Chapter 46 (Patreon)

Amy truly had no idea how such an amazing night managed to turn so much fucking shit over the span of a couple hours.

It had started off beautifully. Jason and Cassie were… well, they were both practically angels drizzled in honey compared to almost everyone else she’d ever met or even thought she had ever gotten a crush on. 

While Cassie lacked the size and raw, unadulterated beauty icon appeal that Vicky just naturally had, outside of the little acne erasures and skin cleansings that she often begged Amy to perform on her, the spunky girl made up for it in droves with her kindness, fun-loving attitude, and general positivity. She felt warm in ways that no one else, save Jason and Vicky, did. She made her feel welcomed and attractive and things that she’d genuinely thought were once restricted to her fucking sister, as disgusting and reprehensible as it was.

And that wasn’t even getting into Jason. Cool, dry-witted, gives me a heart attack Jason. The man who single handedly twisted what she thought was a hopeless, despair-filled sexuality centered around the blonde-haired bombshell Victoria Dallon into a butterfly flapping, cinnamon bunned, sugary sweet inclination towards ‘shared love’.

It was gross, the way she felt when she looked at him - looked at both of them, but the ‘grossness’ of overt romantic and sexual attraction to a beautiful couple was only because of how girly and hopeless it made her seem. It was infinitely better than holding that same attraction towards her sister, knowing that it was disgusting and vile and morbid and the ‘I’ word that she still couldn’t bring herself to say to this day.

Being with them, laughing with them, crying with them - or, well, Cassie… it was almost overwhelming, the happiness she’d felt in those moments. Scary, too, because even though it had only been one date, Amy couldn’t see herself not being in their arms, happier and more content than she’d ever been in her whole entire fucking life. She wasn’t their girlfriend yet, but the more she thought about not being with them, the bigger and bleaker and more painful the void in her chest got… so maybe her decision was already made. 

It felt fast. Maybe it was fast. But Amy truly didn’t think she wanted to live without Jason and Cassie in her life. Only people with consistent happy days could criticize her for being codependent, because outside of the ray of sunshine those two had brought onto her doorstep, every other day of her entire fucking life felt dull, listless, and depressing.

It wasn’t even that she only wanted them. After an entire night of no depressive breaks or spiraling thoughts, Amy knew that she needed them in her life. She wasn’t deserving of their love, not really, but if they really wanted to try this out and share even a nugget of their affection and warmth with her…

Then she’d grab onto it with hands, legs, and feet, one hundred percent. She… she just needed to make it past this trial first, and even more-so than Lung attacking Fugly Bob’s and her escorting civilians out of the burning building…

Dealing with her family was feeling very fucking impossible.

“Amy Dallon, are you even listening to me? I’m getting emails and messages from dozens of people, asking if you’re quitting New Wave and shacking up with this ‘Avalon’ boy, and I don’t even know how to cut these rumors off because you’re not telling me anything. We need to handle this now, before a day or two passes and the entire world thinks New Wave just lost the best healer this side of America.”

Carol never screamed at Amy.

She screamed and raised her voice at Vicky whenever the girl would come back with hickeys all on her neck or moderate injuries after pulling some foolhardy move against a villain, but it was almost always because she loved and cared for her daughter.

Maybe that was why it hurt so badly, to be spoken to in such a condescending, matter-of-fact way. Distantly, as they stared at each other from across the dining room table, Amy’s brain came to the bleary and tired realization - not for the first time - that Carol really didn’t give a fuck about her. There was frustration and anger in the woman’s flawless face, evident in the furrowed lines of her scowl and brow, but that wasn’t… it wasn’t anger directed at Amy for Amy. It was anger directed at Amy for New Wave.

She felt crazy and stupid, wanting this woman to scream at her, felt crazy and stupid for even feeling like this, but apathy had a way of cutting deeper than any kind of knife. She could’ve died to Lung tonight, blown up by fire hot enough to turn sand to fucking glass, and Carol was more worried about the thought of her leaving New Wave high and dry, and the ramifications of that when it came to the efficiency and power of their group.

