tree will be great for shade in the summer if you come to visit.”

“And even without most of its leaves, it has plenty of places for Kwamis to hide!” added Orikko, poking his head out of a knothole halfway up the trunk. A black-and-white head popped out of the branches above Orikko and scampered down the tree, chased by a squirrel. Stopping just above Orikko, Ziggy spun around and drove her horns into the squirrel, which hissed and jumped away, chattering angrily at Ziggy.

Marc stifled a chuckle and nodded. “That’s what I said,” he agreed. “Maybe if we decide to write a sequel to our ‘Davidstern’ graphic novel, we can sit under here for inspiration.”

“You are already thinking of a sequel? Then how is your original book coming?” asked Nooroo, sitting on Sabrina’s shoulder.

“We’re almost finished,” Nath told him, still staring down. “Even before I really knew how true all his stories were, I had already started making some drawings based on Opa’s stories. Davidstern, der Deutsche Ritter, Armanemagier, der Falkner… They were the basis for the panels. Once we decided to turn it into a full graphic novel, it was just a matter of writing out each of the stories, fitting them into a cohesive narrative, and inking and coloring.”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll be ready to print by V-E Day,” Marc added. He chuckled quietly. “That seems appropriate.”

“That’s great!” Sabrina enthused. “It’s so amazing that you’re honoring your Opa this way.”

Nath’s shoulders slumped. Marc squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “I wanted Opa to have a chance to see it,” Nath confessed quietly. “I wanted him to know that he would be remembered for what he did. But now he never will.”

“He’ll still be remembered,” Marc promised. “Even if he didn’t get to see it.”

Sabrina hummed. “He was content at the end,” she told him. “He knew that you were going to remember him. And he knew that you would continue his legacy.”

“Le Maquillon spoke of Davidstern often,” Nooroo piped up. “Even though they never met in person, after the War he would regularly muse about how he was enjoying life in the country that he had helped to liberate.”

Marc looked up at Nooroo curiously. “Could you help us to – I don’t know – fill in some of the details?” he asked. “M. Kurtzberg told a lot of stories, but I don’t think he told us all of them. And there’s a lot about that side of the war that we just don’t know.”

Nooroo stroked his chin slowly. “I do not know everything that Davidstern did,” he answered, his antennae drooping. “Nor was le Maquillon aware of all the superhumans involved in the war. Some of the stories may be lost forever. But I can tell you what I know.”

Sabrina furrowed her brows in thought. “What about the journals?” she suggested. “Emilie has a lot of records from previous holders.”

“That… may be possible,” Nooroo agreed hesitantly. “But only provided that Mistress Emilie agrees to it.

Nath let out a breath. “Thanks. Maybe I will ask her one of these days. I wish…” He hummed, his voice trailing off. “It doesn’t seem right for him not to be remembered, you know? After everything Opa did, he shouldn’t be forgotten so easily. That’s why I wanted to make the novel: so people will remember him.”

Marc nodded. “Soldiers are memorialized for their service; why shouldn’t M. Kurtzberg?”

Sabrina furrowed her brows and pursed her lips in thought. “You may be on to something there,” she mused, nodding slowly.

Placing his hand on the grave marker, Nath frowned. “I actually had an idea to show that he had been a hero,” he explained, pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocket and handing it to Sabrina without taking his eyes off of the Star of David carved into the stone above the name. He had made a tracing of the carving a couple days after the stone had been placed, and then spent the next several days doodling until he came up with a design he liked. “Nothing too elaborate – just something for the people who know what to look for. Something that the other heroes would recognize.”

“This looks very nice,” Sabrina told him, returning the drawing. She paused for a moment, frowning nervously, before asking, “… Do you want to make it a reality?” Nath cocked his head in confusion. She smiled softly. “If you wish it, I can give you the power to carve it into the stone,” she explained.

Nath’s breath caught in his throat. Was that even a question? He nodded eagerly. “Please!”

Looking around surreptitiously to make sure that they were alone in the cemetery, Sabrina slipped behind the tree and crouched down. Too quiet for Nath to hear, she whispered her transformation phrase, sucking Nooroo into her brooch, and straightened up. Impératrice Pourpre snagged a butterfly out of the air and held it to Nath’s drawing, which turned lavender. “Dessineteur,” she told him, “you want your Opa to be remembered for what he did for as long as this stone endures, so I’m giving you the ability to carve the stone. Once you have done what you need to do, I will remove that power from you.”

“Thank you, Impératrice,” Nath whispered, as he was covered in lavender smoke which almost immediately dissipated. Very little about him felt different. Kneeling on Opa’s grave, le Dessinateur placed his hand directly over the Star of David and closed his eyes. He pictured the design in his mind’s eye, and willed it to appear in the stone. Moments later, he rose to his feet as the butterfly pulled away from his drawing and lost its purple coloration. Folding his arms, he nodded in contentment.

He had considered adding “Davidstern” to the epitaph, but had realized that might be too much and too obvious. Instead, he had placed a small butterfly inside the hexagonal center of the Star of David. A small cluster of grapes in his hand, Nooroo flitted over to the grave marker and sat down directly above the Star of David, which shimmered with a silvery-violet light that faded almost instantly.

Marc took Nath’s hand in his own, giving it a squeeze. “I think that looks perfect.”

Nath gave a small smile and placed his hand on the gravestone. “Thanks, Opa,” he whispered. With a glance at Marc, he added, “I’m going to miss you. But I think we’ll be all right.”

Chapter 12: Landfall

Summary:

A Lion in Lisbon

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Don’t let it reach the shore!”

Caravela tensed, standing on top of a restaurant along the oceanfront with the others. She shivered, in spite of the bright sunlight beating down from overhead. The weather today was almost perfect… but the Atlantic was roiled up into a froth as though a hurricane was coming toward them. And yet, Caravela couldn’t help thinking that analogy was apropos, given the circumstances. Wave after wave crashed into the shore below, running up over the sandy beach and sending spray over the Leopard tanks lined up in a row along Avenida Ivens, their main turrets all pointed out to sea. Out in the harbor, ships of all sizes rocked back and forth, slamming into each other with a creaking and rending of metal, the shattering of fiberglass. A small flotilla of patrol boats pushed through the waves, picking their way between the distressed vessels, catching them with their tow cables in order to rescue the few sailors unlucky enough to still be on their ships. Overhead, a swarm of helicopters darted in and out between the ships, trailing lines just above the wave tops for those in the water to catch. Just east of Belém Tower, two Naval frigates had almost run themselves aground in order to point their main guns out toward the ocean, though each successive wave threatened to tip them onto their side.

Lisbon was prepared for war.

Next to Caravela crouched Socomem, holding onto the edge of the roof with one of his powered gloves. “Just like Germany, right?” he called as another massive wave built beneath a container ship, lifting it ten meters above sea level and turning it on end. The ship’s horn blew a warning, low and loud, moments before it slammed into the shore. The bow crumpled in on itself and sheared off, and the ship spun around parallel to the oceanfront as it crashed into the beach just in front of the avenue and fell over onto its side, spilling its cargo of shipping containers onto the sand. Several of the sailors fell or stumbled over the side and into the sand, flopping over on their backs. A pair of police officers clambered down the embankment onto the beach, moving between the sailors.

“Maldição!” O Patriota swore. He slammed his fist into the roof on the other side of Caravela. “I told the Mayor to turn back all shipping! But did he listen? No…

“Politicians,” Socomem muttered, shrugging. “Can’t trust them worth a damn.”

Another wave began to form far out to sea. Only a ripple at the mouth of the river, it quickly grew in size, rising higher above the water until suddenly the water broke and an enormous tawny head emerged. Before it was fully above the water, the Lion shook its mane, sending torrents of spray in either direction. Two sailboats that had been waiting close to river’s mouth for the Lion’s appearance – despite repeated warnings to flee –tipped over almost immediately as their decks swamped from the spray and the sudden wave rolled past them. Their small crews dove overboard and swam toward the shore, propelled by the wave coming close behind them.

Standing up with one foot on the edge of the restaurant roof, one baton held at his side, O Patriota pressed a button on his radio. “Fire now, Commanders!”

The Avenue disappeared in a cloud of smoke as, in unison, the main guns of the tanks fired. At the same moment, both frigates unleashed their Harpoon missiles and opened up with machine guns, raking the Lion’s head with concentrated fire. A pair of white foamy arrows shot through the water from each frigate, intercepting the Lion moments after the first volley from the tanks landed. The majority of the tanks’ ordnance missed the Lion, overshooting or undershooting it and landing among the wrecked and abandoned ships choking the harbor. Of the Harpoon missiles, one veered off course, caroming straight toward a patrol boat, only to be remotely detonated ten meters above it, raining shrapnel over the patrol boat’s deck. The remaining Harpoons flew true and exploded just in front of the Lion, sending a massive gout of water up into the air all around it. Caravela held her breath, watching the water shoot upward, obscuring the Lion from view. Her ears rang from the explosions; though she could see his mouth moving, she couldn’t hear what Socomem was saying. The water finally died down…

… revealing the Lion, still wading inexorably toward them.

Again the tanks fired, as quickly as they could reload and adjust their aim. Having expended all their other ordnance in the first volley, the frigates continued to pepper the Lion with machine gun fire. The Lion reared back and roared, pushing forward against the continuous barrage of fire. The building beneath Caravela vibrated from the force, almost knocking O Patriota to his knees. Shells exploded against the Lion’s hide almost constantly. Waves rose between the Lion and the shore. An especially high wave crashed into the Antonio Abreu, dislodging the frigate and propelling it out of its position. Pushed by the wave, the ship turned on its side, its machine guns keeping up a constant stream of fire all the while, and slammed into one of the Ponte 25 de Abril’s support legs, crushing it and collapsing the road surface inward, sending a bridge loaded with vehicles toppling into the bay.

Horrified, Caravela turned away from the bridge’s destruction, only to stare as the Lion rose up out of the water and took its first steps onto the beach, digging its long claws into the beached container ship as it passed.

A pair of energy beams struck the Lion’s muzzle, followed by a half-dozen small rockets that landed in its mouth and detonated, filling the air with acrid smoke. The tanks unleashed another volley, just as a metal figure landed on the beach just in front of the Lion and shot out a cable toward it, sending an electrical pulse into the Lion’s still-soaked fur.

“Hold your fire!” Iron Maiden bellowed, her voice amplified above the din of the explosions around her. The ground shook beneath her, sand spraying in all directions from rounds falling short, and she dropped to one knee, sending two more energy blasts at the Lion along with another electrical shock. At the same moment, the Hound leapt off of her back, twisted around, and looped his leash around the Lion’s muzzle, tugging it shut. The Lion let out a low growl that vibrated the beach.

“That’s our signal!” shouted O Patriota, swinging over the roof’s edge and rappelling down to the ground. He undid his quick-release harness in a flash the moment his feet touched the pavement and broke into a sprint.

Following his lead, Caravela dropped to the ground and pulled her trident from its place on her back. There was just barely enough space between the tanks for her to squeeze through, they had packed in so tightly. Clenching her jaw, trying to mask her anxiety, she raced after O Patriota, with Socomem just in front of her. Iron Maiden pumped a beam of energy into the Lion’s head, just as the Hound stood up, pulling with all his might on his leash in a vain effort to raise its head and expose its neck. The Lion threw its head forward, launching the Hound off of its back and sending him careening straight toward Iron Maiden, who shot up into the air just in time to avoid him. The Hound contorted in midair to land in a crouch on all fours, spinning his leash to one side. Caravela’s heart pounded in her chest as she jumped down onto the beach. The last time they had fought one of these Beasts, there had been ten of them, and they had barely managed to push the Bear back into the ground – and A Saltadora had nearly been killed in the effort. This time, the Lion was at least three times larger than the Bear had been, and there were less of them to fight it, even with the advance warning, because the Heroes of Paris themselves were already spread thin with trying to monitor the situation. And the Lion had already stymied the best that the Portuguese Armed Forces could throw at it. It had already reached the shore. How were they supposed to stop it?

