For all that was happening within its bounds, the City of the Angel was deathly quiet.

  Maybe not so up close, but for the sheer size and population of the once grand city, perhaps the largest in the world at the time, it was far, far too still. People screamed and scrambled, cars honked and engines rumbled, and of course a great battle raged in the center, but all in all the noise was nothing. Even for the night, the city was never so still as it was then.

  To those who could listen, it was unnerving. And of course it was, because the city was silent as the jungle is silent when a jaguar walks by. A rather literal metaphor, that. The silence unnerved because it was a sign of danger, but the silence was caused by the very primal thing that gave the people reason to fear it—the presence of an apex predator.

  Four, really, but that’s getting a little ahead of things.

  The stage was set—five groups, their courses would determine the fate of the city. At its center, a battle still raged, quieter than before but no less deadly still. Angel clashed with king, low to the ground, fighting, tooth and nail, a desperate battle for each’s survival. Both thought they had won; both thought the other was only fighting for a draw. Both were right.

  But their fates were not the fate of the city. Not anymore.

  Circling them, ever approaching, was the runner and the hunter, their single-minded goal to save as many lives as possible. Neither knew how many there were to save, and even if they had, they would have tried anyway. Such was the runner's way, and the hunter was loth to fall behind, for such was his way.

  And yet still, the fate of the city was neither of theirs.

  On the outskirts were the heroes, their fight never ending against the relentless evil of catastrophe. They rallied, in this dark time, many unaware of the line that had already been crossed. No other city had so many at one time, nor such quality. The Witch of Clouds had long since been evacuated, for fear of her demise, but so many others remained. Giants like the clockwork man, the reveler of new things, the saint of war, and their students. Newcomers like the lady of ice, the tattooed thinker, and the other allies of the runner. They were many, and they were one, and oh but they were a force to be reckoned with.

  Yet still, the fate of the city was not theirs.

  It lied in the last two groups: the watchers who lied in wait, and the searchers, looking for each other. It was they, who would determine all.

  It was early morning, on the other side of the country, when the alarm first sounded. As gods fought, the bringers of death were stirred from their rest and gathered in numbers greater than ever before in preparation for the worst. They even drew their forces from the city, the reaper of chains and the reaper of flames retreating along with their kin to wait out the coming storm.

  Then there were the searchers. Set out from opposite sides of the city, yet sharing the same goal, the titaness sought to protect her young ward while the girl sought the safety of her only family. Neither knew how to find the other, but they would, in the end.

  That is good, for the fate of the city.

  And so the stage was set: every battle, every rescue, every choice that would matter in the end, all untangled from the web of fates—or trapped in it, by design of powers far beyond their comprehension.

  For like all things, the Farseer saw this day, and at last, he I smiled.

  —

  “Come on, come on, pick up,” I whisper helplessly, shaking the phone as if that would help. Allacia—the only companion Charlie sent with me—watches me with a stern eye. It’s her phone—mine was broken—but luckily I remembered the number.

  I just have to hope Latasha will pick up.

  …

  The call ends.

  “Fuck!” I curse vehemently, before realizing I’d raised my voice and flushing a little.

  “Still not working?” Allacia asks. She’s calm, but a little distant. It probably doesn’t help that everyone she knows is out fighting, while she’s stuck babysitting me.

  I shake my head, “It keeps cutting out.”

  “It’s a disaster.” She shrugs, “You aren’t the only person trying to call your loved ones. The networks aren’t built to handle this much traffic.”

  “But I am the only one whose loved one can end this,” I grumble.

  Allacia frowns, “They’re panicking, Rowan, and they don’t know. How could they? You can’t blame them for that.”

  I flush, and bite back another retort. This isn’t the time, and she’s right anyways. Instead, I just hand her back her phone, “Well, either way, I’m out of ideas.”

  The two of us currently stand beside the very much evacuated motel where Latasha and I had been staying while in the Angel’s City. I tried calling her after learning she wasn’t here, and now I’ve pretty much exhausted all my options. How am I supposed to find a single person without coordinating beforehand in a massive city that’s currently undergoing a disaster? Like finding a needle in a haystack that’s currently in a massive, active blender.

  “Really?” Allacia raises an eyebrow, “Nothing at all? She didn’t give you any clue where she was going, or some sort of rendezvous in case of trouble? I find that hard to believe.”

  “She just said she might ‘run some errands,’ which is as vague as vague gets,” I reply, “and if I was in trouble, I was supposed to send her my location then hide underground—in the sewers or something. We were worried about a reaper getting funny ideas, not anything that would disable communications.”