Amy wasn’t even a god-damned footnote concern in her eyes, just an asset she was at risk of losing. Against her very will, the thought brought tears, burning and painful, to the corner of her eyes. 

“Mom…” Vicky spoke up hesitantly from where she was hovering near the living room entrance, arms crossed over her thigh-length Star Wars tee. “That isn’t- Amy could’ve freaking died, mom! Why are we talking about her role in New Wave right now?”

Carol turned her heavy gaze away from her, staring intently at Vicky, and it was only the fact that Amy had been watching her expression so closely, hyperaware in her despair, that she saw the way the coolness faded and warmth - annoyed and exasperated, but tangible - flooded her gaze.

It was like a cold knife to the gut, nauseating and achy. 

“Your sister made the explicit decision to, without telling me a single thing, go on a date with the boy she knew had killed Oni Lee just two days prior. A killer, Vicky! I taught you girls better than that.”

Victoria snorted, cheeks flushed with frustration. “Like we’re all ‘holier than thou’. Stop it,” she spat, taking a purposeful step closer. “We don’t have a moral high, mom - you know full fucking well that you’d kill Kaiser in a heartbeat if you knew you could get away with it. We all would.”

“First of all,” Carol hissed, her chair screeching against the flow as she abruptly stood. “Watch your mouth, Victoria Dallon. You do not swear at your mother.”

“Ugh…”

“And second of all… no. I would not. Rules have been established for a reason. Whether it’s for the sake of avoiding unneeded death or just shielding the civilians away from the bloody and monstrous side of the cape lifestyle, we have rules for a reason-”

“Rules that literally no villains give a f- crap about when it actually comes down to it, mom.” Vicky cut her off, uncrossing her arms and gesturing towards the silent Amy with both hands. “Lung attacked Ames, Avalon, and that Iris girl unmasked in a public restaurant! Oni Lee was going to kill over a dozen prostitutes the other night if Avalon hadn’t killed him! Fucking Kaiser welcomed that asshole in with open arms when he killed Aunt Fleur in her own house, but Avalon’s the bad guy for exposing him?!

Carol flinched back as if struck, the healthy glow to her skin turning ashen at the mention of Fleur. The fact that she’d just swore again didn’t even seem to register. “Those are two completely different things and you know it, Vicky. How are we supposed to claim ourselves to be heroes if we stoop down to the levels of criminals, murderers, and villains? I won’t - I can’t accept that.”

“You can’t?” she pressed, her own voice quieting slightly. “I can. Judging by PHO, a lot of people can. Because I’ve spent the past few years watching these assholes tear our city apart day by day, trying to make one lick of a positive change, and all we’ve managed to really do is desperately chase after their tails. Each and every time.” 

There was a moment of silence, where the energy in the worm reached an uncomfortable, heated peak, and Amy wondered whether or not she was even allowed to take a breath. But then, before anyone could do anything… Vicky continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper that still managed to fill the entire dining room.

“I can’t even blame Amy for leaving New Wave, if that’s what she decided to do. At least her boyfriend’s actually making a difference.”

If her previous words were like a slap to the face, that sentence was like a punch to the throat. 

Carol blanched, her eyes widening as she reached for Victoria, but the girl had already turned into a blur of speed, trails of her long blonde hair disappearing around the corner and up the stairs. The house shook as she slammed her bedroom door shut, and Amy felt the impact in her very bones. Her heart ached, anxiety warring with self-doubt, embarrassment, shame, and so much guilt. The lacquered wooden chair she was sitting on felt more like an electric one, with an inevitable execution looming ominously overhead.

She didn’t want them to fight, especially not over her. She wasn’t worth that. She just… she just wanted her peace back. She wanted Jason and Cassie.