A dozen vines sprang out of the sand from the seeds that Bandruí had scattered on her arrival, growing rapidly and reaching up to grasp the Lion’s legs. O Patriota sprinted in front of the Lion’s face, and it lunged for him with its mouth wide. The Hound flicked out his leash around O Patriota’s waist and pulled him back, moments before the Lion’s mouth closed on that spot. Socomem jumped into the air and drew back both his powered gloves, driving them into the Lion’s jaw simultaneously. With a crack the energy propelled him away from the Lion, but the Lion rose back up, opened its mouth, and let out a roar. Eyes narrowed, it pulled the vines from the ground easily, striding across the sand after O Patriota and Socomem.

It was now or never. Caravela drew back her trident and hurled it at the Lion’s chest with all her might. The trident flew true and struck it just at the base of its neck, hanging there for a fraction of a moment before falling to the ground. The Lion turned to her, bared its teeth, and roared. Eyes wide in fear, slowly she backed away, activating the electromagnet to recall her trident as she did so. The Lion stalked forward. Iron Maiden dove in front of it and grabbed Bandruí around the waist before snagging the Hound’s leash, pulling both of them out of the Lion’s path. Snatching her trident out of the air, Caravela turned on her heel and ran between the tanks, just before the Lion reached them. Pouncing on them in a fury, with a single swipe of its paw, the Lion sent one tank sailing through the air, deeper into the city, before crushing a second tank under its paw. With a wail, the first tank crashed straight through the side of a building, unbalancing it and sending it crashing to the ground. Frozen in place, Caravela stared as the Lion strode past her, deeper into the city.

Iron Maiden raced after the Lion, the Hound perched on her back. On the ground, O Patriota and Socomem jumped onto the fronts of two of the tanks as they turned to dash west and pursue the Lion from a block away. Caravela, however, remained rooted in place, staring after the Lion. Its roars pierced the air, shaking buildings throughout the city.

They had failed.

Notes:

"Tragedy" begins tomorrow...

Chapter 13: An Archaeological Discovery

Summary:

A group of Greek archaeology students go for a hike and make an unusual discovery

Notes:

The initial idea for this came from Lyger 0 on FF.net, but I added my own spin to almost everything about it.

Chapter Text

Stephanos let out a breath, stretching his arms out to either side, and twisted his head to pop his neck. They had been hiking for almost two hours already, ever since they had left their car back in the parking lot at the base of the mountain. “Oh, man,” Stephanos groaned, dropping to sit on a tree stump. “I’m calling it right now: we need to take a break, or else we won’t be able to get back to the van.”

“Are you serious?” Nikos demanded, folding his arms and giving Stephanos an annoyed look. “The more of these breaks we take, the longer it’s going to take for us to get there!”

Pyrros arched an eyebrow at him. “Considering that we haven’t taken any breaks before now, I doubt there’s much danger of that!”

Stephanos poured some water into his mouth from his bottle before squirting his face, shaking his head and sending water droplets flying in all directions. “Maybe not a long break, but enough get us there.”

“Thank goodness,” gasped Zoi, plopping down next to Stephanos and pulling out a bag of trail mix. Popping a handful in her mouth, she held it out to Stephanos before offering some to the others.

Dimitrios picked a few nuts out of the trail mix, then guzzled almost half his water bottle in a single long pull. “I knew I should have brought two of these,” he complained, examining the bottle with a frown.

“There’s a pool over that way,” Eleni told him. “You can fill it from there.”

“Are you insane? Do you have any idea how nasty that is? I don’t want to get parasites!” protested Dimitrios, eyes widening in terror.

Pyrros chuckled. “What, you didn’t bring a water purifier?” he asked rhetorically.

“That’s why I brought a water bottle.”

“And here I thought you were planning to go for a swim later,” Eleni retorted, smirking.

Dimitrios grinned. “That’s different.”

“We’re probably not going all the way to the top of the mountain,” Stephanos reminded Dimitrios. “You’ll be fine; if you need it, you can have some of my water.”

“Thanks, man.” Dimitrios stood up and stretched, letting out a loud groan as he did so.

“Can you not be so loud?” hissed Eleni, frowning. “It’s bad enough that all the animals get chased away by the constant hikers going up and down the trail; you don’t have to scare them away more!”

Dimitrios gave her a deadpan look and rolled his eyes. “You and your animals.”

She pursed her lips. “Half the point of hiking out in nature is to actually see nature,” she argued. “Or at least as much of it as is left…”

Nikos jumped to his feet, looking around excitedly. “So, do you think we’ll actually find anything today?”

Eleni raised an eyebrow at Dimitrios, standing up and shouldering her pack. “Not if he has anything to say about it, we won’t,” she grumbled.

“Not that,” Nikos replied, leading the way down the trail as the others slowly got up and followed. “I mean, it would be cool to see some birds out here, but I’m talking artifacts.”

Stephanos shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible,” he allowed, “but considering how many people have combed over Olympus, I doubt that an earthquake in Germany’s really going to shake anything loose.”

“It did seem so much more likely sitting in the library the other day,” Pyrros agreed, nodding. “But seeing it up close in the field… was that earthquake even strong enough to be felt this far away?”

“Maybe not, but it wasn’t just a single earthquake in Germany,” Zoi pointed out. “It was two earthquakes in Germany. Plus a couple in Brazil, and one in America, and several in Japan.”

Pyrros hummed, his brows furrowed in thought. “That is true…” he allowed. “Seismic activity in one place has a minimal impact on the rest of the planet; seismic activity dispersed around the globe should have a potentially-significant impact everywhere.”

“The earthquakes could have acted as a sifter,” Zoi suggested. “It could have pushed things up to the surface that haven’t seen the light of day in centuries – maybe even millennia.”

“Sure, but Olympus?” Eleni demanded. “You’ve got to admit that it seems a little farfetched.”

“As farfetched as the idea of life on other planets?” Zoi pointed out meaningfully. “As farfetched as the idea of superheroes empowered by magical jewelry?”

Eleni hummed doubtfully.

“And that’s saying nothing of whatever is going on in France right now,” added Pyrros, shuddering. “I mean, the same logic that dictates that we shouldn’t find relics of the gods – beyond artifacts associated with their worship – would also dictate that the Tarasque is nothing but a mythological hybrid, an embodiment of a civilization’s basest fears, all brought to life. But here we are.”

Dimitrios scoffed. “So you’re saying that because there’s a Tarasque, there must also be Olympian gods?”

Pyrros shrugged. “I’ve heard of worse theories.”

Nikos rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with at least checking it out.”

Stephanos hummed pensively. The six of them had been sitting around a table in the dining hall after their Mythological Archaeology class at the University of Athens earlier that week, discussing the most recent events in Paris, when Eleni had commented on the earthquakes, wondering what kind of impact they could have had on the local wildlife. Pyrros had commented on the possible effect on the archaeological sites around Mount Olympus, and all six of them had decided to check it out. Although privately he still doubted that they would actually find anything just going on a walk around the base of the mountain, Stephanos had not been in the mood to dissuade the others from their plan. After all, even the worst-case scenario still involved spending a day hiking with friends! So here they were, nearing the halfway point of their hike, almost at the base of the mountain on the east side. “Even if we don’t find anything, it’s still a nice day for experiencing nature,” he pointed out, throwing one of his arms out wide to encompass everything around them.

“Absolutely!” agreed Eleni, smiling brightly. Stephanos grinned, raising an eyebrow at Eleni, who rolled her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

Nikos groaned. “Well, if you just want to sit around, I’m going to go and explore ahead!” he called, jogging down the path away from them.

Stephanos stifled a laugh but turned to the others with a serious look. “So what do you think about everything that’s happening in France?” he asked Dimitrios.

Dimitrios shrugged. “I haven’t really given it too much thought,” he replied. “I’m just glad it’s over there and not right here!”

“You have to admit that it’s a fascinating specimen,” Pyrros objected. “I don’t think we’ve seen anything like it before, apart from myth and legend. And from the few reports that have gotten out, this Tarasque was tough enough to defeat practically all the superheroes in the world and force them turn tail and run away. If that’s the case, it’s got to be bad news – and not just for France.”

Eleni hummed, frowning. “The last I heard from my friend in Paris, the Tarasque’s breath was killing everything – plants, animals… people. If it doesn’t stop…” She shrugged helplessly.

“But if it breathes,” mused Zoi, stroking her chin, “it must be living in some form. And if that’s the case, then there has to be a way to stop it.”

Stephanos pursed his lips doubtfully. “At this point, that’s more of an academic exercise, don’t you think?”

“Naturally,” Zoi agreed with a nod. “But it’s a fascinating exercise nonetheless.”

Climbing over a tree that had fallen across the path, Stephanos turned around and held out a hand to Eleni, who raised an eyebrow at him before scrambling over on her own. He shrugged and stepped out of the way while the others followed. Once they were all set to continue, he opened his mouth to speak, but froze on hearing Nikos shout from further down the path. “Hey! Take a look at this!”

Stephanos cocked his head. “What is it?”

Dimitrios raised an eyebrow. “Knowing him, it’s probably a squirrel.”

Rolling her eyes, Zoi started in Nikos’ direction. “Come on; be nice,” she chided Dimitrios. “We’re here to explore, after all.”

Pyrros shrugged and followed her. “I’ll admit he’s got me curious. Who knows? Maybe he actually did find something.”

“Just as long as he doesn’t try to take something he’s not supposed to,” muttered Dimitrios, though he slowly picked his way around the rocks to follow Pyrros and Zoi.

Stephanos sighed but jogged after them with Eleni bringing up the rear. He scanned the forest carefully where it sloped upward into the foothills of Mount Olympus, looking for any signs of movement. It was a bright, sunny day, with very few clouds in the sky. A soft breeze rustled the branches of the trees, but no animals were in sight. Walking a little further, he found Nikos standing off the path, just in front of a low cave entrance. As the other five gathered near the cave mouth, Stephanos tried to look inside past Nikos, but the interior was too dark to see more than the first meter of the dry, stone cave floor.

“It looks like this might actually have been knocked open by all that seismic activity,” Nikos explained, pointing at the stone around the opening. Bending over to look where he indicated, Stephanos ran a finger along the edge of the stone, which lacked the usual patina. The color of the stone was lighter than the surrounding section. Nikos raised an eyebrow. “Still think this is a waste of time?”

Dimitrios frowned. “Are you sure we should go in there?”

Zoi nodded firmly. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” she asked, aiming a flashlight into the cave before crouching low to get inside the small opening.

“If it goes back too far, we can always come back,” Pyrros pointed out, following her. He withdrew his own flashlight as he did so, and the twin beams danced off the interior walls.

“At least you have flashlights,” grumbled Dimitrios, scrambling through on his hands and knees to join them.

Slowly, one by one, Stephanos, Nikos, and Eleni joined the other three inside the cave, which immediately started to widen once they had passed the entrance, almost as large and deep as a classroom. Stephanos’ flashlight played across the cave walls, catching and reflecting light in strange ways as the light caught and bounced off of what appeared to be fine gem powder set into the walls. Further ahead, the cave narrowed down to a doorway, a little taller than Stephanos himself, the floor beyond which appeared to almost shine as the light reflected off of it. Stopping in that doorway, Pyrros froze in place and gasped.

“What is it?” called Zoi, rushing in his direction.

“I’m… not sure?” he answered as the others converged on the doorway.

Stephanos was the second one to reach him, just as Pyrros stepped through the doorway. He looked over Pyrros’ shoulder into a wide, tall room lined in stone that was unnaturally smooth, almost smoother than metal. The floor was perfectly flat, and a single stone pedestal rose from the exact center of the room, on which rested an ovular silvery bean-shaped artifact. Stephanos joined Pyrros inside the room, staring at the device. Someone bumped into him, and he stepped to one side, against the smooth wall, as the others entered.

“Is that interesting enough for you?” muttered Pyrros, stepping further into the room and moving closer to the device for a better look.

“I’m not sure if ‘interesting’ is the best word for it,” Dimitrios murmured, leaning against the wall next to Stephanos.

“Have–have you ever seen anything like this before?” wondered Eleni.

Zoi shook her head. “Not on an archaeological dig,” she replied, pointing her flashlight at the artifact, which suddenly flashed with bright light. A whirring sound emanated from something just below the artifact.

Stephanos started, scanning the room quickly for his friends. Pyrros was the closest to the device, having moved the furthest into the chamber. Stephanos grabbed for him, only to miss and catch nothing but air. “Hold on!” he called.