  “Heroes have the capability to jam cellphones,” Allacia points out, “I’d be surprised if reapers didn’t.”

  I flush once more, “My phone was supposed to be harder to jam.” And it broke when…

  The village. The fire. The smile. The hand. The street. Charlie…

  I shudder instinctively, and the train of thought breaks. I shake myself to make sure it leaves. I’ll be safe when I find Latasha. That’s what I have to tell myself, because it's true, and it's all that I can do.

  “Well, we have to find her somehow,” Allacia insists, either missing or ignoring my episode.

  I agree, I just have no idea how.

  —

  The two of us, my opponent and I, don’t waste another second.

  I burn near all of my remaining stamina instantly resummoning a dozen feathers, supplementing my meager horde up to around thirty. In the same instant, my opponent crosses the distance between us, his forceful punch rattling the barrier of feathers I put between us. He swerves around me as I slip four feathers—my personal little scouts—out of view, and settle into an almost nostalgic rhythm.

  The last time I fought in true melee—it was against him. I have not needed to since, but I still remember. Ten feathers close—I use five now, for I’ve mastered the changing of their size since and I can compensate—for defense, the remainder swooping in and out in a constant barrage of attacks against my foe. My guns were torn from me in the blast, else I would finish this now, but I can still prevent him from getting close as I heal.

  It is a shame, but he will not let it be so easy.

  Equally exhausted as I, he no longer can simply shatter my feathers. Despite this, I can summon no more, and so the disadvantage is not fully his, and he makes use of this. The two of us stay low to the ground, the flattened terrain allowing us a deadly dance across a scope similar to the one we had in the sky. Every time I try to take advantage of his waning strength and fly away, he leaps just high enough to force me back down. When I attempt to slay him with my feathers, he just dodges as before, surviving more by my weakness than his strength.

  Whether he knows it or not, I can not hold my higher state long. So I drop it.

  He smiles as the luster of my feathers fades, sensing weakness, but I almost smile too, for my gambit has paid off. I can sense my scouts returning, carrying with them the swords I lost during our last great clash. With deft grace, I maneuver myself into the perfect position to catch them as they fall into my hands, the feathers entering the fight.

  Then I stab him, and he bleeds.

  —

  “Status?” I say, prompting the disproportionately tall man in black beside me. He places his hand on his chest and tips his head slightly, an awkward movement with his gangly frame. I’d wish almost anyone else would aid me, but we need the manpower right now, and we can spare him.

  “All forces mobilized, awaiting yours or Operative Inertia’s command, Operative Vermillion,” he replies.

  “I know that,” I remind him, “What’s the status of the fight?”

  He bows even lower, “Apologies, ma’am. I believe it has progressed enough that both parties have halted flight to conserve energy. Our scouts can’t quite get close enough to tell who is winning, but they suspect it is a close thing.”

  I frown, “I don’t like it. We have too much to lose and not enough we can do to even the odds. What about the operatives in the city? The newbies. What are they up to?”

  The operative shakes his head, “After recovering, the unnamed operative enlisted the aid of Operative Gale Force to help the hero teams rescue civilians.”

  “Just him?” I ask. Something about that sounds off.

  “She spoke to some other heroes before leaving, ma’am,” he replies, “but none of them joined her.”

  A few things start to click in my head, "Describe these heroes.”

  He does, and a few more of the pieces fall together from the puzzle laid out before me. Something that can be done—a risk, but if it works it would be genius. And I might actually be able to help it along.

  It’s a hell of a lot better than doing nothing, at least. I’ll have to find some way to reward the kid after this.

  “Operative Lurker,” I say to the gangly man, “Contact Operative Janus at once. Search the city until you find the Titaness, then inform me. And keep an eye on those ‘heroes’—they may just lead you to her.”

  “Ma’am?” he asks, confused.

  “You have your orders, Operative,” I say, “Now be a good soldier and help me end this.”

  —

  There are still so many.

  I’m close enough to hear the fighting now. Jonathan and Drake clash not even a hundred yards from my position as I carefully extricate a bleeding young woman from beneath the rubble. Jayce spirits her away the moment I do, as I push on.

  I’ve lost count of how many that makes. Even with the boost from the healing I got, I’m still close to spent. I’m covered in more blood than a dozen men can afford to lose, and I’m pretty sure at least half of it is mine. Either the potion’s still in me, or I heal faster now. I can afford to unpack that later.

  Right now, there’s a dying child beneath six tons of rock, and I’m the only one that can save them.