“... Are you happy?”

Carol’s voice was quieter now, less spirited than when she was arguing with Victoria. The woman dropped back down into her seat across from Amy, red-rimmed blue eyes staring right into her own large brown orbs - complete and utter opposites.

Amy had never felt like more of a stranger.

“About-” she croaked, only to pause and swallow to moisten her throat. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “About what? Being attacked at Fugly Bob’s, or- or falling for Avalon?”

“...”

“Or being adopted by a family that d-doesn’t want me? Feeling like an unwanted guest every time I come downstairs for breakfast? Hating the way I look so different from all of you, because you only look at Vicky with actual fucking love and I could never figure out why it couldn’t be me too?”

Amy was scared. Her mouth was moving, emotions and tears spilling forth as her voice slowly got louder and louder, but she couldn’t stop it. Her heart was racing a mile a minute, her stomach doing 360s and backflips, but still, it came out.

And Carol didn’t even look surprised. Just tired.

“I never wanted to be your mother.” 

The sentence was said so bluntly, so matter-of-factly, that any steam Amy had been building up was forced out of her chest in an instant. She gaped, cheeks red and splotchy, salty tears leaking down into her mouth. 

“W-what?”

“Sarah convinced me to adopt you. It was either you join our family, or… we risk another group picking you up and using your powers for evil.  It wasn’t an easy decision to make…” There was a sort of dry, almost self-deprecating lilt to Carol’s voice. She pressed the tip of her tongue behind her front teeth, shaking her head slowly. “I wasn’t ready. I never would have been. But I did it because I felt I had to, and that… was never fair to you. I’m sorry.”

It was one thing to secretly know that you were unwanted.

When it’s just you and your own brain doing the flagellating, it was easier to lie to yourself later on and say ‘oh, maybe I’m just being gaslit by my own emotions. Maybe she does love me’.

Hearing it out loud laid all of that to rest. Like Pandora’s Box, it was all being put out into the air, and once opened… something like that simply wasn’t able to be stuffed back in. Amy wasn’t even sure what she was feeling right now. All she knew was that her chest ached, her stomach hurt, and she simply… wasn’t okay. The only reason she wasn’t actively having a massive panic attack or freakout moment was because, well-

She had two very special people who would help her. She knew that they would.

The memory of their scents - blueberry and smoked hickory - kept her grounded enough to not lash out any more than what she’d already done. 

Her home had never been a home. The Dallons had never truly been her family. This was something she’d known for years, but had fooled herself into ignoring. Now wasn’t the time to let old news break her.

“Okay.” Amy muttered, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. She was still wearing her date night attire, and she really didn’t want to get snot on Vicky’s clothes.

“‘Okay’?” Carol repeated, genuine puzzlement clear on her drawn face. “If you want to scream at me, throw a tantrum, let loose just how horrible of a woman I am… now’s the time. I won’t get angry at you-”

“I’m pissed,” she interrupted, voice still thick with emotion. “But… I already knew you didn’t want me. Hearing it out loud just makes it real.”

“I’m sorr-”

“No. No more apologies, or excuses, or-” Amy inhaled, brain working overtime to properly enunciate the words she was searching for. “Just none of that. I can’t accept it right now. I just want to know one thing, Carol.”

If hearing her name said so callously bothered the woman, she didn’t make it known other than a slight twitch of the eyebrow. “What is it?”

Amy’s stomach did a somersault. Breath coming out in quicker, harsher pants, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared at Carol - at the woman who she used to see as a trusted, if distant, parental figure. Something told her that the answer to the question she wanted to ask would be almost too much to bear, but something also told her that, with Jason and Cassie, nothing would ever be too much.

She wanted to know. She had to know. Because other than Vicky… she truly didn’t have any other family here.

“Who…” Amy began, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Who was - or is my father? Who did I get these powers from?”

…

The look of pain and anger on the beautiful woman’s face would probably haunt her nightmares for weeks to come.