However, before he could do anything else, the device emitted a pulse of brilliant white light that bathed all six of them and reflected off of the smooth walls of the chamber, refracting into all the colors of the rainbow. Again and again the light pulsed, and Stephanos stared at it, transfixed. Something seemed to be dancing around and in front of the light, just outside of his reach.


Stephanos shook his head, breaking out of his reverie, and looked around at the other five, all of whom continued to stare at the now-inert bean. His neck and shoulders felt as stiff as if he had been standing in the same place for hours – days, even. But he had no memory of anything after the bean came to life. Shaking his head, he groaned, reaching up to rub his forehead. However, something felt different. “Guys?”

“Huh?” Zoi snapped out of her trance and turned to stare at him, blinking, as the others all did the same.

“What just happened?” wondered Dimitrios, rolling his shoulders, opening and closing his mouth stiffly. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been in here?”

“I–I don’t know!” gasped Eleni, looking around at the others in shock.

Stephanos looked down at his wrist. “My watch isn’t working,” he complained.

“The cave entrance is just back that way,” Nikos called out, pointing. “Let me go and check.” Without another word, he sprinted away from them and out of the cave, disappearing in a blur as he moved, sucking a wave of air behind him.

Stephanos stared after him, eyes wide, and his jaw dropped. “What the hell?”

Chapter 14: The Morning after the Wedding

Summary:

Adrien wakes up first the morning after their wedding

Notes:

This is a follow-up to the Epilogue of "Light in the Darkness"

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Adrien woke up slowly to the now-familiar feeling of warmth pressed against his side, his arms wrapped around the petite form next to him on the cot. The light filtering through the canvas tent hit his eyes as they opened, causing him to blink, but blearily he looked down at the still-sleeping form of Marinette. His wife. The words still felt so surreal, to apply them to her. They had been sharing a bed for over a year, ever since their return from the other timeline. But now – especially after last night – it felt so different, so much more real. They had been like two halves of the same person for so long… but now that really was the case, and in every sense. He brushed his lips against Marinette’s forehead, taking in the scent of her, allowing his eyes to drift closed.

It had been everything he had ever imagined.

Marinette – Ladybug – Marinette – had been his life, his everything for so long, even before he had known who she was. She had dropped into his life in the most sudden and unexpected of ways, the first time he transformed with his miraculous. She had tangled the two of them up in a light pole, stumbled and stuttered, fumbled to figure out her powers, and still somehow defeated that first Akuma. And that girl – that woman – had captured his heart, just as surely as she had captured his body with her yo-yo. From that moment on, it had only been her: the partner who stood up to Hawk Moth fearlessly, the girl in school who so captivated him with her kindness and quiet strength. After the last four years – and especially after the last two – he could safely say that he could never imagine living without her. And now they were one.

Slowly, cautiously, Adrien began tracing his finger up and down Marinette’s spine, trying to call to mind every aspect of yesterday’s ceremony. Chloe had somehow pulled the whole thing together in only a couple hours, complete with food and even something that passed for a cake – and enough of both to feed the entire refugee camp after the service. The reception celebration had begun in the cleared-out mess tent, but it had quickly spread through the rest of the camp; afterward, on their way to the tent, Sabrina had told them that she hadn’t felt such warm and joyful emotions since Christmas. Adrien smiled, his arms tightening around Marinette and eliciting a sleepy hum from her, though his smile faced slightly. So many of those he had wanted to be there – Tom and Sabine, Mom, Tante Amelie, Gorilla – had been absent. With communication cut off to Europe, they couldn’t know how many of them were even still alive. If he could have asked for one thing to be different yesterday, that would have been it. And yet, his friends had been there: Nino and Alya and Chloe and the rest. In spite of their losses, in spite of the absence of those they had lost, the other most important people in his life had celebrated with them.

But in the end, Adrien only really needed one person there: the one still sleeping in his arms in the uncomfortable, too-stiff cot.

This wasn’t how he had imagined their wedding night – he had already rented them a vacation house along the Riviera for that week – but it had still been incredible. He looked around the small tent they had taken on the edge of Hero Town, letting out a breath. As the party had died down last night, he had lifted Ladybug into his arms in a bridal carry and Rena Rouge had pointed them toward this tent on the far side of the valley, in the shadow of the cliffs surrounding the camp. He had carried Ladybug across the camp and into the tent to find it strewn with flower petals, glass jars of fireflies set in the corners of the tent and hanging from the A-frame’s central pole. Ladybug had de-transformed first, as he lay her gently down on the cot.

Adrien sighed quietly. The cot was firm and stiff, just barely long enough for him. The blanket wasn’t the most comfortable. But for all that, it was theirs. And with Marinette next to him, it was perfect.

For as nice as it had been staying in the Temple, they had both agreed that Julia and Vida needed a little more space. And that they didn’t want to listen to the baby cry on their wedding night. And especially that they didn’t want to wake the baby on their wedding night! So they were now in a tent and out of the temple. And based on the quiet voices he could hear outside, Alya and Nino were in the tent on one side, while Chloe and Sabrina were in the tent on the other side. He shook his head in amusement: after the last couple weeks, there were worse ways they could have spent their wedding night than near friends.

As Adrien continued running his finger up and down Marinette’s arm, she stirred, tightening her grip on his chest, and let out a contented sigh. Adrien held his breath, watching her face carefully, but she didn’t wake.

“You know, if you keep staring at her with that same dopey grin, your face is going to stick that way, kid.”

Adrien looked up at Plagg, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Meow would that be such a bad thing?”

Plagg made a face. “I suppose not,” the Kwami allowed. He smirked. “That might make the fights go a lot faster: the criminals will take one look at you and fall over laughing their tails off!”

Purr-haps I’m just happy,” Adrien retorted, his smile widening.

Plagg scoffed. “Are you sure? I think there might be an undiscovered tribe in the Amazon that doesn’t know yet!” Adrien rolled his eyes. Plagg shook his head, his smirk shifting into a contented smile. “I’m happy for you, kid. You deserve to be happy – you both do.” His eyes widened. “Just–just don’t tell Tikki…”

“Too late.” Tikki’s voice emanated from the vicinity of Marinette’s shirt, which lay crumpled on the ground by her shoes. Her head poked out of the pile of clothing, and she grinned. “But I already knew you had a soft streak, you Mangy Cat.”

Plagg gave her a halfhearted glare. “I need to stop hanging out around you, Saccharine,” he retorted. “Maybe I should spend time around Trixx more often; he at least enjoys a good pun!”

“It’s adorable that you think your puns are ‘good.’”

Adrien cocked his head. “So is that where you disappeared to last night?” he asked Plagg.

Plagg nodded. “We went to find a few of the others – Trixx and Wayzz needed someone to commiserate with,” he added, smirking.

Tikki gave Plagg a dirty look. “You needed your privacy,” she told Adrien primly.

“Which we both appreciated.”

“You’re welcome for that, by the way,” Plagg interjected, quirking an eyebrow at Tikki. “If she’d had her way, she would have stayed the whole time. She finds her bugs’ personal lives so exciting…” He groaned. “Not me. It’s the same way every time one of my holders gets married: suddenly they’re all lovey-dovey and making goo-goo eyes at each other and…” He made a face. “I’m happy for you… but there’s no way I’d actually stick around for it!”

Adrien flushed, his arm around Marinette’s shoulders tightening reflexively. She hummed, her eyes blinking open slowly as she started to sit up in bed. Adrien’s breath caught in his throat as Marinette propped herself up, giving the Kwamis a quick glance before her gaze focused in on Adrien’s face. She gave him a warm smile before wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing in contentment, kissing his cheek as she did so.

“And will you look at that?” Plagg observed, grabbing Tikki’s arm. “That’s our cue to ditch out.”

“But–” Tikki protested.

“Let’s see if Trixx and Wayzz are interested in breakfast,” Plagg cut her off, dragging her back through the tent wall.

Marinette followed the two Kwamis with her eyes as they left, cocking her head to one side, before turning to face Adrien. She hummed on finding him staring at her, tightening her arms around his chest. “Good morning,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his chest.

Adrien slid his hand up into her loose hair before pressing a kiss to her lips. “Good morning, Mme Agreste.”

Notes:

Tomorrow look for the next story in “The Colossus Saga”: “Brightest Days.”

Chapter 15: Recovering

Summary:

Sabrina sits alone in a tent, but not for long

Chapter Text

The tent was silent. Outside, Sabrina could hear a few people walking past in either direction but no one came near the tent. Sabrina sighed. She had been back in the camp for almost a week now, and while the heroes had outwardly accepted her, she still sensed their nervousness and mistrust. Although most of them tried to hide it, she could sense the tiny spike of anxiety from many of them when they saw her around the camp. Her stomach clenched. For as useful as her miraculous could be – especially under the circumstances – it brought with it some very powerful drawbacks. This was something she had not realized when she agreed to take up the Butterfly Miraculous: she could feel every emotion of the people around her. Most of the time, that wasn’t a problem. But most of the time, she hadn’t just turned on her friends, joined forces with a monster, and attempted to take the miraculous.

Now, more than ever, she was grateful that they had taken a tent near the very edge of the refugee camp. The rest of the Heroes of Paris were in the tents closest to theirs – Marinette and Adrien, Alya and Nino, Mylène and Ivan… They almost formed a buffer between her tent and the rest of Hero Town. Sabrina had been staying in her tent most of the time since her return, trying to avoid notice as much as possible. The other heroes had been… less forgiving, though they had accepted Ladybug’s decision.

A small spike of sadness and grief appeared on the edge of Sabrina’s consciousness, coming from the direction of a few tents near the center of the refugee camp, next to the dining tent. Sabrina’s breathing hitched, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the fear and tracing it back to the source. A boy several years younger than her sat behind the tent in question, hugging his knees and sniffling. Moving her attention back away from the boy, Sabrina scanned the nearby tents for other people. There were a few nearby, but none seemed to have noticed him. Her stomach clenched, and she started to sit up, but the emotions shifted and the boy’s grief diminished. Sabrina sighed, lying back down on the cot.

“What is wrong, Mistress Sabrina?” asked Nooroo, stirring her out of her reverie.

She looked over at the simple cardboard box that Chloe had claimed as a nightstand. Aisha had found a set of paints somewhere and started decorating the sides, including pictures of all the Heroes together – Sabrina’s stomach still turned on seeing Aisha’s painting of her and Max holding hands in front of the Eiffel Tower. Nooroo hovered directly above that painting, looking at her. She let out a breath. “Just… thinking,” she explained. Her shoulders slumped. “If Max were here right now, what do you think he would say?” Nooroo cocked his head in a question. “About me, about this camp, about… about anything?”

Kaalki scoffed, tossing aside the top of a carrot. “He would say that it is time to get up, get out there, and collect data. Everything has a scientific explanation, so there is a scientific solution to any problem.”

Sabrina cracked a weak smile. “Yeah…” She sighed wistfully. “If only it were that simple.” Someone hit the tent flap on the outside, and Sabrina nearly jumped. “H–hello?”

“Um… Sabrina?” Nath’s voice came through the canvas. Reaching out with her senses, Sabrina felt Marc standing next to him, nervousness and anxiety pouring off of both of them in waves. “Uh… is it okay to–”

She sat up, pulling her feet up onto the cot and hugging her knees. “Yes – you can both come in.” The tent flap drew back slightly, and Nath stepped inside, followed by Marc. They stood nervously near the doorway, turning and looking around the small space in surprise. Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “What can I do for you?” she asked. Her breathing hitched, and her gaze dropped down to the ground. “Do you also want to know why?” she whispered bitterly.

“No.” Nath shook his head. “I don’t really need to ask – I don’t need to know, but I already have a pretty good idea. After my Opa–well–you saw how angry I was, how much I just wanted to lash out. And I think I was actually even a little bit prepared when that happened. For you and Max?” He squeezed Marc’s hand. “I was about ready to go off the deep end when Marc got tossed like a ragdoll, and he survived!”

Sabrina finally looked up at them, her eyes finding Marc. “How is your back?”