  I do my best to work fast. There’s already been more than a few times it wasn’t enough. Just because someone is breathing when Jayce finds them, doesn’t mean they will be for long. I try not to think about the times I’ve dug through rubble for nothing more than a child’s corpse. I try not to think about how many more I may never even know were there.

  This one I do save, though. Jayce comes back just in time to watch me pull the crying, bleeding boy no older than five years from the rubble. I try my best to keep his eyes away from the bodies I dug up around him as I do. Better not to add to his trauma. One of them might be a parent, or sibling.

  Don’t think about how I couldn’t save them.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Before Jayce takes the boy to safety, he checks one more time for more survivors. He wordlessly points to a pile of rubble, and I nod just as he takes off. We have a system, by now. It took far too long to establish.

  Then I take a look at where he pointed, and my heart sinks.

  After all, in the same beat I watch it torn away, a stream of golden blades following the man who ripped the stone apart like paper.

  Seems I’ve finally reached the fight.

  —

  I’m so close. Only a little bit more and I’ll have him.

  As he leaps away from the pile of rubble, dodging my feathers once more, I watch him bleed. He’s been slowly hemorrhaging stamina—and more literally hemorrhaging—ever since I used the last of the retribution I had stored to stab him in his liver and right lung. Both lethal wounds—even if he can slow or stop the bleeding, eventually he has to give out. I’ve proven my regeneration is faster than his, and while he is not the only one getting slower, the rate of attrition favors me.

  His blast rings off my shield of feathers; I lunge in close, and strike with my swords.

  It’s a useless endeavor, his resistance. I have no doubt that even if he somehow defeated me now, he would not have the strength to ward off a coordinated reaper offense. Sandra or Lynn alone could be enough to crush him now. Unless he has another trick up his sleeve, he’s done, and if he did, he would have to be a madman not to use it now, on his last legs.

  …

  Perhaps I should remain cautious.

  My feathers destroy the ground beneath his feet, but he leaps at the last second. Knowing better than to assume an advantage in air, I aim solely to keep him from returning to the earth. By now, I’m confident in a drawn-out battle. He grabs a feather and takes another two hits with his ability to fall safely, but I stop him from breaking the feather by attacking with my swords.

  Up close, he tries for a melee strike, but, drained as he is, I’m faster. I come at him again from the sides as my feathers pincer him from opposite my strike. He’s forced to fall back, into the path of another feather I had hidden. It’s repelled by his shield of Power, but I know how much that drains his stamina. He would not bother dodging otherwise, not now, when I no longer possess the force to harm him outright.

  I spot movement at the edge of my vision, but I ignore it. My foe is all that matters now.

  —

  I really should’ve set up a rendezvous point.

  Realistically, there’s no way I could’ve predicted a situation such as this. I know that. But inside, I can’t help but mentally curse myself for not doing just that. Now I have absolutely no way of figuring out where Rowan went.

  All I can really do is hope I find her.

  But hope generally isn’t enough on its own, so in the meantime I’ve taken to the rooftops, hoping a vantage point will increase my odds. Luckily, the situation at hand means that no one bats an eye at a woman running at inhuman speeds over their heads. Not even the heroes.

  Yet, for all my luck, I can’t seem to find her. Of course I can’t—I mean, it’s not like there are literally millions of people in the city. I don’t really have any idea where she was supposed to be either. It’s not like I bothered—with that modified phone I gave her from one of my contacts, she should’ve been easily able to tell me if it ever mattered.

  …

  She’s not dead. She probably just broke it or something.

  Then I notice a small blur of movement below, and mentally reassess my assertion that no one would notice me. Seems even reapers are glory-seeking opportunist bastards. Or maybe they want my attention for some reason.

  It doesn’t hurt to check—not me at least; can’t say the same for them—so I leap down into a dark, narrow alley. Perfect for ambushing a SAU who relies on having ample space to use their abilities, which, by all assessments, they should think I am. I couldn’t find a better way to bait them if I tried. And I tried.

  To my surprise, however, the grotesquely lanky man who steps out of the shadows doesn’t take the opportunity to ‘surprise’ attack me. Nor does he make any threatening moves whatsoever, besides dropping out of some sort of stealth ability, of course.

  “Rhea the Titaness,” he says in an appropriately creepy tone, “We would like to have a word with you.”

  “It can wait,” I reply, “I need to find Rowan first.”

  The man cocks his head, “…that can be arranged.”

  That gets my attention.

  “Talk,” I say. The reaper obliges.

  —

  Watching a pair of reapers materialize in front of me isn’t the surprising part. That honor goes to watching Latasha and another reaper do the same.

  “Rowan!” she cries, and, immediately upon making eye contact, she rushes towards me and pulls me up into a bear hug.