Marc winced, rubbing the small of his back. “It’s… still sore,” he admitted. “Hato Gozen and Olivet – and Mão Curadora, for that matter – have all tried their healing magic on it, and it feels a little better each time. But every treatment seems to help a little less now, if that makes sense. So they say it’s still going to need time to heal on its own.”

Sabrina nodded. “That–that’s good. I’m glad it’s feeling better – even if only a little.”

The silence stretched on for a long minute. Finally Nath cleared his throat. “Um… so… where’s your ‘girl gang’?” he asked. Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “It seems like I don’t see you without Chloe or those other four these days.”

“Oh.” Sabrina smiled, though the smile ended at her mouth. “You saw the UK heroes leave the other day, right?”

Nath and Marc both nodded. “It looked like something happened when they were taking off – did they ever figure that out?” asked Nath.

Sabrina shrugged helplessly. “Ladybug isn’t telling me too much, but Chloe said it was some sort of misunderstanding: someone threw chi-putty, someone threw punches…”

“What is with those Dark Acolytes?” Marc wondered. “They just – they’re obsessed!”

Nath hummed. “That’s as good a word as any for them.”

Sabrina nodded, thinking back on her few conversations with the Heirodeacon. She shrugged. “But that’s where two of them are. Then, since we sort of have an idea of what to do against the Tarasque, Chloe is off meeting with the leaders of the other European hero groups to explain it – your friend the Knight should be there, too,” she added. Nath cracked a smile, chuckling. “Hoda is helping Biladurang with some repairs on the other space-plane, since it was damaged in the fight.”

Marc cocked his head in confusion. “But… I thought that they repaired all the damage to both planes when we all arrived in Angola.”

Sabrina frowned, looking down at the ground. Her shoulders slumped. “Not that fight.”

“Ah.”

Sabrina shrugged. “And Aisha… She was going to stay, but I told her it was okay for her to go and see her brother. She had hardly seen him since the end of the fight, since she spent so much time here with me.” She frowned. “To be honest, I didn’t really want her to be around right now; I’ve have people around constantly for so long… I thought I wanted to be alone. There’s been activity and noise all the time… I thought I needed the quiet.”

Nath shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Embarrassment bloomed within him, and he shifted toward the tent door. “Um… we can go, then…”

Sabrina shook her head. “No!” Nath started, and Sabrina swallowed guiltily. “No… I–I thought I wanted to be alone… but it’s too oppressive.”

Nath dropped onto the other cot, followed by Marc, and placed his elbows on his knees. “We can stay.”

Marc nodded. “You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to… but you’re not alone.”

Nath smiled. “Considering how much you helped me after my Opa… I’m happy to return the favor.”

Sabrina’s stomach clenched and unclenched. Slowly she drew in a deep breath and released it. “Thanks.”

Chapter 16: Kuns

Summary:

Victor plays cards with a group of heroes

Chapter Text

Victor looked down at his hand, his brows furrowed. Carefully he smoothed out his facial features, concentrating on the light around his head and shifting it around to project the illusion of a completely expressionless face. In his time on this planet, the people around him had attempted on multiple occasions to teach him various card games, and while the exact mechanics of each game differed wildly, this one thing had remained consistent: the importance of the so-called “poker face.” Thumbing through the cards and thinking back on the rules as Prism had explained them, he finally looked up at the four heroes seated with him around the folding table, pushing a couple of stones toward the pile in the center. “I will match.”

Next to him, Harba glanced back down at his cards, nodded slowly, and tossed the same number of pebbles into the pile. “Same.”

Tenedaw frowned at her own hand, sighed heavily, and tossed them into the center. “Too rich for me,” she complained, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms behind her head. Raising her eyebrows, she scanned the table carefully, her eyes stopping on Victor for a moment longer than anyone else.

Prism cocked her head in surprise. “But… you only got two cards. You could get anything with the next three.”

Tenedaw shrugged noncommittally. “I would rather just watch the rest of you.”

Waktiman shrugged, calling the bid with his own stones. “Fair enough.”

Harba chuckled. “This game is kind of addictive,” he observed, organizing his pebbles into neat piles of five. “I’m not sure if I should thank you for teaching us, or if I should blame you for giving me another time-waster!”

“For myself, I appreciate the opportunity to learn more about your culture,” Victor interjected, allowing his illusory poker face to drop and giving the others a toothy grin. “And after spending the majority of my time with the same few people living at the Heroes of Paris’ mansion, it is nice to meet new people.”

Prism smiled, quickly dealing out another two cards each to the four of them who were left. “Happy to oblige,” she assured them. “I’m just glad I found this deck of cards in the Red Cross supplies! Can you imagine how boring it would be to spend days on end sitting around without cards to play?”

Tenedaw scoffed. “There are other things we could try to do, but the options are pretty limited, even at the Angola temple.”

“Does Mali have more options?” asked Harba, raising an eyebrow.

She frowned. “I think we both know the answer to that question.” Victor cocked his head curiously. Tenedaw rolled her eyes. “The Malian temple is built over a small spring of water, surrounded on all sides by sand,” she explained.

Waktiman hummed. “Our temple is in an ancient Moche pyramid, with farming fields on the terraces leading up to it. Any time I tell – told – Águila Altíssimo I was bored, he would send me outside to pull weeds.”

“That’s more than I could say about our temple,” Harba told him. “Ours is underneath the Sphinx, and aside from the hydroponic garden, practically nothing can grow in the area.”

Prism laughed, grinning proudly. “Well our temple-island has almost anything you could want: water, gardens, cattle, art and music… we even have a theater – both for movies and for plays.”

Victor let out a slow breath, looking down at the table in front of him. While Paris offered quite a bit in the way of amenities, he had experienced relatively few of them. Even though he could make himself appear human while out in public, it was such a taxing proposition for a long stretch of time that he very rarely used it to go out – at least not without a valid reason. Adrien and Marinette had both offered to accompany him anywhere he needed to go in the city, but with how busy they were, he was loath to take them up on the offer.

Finally, Prism dealt each of them two more cards. As she passed out the second round, Waktiman picked up his new cards, shuffling through his hand rapidly, frowning. Finally he groaned. “It sucks that we’re just stuck here with nothing to do but play cards and think about Paris.”

Victor froze, staring at his new cards without really seeing them.

Harba raised an eyebrow at Waktiman. “Do you have a better idea?”

He sighed heavily and looked away. “I mean… not really…” he admitted. “But it’s not like we had a clear plan in New York – we just went and did what we could and somehow it worked out in the end – or at least it worked out as well as we could expect.”

Tenedaw eyed him with interest, leaning forward slightly. “I’d forgotten that you had faced one of those beasts before Paris. What was it like? That was the Ox, right?”

He nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. “It was… it was pretty wild,” he replied. “We were supposed to go and help the United Heroez against it, but they didn’t want our help at first. Then they got into trouble and needed our help. So we just… jumped in and started helping them out. I even saved a couple of them from getting squashed by the Ox. We didn’t know what we were doing, so all we could do was throw whatever we had at it and try not to die.”

Prism scoffed darkly, arching one eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Yeah? And how did that work out for you in Paris?”

He sighed heavily and his face fell. “Not–not so great,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “We lost…” He let out a breath “… too many.”

Prism nodded, her shoulders sagging as she let out a breath. “Yeah. We did, too. We–we had no idea what we were getting into.”

Victor’s mouth set in a thin line, his lips hiding his teeth. “Even living at the Headquarters of the Heroes of Paris, I knew very little of what we could expect from facing those monsters,” he told the others. “Yet even what expectations I had were blown out of the water by the event itself.”

Tenedaw swallowed heavily, shuddering. Subtly she leaned toward Harba, leaning forward to fold her arms in front of her. “I thought the Scorpion was bad enough – but now they’re saying we’ll have to go and fight the whole thing?”

“That does seem to be the plan,” Victor agreed, bobbing his head. “Although I doubt that I have any more information than anyone else.”

Harba’s expression turned hard. “Good,” he declared. “We need to put an end to it once and for all.”

“Is that a smart idea, though?” wondered Tenedaw, raising an eyebrow at Harba. “Remember what happened with the Scorpion – or what almost happened?”

Victor cocked his head to one side.

Waktiman hummed doubtfully, glancing at Victor and Prism. “Do I have to be the one to say it?” he asked. Finally he sighed. “What happened with the Scorpion?”

Harba shrugged. “It tried to rip my mother apart, but Tenedaw helped rescue her.”

Waktiman arched an eyebrow. “As bad as that is, would you rather leave the Tarasque on the loose?”

“No – of course not,” Tenedaw insisted, shaking her head adamantly. “It hurt so many people; of course we need to stop it. But that still raises the question: how are we supposed to stop it? Will this other miraculous people keep talking about really solve our problem?”

Victor shrugged. “Ladybug and Cat Noir are at least hopeful for success.”

Harba cleared his throat, tossing another couple of stones into the pile. “So… Victor,” he began. Victor turned to him in surprise. “You’ve been all over the galaxy, right?”

“That… is correct,” Victor admitted hesitantly. “Why do you ask?”

“Had you ever seen anything quite like… well… this before?” asked Harba.

Victor cocked his head to one side in confusion, eyeing the other carefully. He began to shake his head but stopped when he saw the meaningful raise in Harba’s eyebrows. “I… have seen many monsters I my travels,” he confirmed, nodding. “Not like the Tarasque, but… One I saw during my first mission was an enormous brute, the product of an experimental chemical compound that a splinter sect of Shunjar had created. Instead of testing it on one of their own, they had used it on a Volpine prisoner. He grew to massive proportions, and the experiment pushed his strength up far beyond that of a normal person.”

Tenedaw’s eyes widened. “What did you do about it?”

Victor shrugged. “Working together, several of us created an image of a larger version of the monster and incited it to attack the illusion. That kept it distracted, but only momentarily. Unfortunately, all we had time to do while it was distracted was to take samples so our scientists could figure out an antidote.”

“How long did that take?” asked Waktiman, tossing another couple stones into the pile before Prism passed out the last card.

“We… didn’t,” Victor admitted quietly, looking down at the table. “He was too far gone. So we had to just… kill him. With a bomb.”

“But you did manage to defeat it, right?” pressed Harba.

He nodded firmly. “Oh, yes, of course we did.” He grimaced. “It just cost us far more of a price than we expected.”

Prism hummed. “Sounds like this wild monster we had to take down in the Outback a couple years back. It was causing trouble for local ranchers, so we had to get rid of it. It had already killed a couple of the ranchers before we found out about it.”

“Did you ever figure out what it was?” Waktiman wondered.

Prism frowned. “Not exactly. I only ever saw it from a distance, while the others got in closer to try and subdue it. At first we thought it was just an emu–”

“An emu?” demanded Waktiman, snorting in disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Those monsters can be dangerous, and they can be destructive and deadly, especially when you get enough of them together.” She sighed heavily. “But this was something far worse than that.”

Harba hummed. “But you managed to stop it, right?” he pressed.

She nodded, cocking her head and staring at him suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”

He shrugged. “Only that we can stop these kinds of creatures together, even when they terrify us.” He glanced at Tenedaw, who looked at him with her eyes wide open. “Whatever happens, we can face this creature together, and we can come out on top.”

Tenedaw nodded. “I know,” she acknowledged. “But it’s still not going to be easy.”

Victor shook his head. “Certainly it will not be easy. But it will be important.”

Prism cleared her throat. “Okay, so now you will add up your cards – three cards adding up to a multiple of ten, and then add up the last two. Highest ones digit for the sum of the last two cards wins. I have 6.”

Harba glanced down at his hand. “4.”

Waktiman shook his head. “I can’t get 3 cards to add up to 10.”

Prism grinned. “So… just down to you, Vic. What d’you got?”

Victor frowned, adding up the cards in his hand. “I have… 0,” he looked up at her. “My last 2 cards add up to 10 exactly.”

“Really?” She stared at him in shock, shook her head ruefully, and tossed her cards into the center. “I guess you win.” She sighed. “But who’s up for another round?” Harba nodded eagerly. Tenedaw glanced at him but reluctantly agreed as well. Waktiman shrugged. Prism gathered together all the cards and started shuffling them.

As he counted his “winnings” and organized the stones on the table, Victor looked around at the group of heroes. Although the heroes had lost in Paris, they had not been defeated permanently. They had friends on their side, and they would return. And so would he.

Chapter 17: An Afternoon with the Girls

Summary:

Marinette and her friends hanging out on a rainy afternoon

Chapter Text

Marinette leaned back against one of the wooden crates that she had claimed from the depot, listening to the rain patter against the canvas tent overhead. The whole time they had been here, the weather had been almost perfect, only for it to start raining a little after lunch today. And of course it hadn’t started until after Adrien left… He had gone on a run with Nino along the canyon wall, first to make sure that the Red Cross trucks parked on the south end of the cliff were secure, then to double-check the pathways – the last thing they wanted was for someone to get hurt while trying to leave the camp. Then they were planning to go through the woods and check on Hunda-Beekaa’s old camp since they had cleared it out and converted temporarily into a space-plane landing strip for Iron Maiden to practice. The camp had been deserted since the Heroes of the UK had left earlier in the week, though some of the backup repair and maintenance supplies for the space-planes had remained there, waiting to be brought back to the main refugee camp. She frowned as the rain intensified. The refugee camp itself wasn’t likely to flood; Mihaela had assured them early on that the drainage in Miradouro da Luawas efficient enough to take care of any rain. And the refugees themselves had plenty of options for cover. But Adrien and Nino were out in this. What if Adrien slipped and fell? What if he was hurt?? What if he caught a cold and–

“You’re catastrophizing again, girl.” Alya flicked her in the forehead. Marinette started, turning on her with an irritated glare, only for Alya to arch an eyebrow in amusement. “You’ve really got to stop doing that.”

Mylène gave her a sympathetic look. “You do worry a lot,” she agreed.

Marinette pursed her lips. “Considering how badly it’s raining and how slick the pathway can get, I’d say worry is justified,” she pointed out.

Sabrina closed her eyes for a moment and let out a breath. Bee-atrice nuzzled against her hand insistently, until Sabrina scratched behind her ears and opened her eyes. “I don’t sense anything wrong,” she assured Marinette. “And Hato Gozen is with the Initiates watching the base of the trail.”

“See?” Alya asked, giving Marinette a carefree grin. “Sunshine will get back fine.” She stifled a giggle. “My man will make sure of it!”

“And if Nino gets in trouble?” Marinette argued, frowning.

Alya shrugged. “One word and he’s protected from literally anything – or at least anything short of a Tarasque…”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” grumbled Marinette.

Chloe shook her head ruefully and scoffed. “You’ve been married less than a week and you’re already panicking over him!? You act like an old married couple.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, you were already acting like an old married couple, and you weren’t even dating!”

Marinette cocked her head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Alya snorted. “Did you even watch any of my Ladyblog footage from your first couple years?” she demanded. “I sent you like every video I ever shot!”

“I didn’t need to watch it; I was literally there for all of it!” Marinette rolled her eyes in exasperation, but as she did so, she frowned. “Do you think I’m too controlling?” she wondered. “Do you think I shouldn’t be worrying about him?”

“I mean, not if it’s going to cut into our girl time,” Alya replied, stifling a smirk. She shook her head soberly. “Otherwise, though, I don’t think it’s too much. Especially considering his line of work.”

“Because the fashion industry is so cutthroat,” Marinette muttered. Alya gave her a deadpan look.

“Well, the way Gabriel and Mother do it…” Chloe began, snorting. Bee-atrice let out an excited yip, and Chloe scratched behind her ears as she nuzzled against her side. “I swear, there were a couple fashion shows where I thought Mother was about to strangle a model!”

“Right…” Alya rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I suppose if I’d experienced some of the crap you’ve seen over the last few years, I don’t think I’d be any better off,” she admitted. “So no, I’m not going to say you can’t worry. Just… you can dial it back, okay?”

“I think it’s sweet that you worry about him,” Mylène interjected, smiling softly.

I think it’s ridiculous,” grumbled Chloe, rolling her eyes. Bee-atrice whined, tugging on her fingers, and she picked the puppy up, plopping her on her lap and cradling her tightly. “Not like you, no! You’re just perfect!”

Sabrina elbowed Chloe, shaking her head ruefully. “It’s wonderful that the two of you have each other,” she told Marinette quietly. “Your emotions toward each other…” She sighed. “They’re like… a balm on a scorching day. With all the stress and anger and depression in the camp, you and Adrien make it more bearable.”

Marinette let out a breath, giving Sabrina a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry we’re not always so… happy lately,” she apologized. “It’s just–”

Alya put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not just you, girl,” she assured her. “I think everyone is feeling it.”

Chloe frowned. “Some days it just seems to hit more than others – where we are, and why.”

“Did you know that Ivan and I were supposed to sign the lease on our first apartment next week?” asked Mylène, her shoulders slumping. “It was this cute little studio loft that a little old lady was trying to rent out. I’d even picked out furniture for it. But now… who knows if the building is still standing – or if Mme Marais even survived. I haven’t seen her in the refugee camp at all, so…”

Sabrina sighed heavily, placing a consoling hand on Mylène’s shoulder. “We can’t know for certain,” she told her. “But I’m sure it will work out – at least you and Ivan still have each other.”

Mylène’s eyes widened, and she looked away guiltily. “I’m–I’m sorry,” she apologized, swallowing hard. Suddenly she threw her arms around Sabrina in a tight hug, sniffling back tears. Sabrina gasped involuntarily. “I shouldn’t be talking like that – not when you–”

“It’s okay,” Sabrina cut her off, returning the embrace. “I–well…” She frowned, staring down at the floor beneath them, a hitch in her breathing. Bee-atrice hopped up into her lap, rubbing her cheek against Sabrina’s stomach, moments before Chloe wrapped an arm around her, followed by Marinette. Finally Alya joined in the group hug, and Sabrina sighed, melting into their embrace. They sat there on the ground for a long minute, quiet as the rain beat a steady staccato against the roof of the tent. Sabrina rested her cheek on Marinette’s shoulder and gave the others a squeeze. “Thanks.” Sabrina swallowed, sniffling. “One minute I think I’m okay, but the next…”

“We’re here for you,” Marinette assured her, rubbing her back consolingly. “You aren’t going through this alone.”

Sabrina nodded jerkily, swallowing hard and starting to withdraw from the group hug. “I’m–I think I’m okay now.”

Marinette gave her a sympathetic smile, sighing. Still it had only been a week since Sabrina returned to them, since Marinette had made the decision to return the Butterfly Miraculous to her. Before they left, Bandruí had asked her to look in on Sabrina, to make sure that she was okay. With a twinge of guilt, Marinette thought back on the days right after their arrival here, when she had been so busy and distracted with everything else that she hadn’t even thought to ask Sabrina how she was feeling. She had been so wrapped up I her own grief and worry, nothing else had managed to penetrate that bubble. But Sabrina had had it so much worse. She had lost her boyfriend, her father was missing, and she could feel everything that the rest of them were feeling, so of course she–

“I’m okay, Mar,” Sabrina insisted, putting a hand on Marinette’s arm and stirring her out of her thoughts. “I promise.”

Marinette smiled, letting out a breath, and reached inside her crate to pull out a small box. “So… does that mean that you don’t want these ‘macarons’ that I made this morning?” she asked, opening the box and passing the cookies around.

“Ooh!” Mylène cooed, selecting one of the macarons and nibbling on the edge. “It tastes just like home!”

“Damn, girl!” Alya moaned, taking a second macaron. “How did you figure this out without an oven?”

Marinette giggled. “It’s amazing what you can do with a pot and aluminum foil!”

“Thank you!” Mylène beamed brightly. “Can I take one for Ivan?”

Chloe snorted. “Only if there are any left after we get through with them!”

“If there aren’t, I can always make them again,” Marinette assured her. “I can even show you how!”

“Really?” Mylène’s eyes widened. “That would be fun!” The corners of her lips turned up slightly. “We haven’t had that much ‘fun’ in a while…”

Marinette smiled fondly, rummaging around in the box and coming out with a couple of bone-shaped cookies, one of which she placed on the ground in front of Bee-atrice. As the puppy attacked the treat, Marinette stroked her fur. There were still a half-dozen macarons left in the box, and she slipped two of them out and returned them to the crate to save for later. She had always enjoyed baking, especially when she could do it for her friends. And it would be even better when she got to see the look on Adrien’s face when he tasted one of her macarons.

Eyeing Marinette carefully, Alya hummed, raising an eyebrow at her judiciously. “I can’t be the only one who sees it,” she mused.

Marinette cocked her head. “Sees what?”

Chloe gave Alya a dubious look. “I’m pretty sure there are a lot of things that only you see…”

“Sabrina? Tell me I’m not seeing things,” Alya pleaded.

Sabrina nodded slowly. “You are a lot happier this week,” she told Marinette. “Certainly more than last week… on some level, even more than you were in Paris before the Tarasque!”

Alya giggled, wagging her eyebrows at Marinette. “I guess being an old married woman suits you, girl!”

Marinette smirked. “Maybe you should try it!”

Alya rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No way.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow languidly. “And yet Daddy told me that you and Nino had approached him about getting a ‘quickie marriage ceremony’ like he did for these two!” She jerked her head toward Marinette, who stifled a laugh. “I swear, he’s done at least a dozen of those a day since you opened the floodgates on it, Mar… It’s getting a bit ridiculous!”

“Why’d he have to tell you that?” Alya demanded, frowning in annoyance.

“Wait, you weren’t going to tell me about it?” Marinette pouted, folding her arms. “And I thought we were friends… I thought I was supposed to be your maid of honor!”

“But you can’t be a ‘maid’ of honor anymore,” Mylène pointed out, raising an eyebrow at Marinette.

“Fine; matron of honor.” Marinette rolled her eyes. “So spill.”

Alya groaned, blushing slightly despite her dark complexion. “Fine… we thought about it… but… I don’t know…”

Mylène patted Alya’s hand. “It’s not a bad thing; Ivan and I talked about it, too,” she admitted. “But in the end we decided not to change our plans, just because it looked like the world was going to end two weeks ago.”

“Still looking at next year, then?” asked Alya curiously.

Mylène nodded. “May 21, after school ends and before we leave for Kitty Section’s summer tour – that’s going to be our honeymoon.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “A ‘working honeymoon’?” she demanded incredulously. “Whose idea was that?”

“It was mutual.” Mylène shrugged. “The tour is going to happen one way or the other, and we could either get married before or after. At least this way we get a honeymoon.” She sighed. “It’s not so bad; we’ll be seeing the sights with friends. And we’ll probably slip away for a few days between stops for some alone time…”

Sabrina smiled wistfully, looking off into the distance. “That sounds nice…” she whispered, sniffling quietly. Marinette put her hand on Sabrina’s shoulder as Chloe did the same on the other side. Sabrina glanced over at them and nodded, wiping her eyes with one hand.

Marinette swallowed hard. They had suffered so much. They had lost so much. But they were together. She had Adrien. She had her friends. And even those they lost were still with them – the memory of them living on in their deeds. Life would never be the same as it had been. But it would get better.

Chapter 18: Refugee School

Summary:

The Owl is tired of watching children miss out on schooling

Chapter Text

The Owl paced anxiously back and forth outside one of the three enormous dining pavilions which he had requisitioned and had erected on the edge of the civilian section of the refugee camp. Not for the first time in his hero career was he grateful for the enhanced hearing built into his cowl – he could hear everything happening in his small part of the camp. For the first week of their stay, he had allowed it to slide; as their time in Angola had dragged into the second week, he had grown concerned. When, near the end of week two, he had found a large unused tarp in the pile of supplies at the depot, he had immediately understood what he had to do.

Beneath this first tarp, Caline Bustier and Annette Raoult each had half of the older students, divided into somewhat more manageable groups. Caline had found a handful of textbooks in one of the pallets of books the Red Cross had given them, which she was using to teach History while also helping the students’ English and teaching French as best she could with so few available books. Opposite Caline, under the same tarp, Annette was drilling her group on the poisonous plants and animals native to Angola. Beyond the first tarp was a second one in which several teachers had divided the école élémentaire-aged students into year-specific classes – he had found far more qualified teachers at the élémentaire level than collège; so many of his own colleagues had been left behind in Paris. And then there was a third tent for maternelle students, though the “maternelle” class was closer to a daycare since he had finally run out of qualified teachers. Instead he had recruited a dozen Sorbonne University students as teachers and teacher aides, who had grouped all of the students together, regardless of age. The three pavilions had been erected to form a triangle between them, where the students could have their gym classes and recess under supervision. Each of the teachers had a class of at least a hundred, if not more, with students continuing to join by the hour – and those were only the children who had come, or who were in the camp with parents or guardians who would make them come. Just walking through the came that morning, the Owl had seen another thousand or more potential students who could have come to the makeshift school; about a hundred of those had followed him back to the school.