  I try to speak, but it’s muffled by my face being pressed against her chest—something that would’ve made me wildly flustered under different circumstances. Luckily, she realizes, and takes a step back, giving me more room to breathe.

  “Latasha,” I whisper fearfully, barely keeping myself on the right side of stable, “He’s here.”

  The look she gives me in response is all it takes to make my eyes threaten tears.

  “I’d hoped you wouldn’t have known yet,” she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  One of the reapers clears her throat, “If I may interrupt, that was precisely the issue we would like to talk to you about, Ms. Thorton.”

  Latasha glares at her, but she doesn’t back down. Never let it be said that reapers aren’t made of sterner stuff. I nudge her slightly, to get her to turn her attention back to me.

  “You don’t have to,” I tell her, making the reapers—and Allacia, whom I’d honestly forgotten about—all stiffen, “But…I think I’d feel safer if…he was no longer an issue.”

  I hate taking advantage of her like this. I hate it. Latasha has shown me nothing but kindness for absolutely no reason I can discern, she’s practically family to me. I want nothing more to just ask her to take me away, and let this all be put behind me.

  But Charlie’s right, he has to go, and more importantly, she’s counting on me.

  For some reason, that feels almost as urgent as my safety right now.

  Latasha sighs, “I’ll help if I can, but…” she turns to the reapers, “I have a hard time believing you need my help. The battle’s almost over as it is. I’m sure you can mop it up yourself.”

  “Naturally, I have a plan,” the reaper replies, “but I need a show of force to back me up. Someone who can keep Energizer in check, yes, but also Jonathan.”

  She refuses to elaborate, but she doesn’t have to. Not for Latasha’s benefit.

  “An opportunity to show up both of them?” she summarizes, “I would’ve done that even without the extra encouragement.”

  —

  Someone’s watching us.

  Many people, actually, but I was already aware of most of them. I can discern the difference between a divination ability and just watchful eyes, and the new gaze is different. It feels almost like both—enhanced sight, maybe?

  I ignore the feeling as I push back my opponent with a hailstorm of feathers.

  Then I leap in, summiting a pile of rubble with my blades raised to deliver a devastating blow—to my enemy’s stamina, of course, but that’s more than enough. He kicks himself away though, leaving behind a blast of Power, scouring away most of the pile as I float harmlessly back to where I started.

  Then something—no, someone—moves rapidly across my vision. Fast, but not faster than my eyes can track, I watch them grab a figure out from the recently cleared rubble and carry them out of our path. They move so fast, I’d almost expect them to tear the body in half, but they don’t somehow. A rescuer—one with a nigh miraculous ability.

  I don’t catch their face, but I have a sneaking suspicion I know who it is.

  It doesn’t matter. I take the momentary confusion on my opponent's face as an invitation to strike once more, battering him with feathers as I score a pair of blows across his chest. Curiosity, and my current advantage, do lead me to send a single feather up into the air, where it can sense a wider area around me.

  I’m just in time to catch her dig another person from the rubble. That confirms it.

  I take a moment to consider if I can use this before noticing something else, and all at once a pervasive sense of danger turns my blood cold.

  I step back just as my opponent steps forward, but it's not he whom I avoid.

  —

  The goal is to be flashy. I can work with flashy.

  A hop, skip, and a jump through that annoying doorman’s portal leads me straight to the boisterous boys. They aren’t alone though—in fact, it looks like Rowan’s new friend is trying to save some civilians trapped nearby. She wouldn’t like it if I hurt the little hero, so I wait just long enough for her to start rushing someone to safety before I make my move.

  My right hand runs lazily down my left, crossing my bracelet of charms at my wrist. As it does, I pull on one, and make it Giant through my will, and suddenly I hold an obsidian-black longsword in my right hand, thrumming with barely restrained power.

  Best investment of my fucking life.

  I take a few cautious steps forward, lining the shot up carefully. The reapers won’t like it if I kill their golden boy, and I’m not sure how much Power he has left, so I have to be a little careful. I lift the blade over my head, pointing it towards the sky, and take in a deep breath.

  My full height surges to four meters, the blade’s length doubles to two, and I swing.

  I don’t even need my transcendence. A little extra oomph is enough to remind the world that I am not just a damned. Not just a monster, crippled in her last battle. I am whole again, and with the opportunity so tantalizingly close, I might as well remind them who I was. Who I am.

  I am a god-slayer.

  —

  The earth split, and that was just the warning shot.

  I’ll give her this: Rhea knows how to put on a show. Just after Janus brought her here, before I could even get Plan B set up, she let loose. The fissure that now spans the distance between Jonathan and the man responsible for all this mess will be a pain to clean up later, but it sent a clear message. So far, it seems to be working.