Of course, while he would never turn a student away, his present setup could barely support the students they had at present. If any more students came, they might need to expand into a fourth pavilion tent.

Finding makeshift desks and tables for the school had been only the first challenge in getting his idea off the groud. His first stop had been to ask Chloe if she could make any suggestions. After he had assured her that he didn’t plan to force the older students (which included most of the Heroes of Paris) to attend the school, she had approached Rugindo Leoa, who had provided all the emptied wooden crates in the camp, along with hundreds of tables and chairs from the storage warehouse they had been using in Egypt. The Red Cross supplies had included enormous stores of paper and pencils; they had even found a couple blackboards that could be propped up against the tent poles on boxes to give them height. The greatest challenge had been locating textbooks and materials – after going through every pallet of books in the camp, he had still come up short. In the end, Hakɛto’s contact at the Red Cross had arranged for one of the schools in Algeria to loan some of their unused French-language textbooks.

Certainly this would not replace a proper school with proper facilities, but for now it would have to do.

As the Owl turned back around for another cycle of anxious pacing, his ears peeled for any potential disciplinary problems, a young woman stopped a few meters in front of him and looked around nervously before coughing into her hand. When the Owl turned his attention to her, she asked, “Um… my friend Lina said I should talk to you about teaching here?”

His eyes widened and he straightened his back, giving her an encouraging smile. “Yes! Mlle…”

“Cassel. Camille Cassel.”

“And do I remember correctly that you are studying history education at Sorbonne University, Mlle Cassel?”

Camille nodded. “Yes, that is correct. This is – or it was – my final term,” she explained. “Now?” She shrugged helplessly. “Who knows what is going to happen?”

“That is, I suppose the question, isn’t it?” The Owl beamed at her. “But thank you so much for coming! Your friend Mlle Achard has been teaching in our maternelle; spoke quite highly of you when I mentioned our need at the collège level. As you can see, we are organizing a makeshift school for the students in the camp, but I am in need of more instructors, particularly for the collège. If I can find another teacher or two, we will be able to reduce the size of the classes and accommodate more students. So… will you help me?”

Camille furrowed her brows in thought. “I–um–I suppose I need more information first. What would be the expectations and responsibilities?”

“An excellent question!” The Owl smiled approvingly. “You would be responsible for teaching history for all grades at the collège level in a rotation with the other instructors.” Turning to face the tent, he pointed first to Caline, then Annette. “Currently, Mme Bustier is teaching both languages and history, while Mme Raoult teaches science and I cover math. I have found a few additional ‘adjunct’ instructors – O Brasileiro and O Patriota have both consented to teach our students conversational Portuguese, though they are far too busy to teach on a daily basis. As far as you are concerned, you would not have a ‘classroom’ per se; the students stay in their ‘classrooms’ while the teachers move between the class spaces for their allotted lesson times. Classes are divided roughly by grade, but with Sixième and Cinquième together, and Quatrième and Troisième together.”

“I would be teaching multi-grade, multi-subject?” asked Camille, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

“For now,” he admitted. “Is that acceptable?”

“Do we have a choice?” She shrugged. “I can try to make it work… But I’ve never done it before; it’s not something I ever really planned to have to do.”

He nodded sympathetically. “It is not my preference. But hopefully by the end of the week we will find another teacher and be able to divide students by grade. Do you know of any University students studying to teach math, music, civics, or English?”

She frowned. “I have a couple friends in the education program, but–” she sighed heavily “–I don’t know which of them made it here.”

He hummed, patting her on the shoulder consolingly. “I hope they did make it here,” he told her. “Or that they are safe, wherever they are. But if you can find them, ask them to come and see me.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.” She pursed her lips, swallowing nervously. “If – if I’m going to do this…” she flushed “will you – that is to say – um…”

He raised an eyebrow but nodded, stifling his amusement. “I will be happy to write you a letter of recommendation once we return to Paris.” He was going to have a lot of those letters to write… when they got home.

Camille let out a breath. “Thank you, sir – M. Owl.” She coughed nervously. “But–um–I was actually going to ask… could I teach at… Collège François Dupont?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “I–uh–” He cleared his throat. “I will see what I can do,” he finally answered.

She nodded, her cheeks turning a darker shade of red. “Thank you. I’m–I’m sorry for even asking.”

He held out a hand for her to shake and gave her a reassuring smile. “Not at all. Thank you for your assistance in this, Mme Cassel.” Gesturing toward the smaller tent he had placed a little apart from the exercise triangle to hold their books and materials, he led her inside and showed her the stack of history books they had acquired – most in English, but with a few French and Portuguese books mixed in. “You may take the rest of the morning to prepare lessons, but if you are ready, I will add you to the schedule for the afternoon.”

Her eyes widened in fear and she swallowed anxiously, but finally she gave a jerky nod. “I–I’ll try.”

“That is all we can ask under the circumstances,” he replied, giving her a confident grin. “I’m sure you will perform admirably; if you have any questions or require guidance, I will be happy to help you in any way I can.” A wave from the direction of the collège tent caught his attention, and he looked over to see Caline gesturing toward him, raising her eyebrows insistently. “But if you will excuse me, it is time for math class.”

Camille had already sat down at the folding table and opened a battered book of African history, jotting down quick notes on a sheet of loose-leaf paper without taking her eyes off the book. Satisfied, the Owl grabbed an out-of-date pre-algebra book from the stack on the other side of the table, along with a notebook, and left the tent, striding confidently toward Caline and her class. She stepped out from under the tent to meet him, strain at the corners of her eyes.

“I grouped the troublemakers front and center of each grade,” she reported briskly. “Another four Sixième students showed up halfway through the class – I don’t think you saw them when they arrived.”

The Owl nodded pensively, stroking his chin. “I will get their information after classes,” he decided. “We will have some further assistance today, and possibly more tomorrow. Thank you, Mme Bustier.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I couldn’t exactly leave you in the lurch, M. Damo–ahem–Owl.” Her eyes drifted across the tent toward the other class, and she grimaced, moving in that direction. “I’d better get back to it so Annette can get her prep time.”

The Owl let out a breath, steeling himself for the upcoming class. It had been years since he was last in the classroom, and under far more ideal circumstances than now. But that was the life of a Hero of Paris. Tomorrow perhaps they would return and stop the Tarasque once and for all. But for today, the next generation of Paris youth needed to be prepared for that better future which the Heroes of Paris were working to give them.

Chapter 19: The Return

Summary:

The Heroes of the UK return to Angola

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Space-Plane 1, requesting landing clearance.”

“Acknowledged. Permission granted for vertical landing.” There was a pause. “Welcome home, Iron Maiden.”

“Glad to be back.”

The Hound leaned back against the side of the plane, trying to ignore the dull throbbing of his foot as the plane tipped up slightly and touched down. While they had been in the air – while Bri had been in the cabin to distract him, the pain had receded into the background, almost entirely vanishing from his consciousness. But the moment she had returned to the cockpit, all the pain from his injury had returned. Barkk had insisted that he transform for the extra support of the suit, meager though it was. Yet as the plane’s landing gear touched down on the rocky surface, his foot jostled, sending a stab of pain up his leg. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching and unclenching his fist, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. The moment the cockpit door opened, he forced his hand to relax and looked up with a grin.

Bri stepped out of the cockpit, stretching her shoulders and twisting her back, groaning in relief. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“Agreed. The view just got so much better!” The Hound’s eyes trailed across her form for a moment before she looked down at him, smirking in amusement. The smirk turned almost instantly to concern, and he swallowed nervously.

“How’s your foot?” she asked, kneeling in front of him and placing a hand on his leg.

He winced. “It only hurts when I think about it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Care to give me something else to think about?”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I would,” she allowed, “but we need to do a few other things first.” She helped him to his feet and draped his arm over her shoulders to support him. “Perhaps in a little bit, once all the work is finished?”

He nodded, groaning. “Of course you’re the responsible one,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. Nevertheless, he allowed her to help him down the ladder to the cargo hold, where Anne, already wearing her Bandruí suit, and Dhuan stood in front of the tied-up Vicar.

Bandruí waved her hand gently through the air, her eyes fixed on the Vicar’s face. Tendrils of vines drifted around in front of him, following her movements. Suddenly two lashed out and wrapped around his head before slowly releasing. Bandruí’s eyes flashed. “Now you remember this, next time you try to pull any crap like that again.”

As the Vicar glared silently at her, the Hound leaned against the side of the plane while Bri activated her suit and climbed inside. The ramp slowly eased open, revealing Biladurang and a pair of Guardian Initiates waiting just outside, the area around the space-plane lit by torches to hold back the darkness. At a glance, it had to be at least an hour or two after sunset. Groaning, the Hound grabbed his walking stick and hobbled down the ramp, followed by the others.

Biladurang looked them over carefully and gave an evaluating nod. “I’m glad to see you all in one piece,” she observed. “We were starting to wonder if something had happened.” Her head cocked to one side in surprise as she caught sight of Dhuan and the Vicar. “Okay, there’s got to be a story here…”

The Hound winced. “There is,” he acknowledged, “but I’d prefer to save it for tomorrow if you don’t mind. Though we should see to this bastard now…” he added, jerking his head to the Vicar. “He stowed away and tried to kill me.”

One of the Initiates nodded firmly and put his hand on the Vicar’s shoulder. “We’ll lock him up with the others.” His eyes took on a hard glint. “He won’t be going anywhere.”

“We’re going to have a lot of questions for you,” the other Initiate told the Vicar as they led him away. “Starting with how you got on that plane…”

Biladurang hummed. “Sounds like you had quite a trip. Joey and your Ladybug and Cat Noir and the rest will be relieved to see you back here in one piece.”

The Hound frowned. “Where can I find them? We should probably report in.”

Biladurang pointed in the direction of the temple. “In the dining tent, most likely,” she explained. “Or at least that’s where I saw Joey last. It sounded like they were planning to have a meeting of some sort there, though they might have finished. Of course, your space-plane isn’t exactly quiet…”

The Hound nodded, glancing to the others. “Shall we?”

Bandruí shook her head, handing the small box to the Hound. “I want to go and check on Chloe and the others as soon as I can,” she told him. “You two can manage to deliver these on your own, right?”

“Tell them I’ll come over in a little bit,” Iron Maiden replied. She hummed. “But actually, I was going to stay here.” She turned to Biladurang. “There were a few issues that cropped up on the flight, and I should make a list while they’re still fresh in my mind.”

The Hound quirked an eyebrow at Dhuan, who shrugged. “I guess it’s just you and me then.”

As he was starting to move away, Iron Maiden grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Popping her helmet, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Come to my tent when you get done,” she whispered as she released him. Mutely, he nodded, turning back toward the indicated direction. Behind him, he could hear Iron Maiden clomping around below the space-plane. “This elevator felt really sluggish on takeoff.”

Biladurang hummed. “We can take a look in the morning; it might just need lube…”

Limping through the camp, Dhuan at his side, the Hound turned this way and that, hardly able to believe that they were finally back. It felt at the same time like centuries and seconds had passed while they were on their mission – everything had changed, but everything had stayed the same. The camp looked almost exactly as it had when they left, the same mix of tents erected in straight rows, the same conflicted faces showing both defeat and hope simultaneously. And yet, having seen the outside world – having experienced Hy-Brasil, it all felt so different.

“[What has happened here?]” asked Dhuan, looking around curiously.

“You remember we mentioned the Tarasque, right?” he replied. Dhuan nodded. “It kicked our asses in Paris, so we all fled here through a portal. Now we’re basically stuck here until we can figure out how to stop the Tarasque.” He held up the box. “That’s where this comes in.”