  Three near gods stand in a silent stalemate. They all look back and forth between the destruction from Rhea's attack and each other, not one daring to move. They’re all cautious. They have to be, after all the situation is a volatile one. The Energizer, The Titaness, and our good friend Operative Guardian, three of the world’s most powerful individuals in one place. Have them walk into a bar, and it could be the start of a joke.

  A dark one, no doubt.

  “Rhea,” Jonathan is the first to speak, using that ability-voice technique I could never quite seem to master, “This is not your fight. Leave.”

  I mentally cuss out the second closest thing I still have to family, even as I still silently direct a crew of the USC’s best and brightest killers into position. Of course, he could be forgiven for thinking Rhea might take the opportunity to kill him, given his weakened state, but that’s really not what we need right now. I guess that’s kind of on me for expecting him not to be adversarial. It’s kinda his thing.

  “Actually,” the Titaness responds in the same, “I was invited this time.”

  Energizer doesn’t speak, which is uncharacteristically restrained for him, given what we know of the man. I guess even a battle-crazed maniac who thinks he’s unkillable has the sense not to pick a fight with two people on his level at the same time, while also wounded and drained. Seems like a low bar.

  “That’s all well and good, Latasha darling,” the man, says, proving I spoke—or thought—too soon, “But if you want to pull this stunt, I’ll remind you I can still turn this city to rubble. It may cost me my life, but you know I’m petty enough.”

  An ultimatum. Seems like as good a time as any to make my move, otherwise Jonathan might start getting some funny ideas about sacrificing a city to take him down.

  “Something we’re also well aware of,” I say, channeling my latent theatre kid energy to project my voice in a much more mundane way, “Which is why we would like to remind you that you will definitely die if you take that road, but you might not have to.”

  A dozen reapers follow me out of the shadows, to emphasize the threat, but of course, I lose anyway if he decides to go nuclear as one last hurrah, so at the same time a portal flickers to life in front of him. God, was that boy an amazing investment. Even if we have to kill Mijkal later, I want to see if I can keep his son. I might even be able to.

  “Take the easy way out,” I tell the world's most dangerous man, “and we can all live to fight another day. Preferably at least a few hundred miles from the nearest population center this time.”

  There’s silence as the three of them take this in.

  I’ve set the stage nicely, if I do say so myself. The threat of Rhea gives credence to my own ultimatum, which may be lacking, despite the reapers I brought, but it also serves to keep Jonathan in check. Without her, he’d be liable to attack Energizer while his guard was down, ensuring a repeat of Moscow. The portal gives him a way out, encouraging him not to take that road. Once he leaves, all we have to do is block off his entry point—something I already know how to do, if I’m right about a few details.

  And, of course, I can almost see the moment when each of them puts together these details. Rhea is first, and looks almost amused, while I can see Jonathan scowl. But the most important one is last—and despite myself, his look of anger is just a little more intimidating than I’d expected it to be.

  Then I die.

  …

  When my eyesight returns, I’m glad to see that nobody reacted. Which is good, considering that, under normal circumstances, an official such as myself being one-shot by a foreign power tends to be taken as a declaration of war. The reapers all know about my ability though, and luckily it seems Rhea didn’t really care. As the fires born of my regeneration die out, the world seems to have not progressed a moment in the time it took me to recover.

  “And how do I know this isn’t a trap?” Energizer asks, switching tactics.

  This is where I run into a roadblock. I had been prepared to tell him I was willing to go as well, with the understanding that I could monitor his movements afterward with little risk. That is my primary role, after all. But now he knows I’m unkillable, or at least suspects, which would make such a tactic seem a lot more suspect. This is important because the other side of the portal is absolutely a trap.

  So I tell him this, “It is,” I say, “but it’s not a trap of ours, and something tells me you aren’t afraid of anyone outside the USC at the moment.”

  This is, of course, the entire truth. The only trap that I could set that might stop him would be Kur, but even I’m not sure of that, and if he escapes, he could bring the whole complex with him, and we’d still have him in the USC. No, better to drop him in front of the most notoriously territorial local power on Earth.

  The Insular King of Australia.

  A few moments pass in tense silence as he considers his options.

  Then, without an ounce of pomp or flair, he jumps through.

  “Oh thank God,” I whisper, “He does have a sense of self-preservation.”

  And just like that, it ends.

  over.

  one interlude. Gods, this was rough—but worth it, I think. I hope you all can agree.

  this was the training arc, you would be dead wrong.