Dhuan paused to watch Neptune and Fin arguing about something by one of the tents while Coquette rubbed her forehead. “[I see so many of the different miraculous sets represented here,]” he observed.

The Hound hummed. “Yeah, that’s not exactly a usual occurrence. It was only a year or two back that my cousin – or I guess cousins – managed to get all the miraculous sets working together again. As far as I know, they had been split up for millennia.”

Dhuan started. “[And Atlantis permitted that?]”

“Oh, New Atlantis is here, too, but they don’t have any more sway than the other miraculous leaders,” the Hound answered dismissively. “There are people here from everywhere: Americans, Europeans, Africans, Australians; Japanese, Brazilian, Russian, German… Even some of the bad guys – like the Vicar – are here, and some of them are even helping us.” He barked out a laugh. “Nothing like a crisis to get people to work together, huh?”

“[That does seem to be the way it often happens,]” agreed Dhuan. He frowned. “[Although that is not always the case…]”

Finally, after crossing the border into Hero Town past another two Guardian Initiates, the Hound stopped in front of the large dining tent, lit up within by several battery-operated lanterns. Around a table near the center of the pavilion sat Marinette, Adrien, and three others that the Hound barely recognized – Joey, Jueran Eazim, and Coyotemaria, all un-transformed – with a small cluster of Kwamis sitting on the table between them. As the two of them entered, Jueran Eazim looked up from the table, his eyes widening in surprise, and nudged the others. Before the Hound even knew what was happening, Adrien and Marinette had both jumped out of their seats and charged him, pulling him into a crippling hug. Dropping his walking stick in his surprise, the Hound nearly lost his balance and fell over before Adrien caught him.

“You’re back!” Adrien exclaimed, holding him out at arm’s length and examining his face. “And you’re in one piece! I’m glad; Tante Amelie would have murdered me if I’d sent you off and something had happened.”

Marinette cocked her head, finally catching sight of Dhuan before turning back to the Hound. “Who–?” She froze, examining the Hound’s face. Her eyes took on a hard set. “What happened?”

The Hound winced, grimacing. “We’re mostly in one piece,” he corrected Adrien, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “The others are fine,” he quickly clarified, before Marinette could interrupt. “But I got half my foot ripped off with this–” He removed the pin from the box and set it on the table with a flourish.

Coyotemaria looked down at it in shock. “Is that – what is that?”

“That would be the Stingray Miraculous,” the Hound explained, collapsing into a chair. “You really don’t want to feel its Barb-arity.”

Another Atlantean Miraculous,” Joey observed pensively.

“[What do you mean, another one?]” asked Dhuan.

Adrien furrowed his brows in confusion. “Um… they’ve been showing up all over the place lately,” he explained. He cocked his head. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

The Hound groaned, waving toward his companion. “This is Dhuan. He was left at the outpost to guard the Jellyfish Miraculous. He came back to make sure it is used properly.”

Jueran Eazim hummed. “Then you did retrieve the Jellyfish?”

Nodding, the Hound placed box on the table next to the pin, flipping it around to reveal the pendant. “It’s here.”

“Excellent!” Joey nodded approvingly. “I guess now we can figure out–”

“Never mind what we do with the Jellyfish,” Marinette interrupted irritably. “Let me see your foot, Felix.”

With a sigh, the Hound de-transformed, and Barkk spun out of the miraculous with a yawn. She looked up at Marinette, and her eyes widened. “Miss Guardian!” she yelped. “I’m so happy we’re home! And we got the miraculous – two of them!” Her ears drooped. “But the Hound was hurt – I–I couldn’t stop it. I–”

“Enough,” Marinette interrupted gently, patting her head. “I’ll see to him; you can get a snack with the others.” Swiftly she transformed, pulling Tikki away from the other Kwamis and into her earrings. Moments later, Felix’s foot was covered in swirling red magic, and the dull ache that had been growing ever since their arrival in Angola vanished.

“Ohhh,” he groaned, sighing in relief. “You have no idea how nice that feels.”

“You’re welcome,” Ladybug replied, giving him a smile as she sat down. “I couldn’t exactly sit here and let one of our few family members in the country suffer…”

“So what all happened there?” asked Joey, fixing Felix with a penetrating stare.

Felix shrugged. “We arrived, we found out we had a stowaway, we fought a bad miraculous user–” he nodded to the Stingray Miraculous “–we got the Jellyfish, we came home.”

“Can you give any more details?” asked Jueran Eazim. “What was this outpost like?”

Felix furrowed his brows.

“We can give him a night to recover before debriefing them,” Adrien asserted. “Right?”

Marinette nodded firmly. “After all of this, they deserve some time to recover before we grill them. We won’t get too much more tonight. And I think we have what we need – at least for now.” Coyotemaria nodded, and Joey shrugged. Turning to Felix, Marinette smiled. “Thank you. We’ll want to talk again in the morning. For now, go and get some rest.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he muttered, leaving the dining tent with Barkk floating next to him. Quickly he cut across Hero Town in the direction of Bri and Anne’s tent, picking his way carefully through the darkness.  Few of the tents had been moved, but he could still get around easily enough with the little light provided by the moon and stars. He sighed. It had been a long, arduous process, but they had made it. They were home – in more than one sense for him and Bri.

“Isn’t your tent over there?” asked Barkk curiously, pointing.

He shook his head. “Bri said to meet her at her tent, so that’s what we’re doing!” Stopping outside the tent, he paused.

“Ooh! A sleepover!” Barkk chirped, wagging her tail excitedly. “I love when I can have all my people together!” She cocked her head in surprise. “Aren’t you going to knock?”

Felix swallowed. Hesitantly, he tapped on the canvas.

“Come in,” Bri called, her voice sounding nervous. Pushing the flap aside, Felix stepped inside and looked down to find Bri lying in her bed, her blanket pulled up to her chin. Looking back up at him, she blushed. “Anne is staying in Chloe’s tent for the night with the other therapy girls,” she explained. “That means we have the tent to ourselves. If–if you want…”

Cautiously, Felix sat down on the edge of the cot, putting his hand to her cheek. “I want as much as you want,” he murmured. “I want you to be happy and comfortable.”

Bri pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist and sighed. “I want this.”

Notes:

Tomorrow begins the next story, “The Miraculous and the Mundane.”

Chapter 20: A Villains' Pow-Wow

Summary:

The Lynchpin-ions meet to discuss recent events

Notes:

Merry Christmas! This chapter is coming out on Christmas... but it has absolutely nothing to do with Christmas, and it's roughly April in-universe, so... enjoy?

Chapter Text

Antoine sat quietly at the table farthest from the dining pavilion entrance, staring down into his glass. Quiet conversation filled the air around him from some of the other Lynchpin-ions seated around the table. The Prior was gone – last Antoine had seen of the man, he had been placed under guard in the makeshift prison beneath the cliff, along with other captured Dark Acolytes. The Deaconess likewise was absent, though she remained free. Killer Bee and her strange “assistant” had not come, either. But most of the others were present. Elettrisicario was speaking quietly with Castutrice and Araignée; Cerna and the Bearator bickered on the far side of the table. Outside of the “Villains’ Ghetto” dining pavilion, Antoine could hear earnest whispering; further away came the sounds of celebration from the civilians. A few of the heroes had flown over the camp in formation right after the fight against the Dark Acolytes concluded – Mecha-Man among them – and it had only been a matter of minutes before the rumor had gotten out that the fight in the forest was over. The Dark Acolytes had been broken, the miraculous returned. The Heroes had won, and now they were setting their sights on the Tarasque and France.

They would be going home soon.

“Hey, are you okay, Boss?” asked Gaston, sitting next to him and eyeing him in concern. “You’ve been pretty quiet lately.”

“Hmm?” Antoine glanced up at him in surprise. “Oh, I was just thinking about the fight against the Tarasque – once that comes. After last time, I expect this fight to be just as deadly, if not more so.” He pursed his lips. Adine was still in France, last he knew – she had been in danger this whole time from the Tarasque’s rampage, and there was nothing he could do about it now. But he had been sustained for the last two months by the knowledge that at least Bridgette was in London, far away from the danger – far from the illness, far from the Beasts, far from the Tarasque… far from all of it. But after last week, he had to wonder: was that really true? If his suspicion was correct, then she had been in greater danger than anyone!

Gaston shrugged. “You won’t be the one in danger, though,” he pointed out.

Antoine raised an eyebrow, stirred from his reverie. “Oh, I am aware of that – I will effect repairs on the suit as best I can before the battle begins,” he assured him.

Gaston scoffed. “Not all that much to repair after today. It only took a couple minutes before those Dark Acolytes just rolled over and gave up – not that there was much they could do!”

Antoine nodded slowly. “It did seem like a rather brief fight,” he observed.

“Just costly in rockets.” Gaston frowned. “Although that does mean I’m pretty low on ordnance now. Any chance of getting more before fighting the Tarasque?”

“We did not bring a supply with us…” Antoine began slowly. “However, if we can locate the materiel, I can easily produce some functional devices.” He cocked his head to one side. “Approximately how much ordnance did Iron Maiden use today?”

Gaston started and shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “The suit caught at least 15 explosions around the camp, excluding my own rockets. Why?”

“Considering that your suit only holds a stock of 50, and with larger magazines…”

“You think she might be out?” asked Gaston. Antoine nodded. “Definitely a possibility.” Gaston furrowed his brows. “What are you thinking?”

Antoine looked off into the distance in the direction of Hero Town. “For this battle we – just for the sake of argument, of course – have two available ‘launchers,’ between you and her, correct?”

“Sure…”

“So would it be better to arm only one of those ‘launchers’ and leave the other unarmed?”

Gaston gave him an incredulous look. “Do you think she would accept help from you?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? “Under any other circumstances, it is almost certain she would not,” Antoine acceded. “But under these circumstances – if she is as low on ammunition as I suspect – then perhaps she will.” He frowned. “All I need is an idea of how her launch system operates.” Although, reflecting back on last year, he might already understand exactly how it worked.

Gaston shook his head. “I’ll leave it to you to explain to Iron Maiden that you’re not just trying to blow her out of the sky!”

Antoine’s eyes widened. “I would never want to do something like that!” he insisted. He turned on Gaston. “Have we ever really wanted to hurt people? Other than the heroes who were trying to stop us, I mean,” he amended sheepishly.

“I mean, there was London last fall…”

Antoine paled, remembering the bombs they had planted around London. Their backs had been against the wall at the time – if they hadn’t succeeded in their final robbery, they might never have been able to return to Paris and face the Lynchpin. Their families could have been left destitute. It had seemed the only available option at the time. And yet, it had never sat right with him – especially not when he assumed that Bridgette simply lived in London. But now? He swallowed back bile.

If anything had gone wrong that day…

Regardless of whether his suspicion proved true or not, he would never have forgiven himself if something had gone wrong and someone had been injured or killed by his action.

Antoine coughed. “I hope that by now they understand that our sole desire is to return to our families,” he told Gaston. Gaston’s face fell, and he let out a frustrated sigh. Antoine gave him a sympathetic look. “I am sorry.”

Gaston shook his head. “I’ve missed Colette’s birthday before now; it’ll probably happen again. It’s just – I’d hoped everything would be different this year. I was going to be there for her birthday, I was going to spend time with Richard… all of it.”

Antoine clapped him on the shoulder. “If she knew the reason for your absence this year, I am sure she would understand.”

“She’s been far more understanding than she should have been,” Gaston muttered.

Antoine nodded contemplatively. He had put Adine through so much over the years: he had been fired, he had been blacklisted, and now every action he took put him at risk of arrest. And if that happened, she and Bri would both be left penniless – or at least Adine would; Bri’s new watches were proving exceedingly popular. But that wouldn’t help him if things went wrong. Pile on top of that the problem that now the Heroes of Paris knew his face, and he might as well turn himself in to the police and save everyone the trouble. So far as he knew, his name was still unknown, but that couldn’t last forever. He frowned. “I do not think we ever considered how this will end,” he mused.

Elettrisicario scoffed. “You might not have, but that’s what I’m here for: the long-term planning.”

“You?” Gaston raised an eyebrow dubiously. “And what’s your plan?”

“I never fully trusted these heroes,” Elettrisicario began.

“No?” Cerna cocked her head in surprise. “They seem trustworthy and honest enough: always doing the right thing.”

“And that’s the problem with heroes,” Elettrisicario replied, sneering. “They have a compulsion to do what they think is the right thing. And that makes them unpredictable.” He gestured to himself. “Me? I will do whatever helps me the most – me and my family. Bearator will protect his mother and brothers. You want friends.” He jerked his head toward Araignée. “Money keeps her happy – money keeps most of us happy. But the heroes? They want to stop us… but they are letting us think that they trust us for now. But as soon as the Tarasque is gone, they’re going to turn on us and try to stop us.”

Antoine raised an eyebrow. “That is what you think will happen?” He shook his head. “You have a very low opinion of the Heroes of Paris, then.”

Elettrisicario threw his arms out. “You see where we are, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically. “We are at their mercy. And the moment we stop being useful to them, they will try to arrest us.”

The Bearator cracked his knuckles. “So what do we do about it?”

“For now? Nothing.” Elettrisicario frowned. “There isn’t anything we can do for now. But once the Tarasque is defeated, that’s when we need to be on our guard.”

If it’s defeated,” Castutrice corrected. She pursed her lips. “We still don’t know if that’s even possible.”

“Oh, I think they’ll figure it out,” Cerna replied.

“Most likely,” Elettrisicario allowed, nodding. “They’re persistent bastards, after all.”

Antoine folded his arms. “I hope you are not considering turning on the heroes before the Tarasque is taken care of…”

“Certainly not,” Elettrisicario answered, shaking his head firmly. “But the moment it is out of the picture, we need to be ready to act.”

“Attack them when their guard is down?” asked the Bearator, raising an eyebrow.

Gaston scoffed. “I’m not the best at math, here,” he began, nodding to Antoine. “But even I can tell we’d be outnumbered something like 80-to-1 if we tried something like that!”

“There are those Yakuza, also,” Castutrice pointed out. “Think they might join us?”

Elettrisicario shook his head. “The Yakuza are an odd case,” he responded. “I’ve dealt with them a few times in the past, and they have their own notions when it comes to things like loyalty and honor. I wouldn’t trust them for something like this.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled about these odds…” Cerna mused, giving Elettrisicario a doubtful look.

“We can take them!” the Bearator retorted, twirling one of his hand-claws around one finger.

Gaston shook his head. “No, we can’t. You weren’t there today. You didn’t see what they did to the Dark Acolytes.” He nodded to Araignée. “She knows what I mean.”

Araignée nodded, a troubled look in her eyes. “They didn’t stand a chance – not with all the heroes coming for them.”

“Of course, they deserved everything that happened to them,” Elettrisicario observed, his lip curling.

“Absolutely,” Antoine agreed. “But do you not think we would suffer the same fate, were we to assault the Heroes of Paris?”

“It’s unfortunate that the Dark Acolytes turned when they did.” Elettrisicario frowned. “With their help, we could have taken them together.”

“You really think they would be on our side?” demanded Gaston, scoffing.

“Well, the Deaconess is,” Cerna insisted.

“So far as you know,” the Bearator told her curtly. “She could turn on you just as quickly as the Prior turned on us.”

Cerna glared at him. “She’s different!”

“For your sake, I hope you are correct,” Elettrisicario retorted.

Castutrice frowned. “That still doesn’t solve our problem: what do we do when the Tarasque is gone?”

Antoine shook his head. “I am not sure,” he admitted. “But I think our best option is to continue making ourselves indispensable to the heroes before the fight happens. That way they will be less comfortable trying to arrest us afterward.”

Elettrisicario gave him a dangerous look. “If that plan fails, I will kill you in prison.”

“Then I hope for both of our sakes that it succeeds.”

Chapter 21: The Olympiad

Summary:

The Olympiad stops a bank robbery

Chapter Text

With a thought, Zeus alit on the ground just outside of the bank, the blaring security alarm ringing out up and down the street through the melted glass door. Hellenistic History class had only just finished – he hadn’t even started packing up his computer – when his phone had beeped with the news alert: robbery in progress in the downtown area. With a knowing glance across the room at Dimitrios and Zoi, Stephanos had stuffed his things into the bag and speed-walked down the steps, dropping the bag behind the bushes outside and breaking into a sprint across the campus with the other two hot on his heels. No sooner had he left the campus than he had ducked through the gap between two two-story buildings across the street. With a thought, a lightning bolt out of the sky had engulfed him and borne him aloft to soar on the breeze. Spotting the bank in question had been simple enough.

Three men stumbled out of the bank, blinking in confusion as they looked up and down the street before staring dumbly at Zeus. He folded his arms, holding the scepter that the magic provided to him under one arm. One of the three robbers stepped forward, in front of the other two, and glared at Zeus. “And what are you supposed to be?” he demanded, snarling.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Zeus shook his head. “Clearly our school system is letting us down,” he complained. “You don’t recognize me?”

“Should I?”

Zeus shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter; you’ll figure it out soon enough. Now–” his mouth set in a thin line “–are you going to surrender peacefully, or are you going to make this messy?”

The leader’s eyes narrowed, and he made a sign with one hand. The man to his right pulled a stubby silver-metallic object out of his pocket and raised it to point at Zeus. The leader smirked darkly. “You know, I’d actually heard that Athens had a hero or two of its own now, so I came prepared. It cost us good money, but I think it’s worth it to have a  little… insurance policy. So…” he leaned forward, sneering “… here’s how it’s going to go, hero: you are going to stand there and look pretty, and my boys and I are going to leave and pretend we didn’t see you. Then you can go and rescue a cat or something.”

Zeus arched an eyebrow at him dubiously. “You can certainly try that,” he allowed, as a gust of wind whipped past him twice in opposite directions, rustling his toga and hair. Zeus smirked, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Let’s see how that works out for you.”

The leader’s brows furrowed suspiciously, but he started to edge toward the vehicle parked right in front of the bank, glancing back and forth between Zeus and the street around them. Zeus watched him carefully, without making any move to attack. “Well… um… okay, then…” The leader nervously opened the car door and started to climb in.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Zeus warned mildly, raising an eyebrow.

The leader stared at him, his eyes darting up and down the street anxiously. “Yeah? And why not? What are you going to do about it?”

“Me?” Zeus stifled a laugh. “I’m not going to do anything. He will.” He jerked his head to one side, just as Hephaestus stepped out of the shadows to the side of the bank, pulling the hammer from his belt and jerking it downward. The hammer’s head expanded to ten times its size, even as the handle lengthened to almost two meters. Hephaestus gripped the war hammer with both hands, swung it up over his head and brought it down with a roar, smashing straight through the car’s engine block.

One of the two other robbers, the one without the weapon, let out a high-pitched shriek, staring at their damaged car in shock. Dropping the bag in his hand, he fumbled around in his pocket before pulling out a long knife, almost as long as a dagger. The other robber turned his weapon on Hephaestus, his hand shaking violently as he tried to pull the trigger. At the same moment that he finally fired, something whistled past Zeus’ ear and struck the robber in the hand. The robbed stared down at his hand as the arrow erupted through it, knocking the energy pistol clattering away down the street. The energy blast struck Hephaestus in the shoulder, only to be absorbed into his skin. The robber screamed; blood spurted from his injury. He collapsed to his knees, whimpering.

“What the hell!?” yelled the other robber, spinning wildly between Hephaestus and Zeus, even while he searched the rooftops for the source of the arrow. A second arrow flew from the roof of the building opposite the bank, embedding itself in the sidewalk at the robber’s feet, slicing through his shoe and pinning his foot in place.

The leader let out a growl and threw himself at Zeus, pulling back one fist and aiming a wild punch at Zeus’ face. As the man came, Zeus finally stirred himself, swinging his scepter out to catch the man in his gut, sending a jolt of lightning through his body. The robber grunted thickly as the blow connected, stumbling backward. Spinning around, Zeus kicked him in the chest, knocking him backward. A gust of wind rushed past Zeus, throwing the leader up into the air. He yelled in surprise, flailing around with his arms until he landed, just in front of Poseidon, who materialized from the shadow of the bank and twirled his trident, catching the robber between the legs and tripping him to the ground.

“Nice!” Zeus called approvingly, grinning.

Poseidon grinned back exuberantly. “You like that? Hermes cooked it up!”

The final robber standing, seeing his two companions go down, tugged his shoe away from the arrow pinning it to the ground and sprinted away from the bank. Looking back at Zeus in terror, he nearly ran straight into a light pole, only barely avoiding it at the last moment.

Zeus’ eyes narrowed. He could feel electricity dancing through his irises. Slowly, he raised his fist, even as lightning crackled in the air around him, concentrating in his fist. “We can’t let him get away!” he declared, drawing his fist back.

Poseidon shook his head, holding out his trident to stop Zeus. “Already got it covered,” he assured him. Zeus cocked his head, just as the robber reached an alley and a spear shaft jutted out in front of him. The man ran straight into the spear, his neck slamming into the shaft. He dropped to the ground without a word, clutching at his throat as a gurgling noise escaped from his lips. Athena slowly stepped out of the alley, grabbed the robber by the ankle, and began dragging him back toward the others. Poseidon smirked. “Told you.”

As the six heroes gathered around the three fallen robbers, Zeus finally heard the distance sound of police sirens, starting several blocks away but moving in their direction. He raised an eyebrow at the others. “Let’s get out of here before we have to answer questions for them,” he decided, starting to back away.

“Just a minute,” Athena objected, kneeling beside the injured man and reaching past him to pick up the weapon that Artemis had shot out of his hand. The weapon was smooth and silvery, with a metallic sheen to it, curved in the shape of a gun. Athena frowned, studying the pistol closely. “Now where did they get this?” she mused slowly.

“EBay,” the leader retorted, spitting in her face but missing completely.

Athena arched an eyebrow, turning her examination on him. “No,” she whispered after a long minute, stroking her chin. “But you’re not smart enough to come up with something like this on your own, so you did buy it from somewhere… probably a black market arms dealer.” The man swallowed nervously. She sighed in disinterest. “We can let the police beat it out of you,” she decided, turning away from him. Raising an eyebrow to the others, she said, “I think we got all we could out of him, but we should hold onto this for now.” Tossing it in Hephaestus’ direction, she asked, “Think you can make something of this?”

He shrugged, examining the pistol more closely. “I can give it a shot.”

“You do that,” Zeus told him, glancing around at the others. The flashing lights turned onto their street, still several blocks away. “For now… should we get back to campus?”

Poseidon nodded. “Okay by me.”

Hermes frowned as they walked back to the campus. Seeing the look, Zeus raised an eyebrow in a question. “I was just thinking,” Hermes began, “what are we supposed to do with this power now that we have it? I mean, this is fine – beating up criminals and all. But it’s not all that much of a challenge.”

Artemis grinned. “I could have taken all three of them down by myself!” she agreed.

“All of us could have,” Hephaestus acknowledged.

“Fair.” Zeus shrugged. “I suppose it’s up to you what you do now. Me, I don’t mind just doing more of this – at least until finals are over.”

“You know,” Athena interjected, a calculating look in her eyes, “I’ve been studying the news out of Paris for a while now – ever since… well, this. And the biggest question in the media seems to be where that Tarasque monster went. Everyone wants to know, but everyone’s too scared to really look.”

Poseidon furrowed his brows. “What are you saying?”

“What about us?” Athena arched an eyebrow, spreading her arms wide to take in the six of them. “We could go and look for it.”

Zeus shrugged. “Yeah, all right. That could be fun,” he allowed. “But we can’t make any decisions unilaterally. With everything we’ve heard about this Tarasque…”

“What about it?” asked Artemis curiously.

“It does sound like it would be a good challenge!” Hermes agreed, grinning eagerly. “Definitely more of one than these chuckleheads were!”

Hephaestus hummed, glancing around at the others before nodding. “I suppose I’m in.”

Artemis shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind taking a trip.”

Poseidon pursed his lips and gave his trident a testing twirl. “I’m with Hermes,” he finally announced. “I’d rather go and give it a shot fighting something that’s more of a challenge.”

Looking around at his friends, Zeus swallowed back his nerves, his mouth set in a firm line. “Then we shall go to France and find this Tarasque monster. And then we’ll kick its ass.”