_______________________________________________

11:55 PM

Coil

In his ‘first’ reality, Thomas Calvert felt… relatively secure, entrenched as deeply as he was in his base with an army of mercenaries biting at the bit to be the one to kill Avalon.

He’d offered the lucky killer a million dollar bonus, after all.

Based off the report from one of his tertiary scouting squads, the Undersiders were practically AWOL. Their base was ransacked of all but the most mundane of items and furniture, with absolutely no sign of any tracks that could have possibly led to their new location. Tattletale was no longer answering her phone, and he didn’t have the numbers for any of her teammates… not that it would’ve mattered, because it was quite clear that they’d abandoned their contract with him as soon as Avalon made it clear that he was on the prowl.

It was foolish and shortsighted of them, but perhaps expecting a higher sense of loyalty and wisdom from a gang of teenage misfits was foolish of him as well - they’d pay for their cowardice and betrayal soon, after this whole ‘Avalon’ business was taken care of, but he simply didn’t have the resources or time to focus on them at the moment.

The clock would be striking midnight within the next five minutes, after all.

“Report, Team Six,” he spoke calmly into his walkie-talkie, eyes combing the security camera monitors laid across his desk. This office wasn’t his personal favorite, being much smaller and compact than his ‘main’ one, but it was much deeper in the underground bunker. More bodies between him and the enemy.

“Nothin’ yet, boss.” Minor, squad captain and dogged loyalist, responded back after a couple seconds of white static. “Our quadrant’s clear. Don’t even know how the kid’ll get inside in the first place.”

It was low IQ statements like those that made Coil happy to be in a higher percentile of intelligence amongst men in the US. God forbid the merc turn on a television and see the undeniable breadth of powers the boy seemingly pulled out of his ass. 

People were starting to call him a ‘sorcerer’, like in one of those fantasy television shows. It was ludicrous.

“Stay on alert. Avalon has various dangerous abilities, one of which corrodes metal in its entirety. Watch the walls and the ceilings.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Leaning off of the walkie, Coil checked the time again.

11:57 PM.

Nervousness, deep and cold, prodded at his spirit. He slid the pistol from its hidden holster beneath his desk, the black grip clammy yet familiar in his hands. He was spooked, even with the four mercenaries stationed on either side of the barricaded entrance to his office. Hell, even with the hidden emergency hatch behind him that led into a small, blast proof room nestled even further into the ground, attached to an escape tunnel that emptied out into the sewers, Coil still found himself on the very cusp of shaking.

He hated this. He hated being on the defensive. He hated being the one chased down like a fucking animal.

He hated Avalon.

.

.

.

In another reality, Coil was well on his way out of Brockton Bay. His chauffeur, Dimitri, drove down King’s Ave at a smooth and average forty-five miles per hour, their unmarked, drab green Toyota cruiser blending in perfectly with the sparse, unimpressive mass of cars making their way through the Downtown area minutes before midnight. He would have preferred being out of the city completely by this time exactly, but packing up and getting all of his affairs in order in a mere half hour was simply unfeasible - which is why they decided to rely on the ‘hiding in plain’ site method instead of pure speed.

Even if, through some ridiculous Thinker ability, Avalon managed to find their vehicle, they were practically tailgating every single car they came across. He would be risking civilian injury by simply blowing them up with a lightning bolt, and in the case that he went easy and gave them enough time to react…

Well, not every mercenary was back at his -former- base. A mass of tinkertech lasergun fire from random cars puttering along the streets would be enough to take out just about anyone outside of the Triumvirate, and Coil refused to believe that Avalon was at their level. Not yet.

So, as the clock ticked down to midnight and his anxiety reached a singing crescendo, Coil gripped his trusty sidearm down beside his thigh, scrunched down into the seat, and waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Distantly, as if from multiple blocks away, he could hear a muffled ‘boom’ - like thunder going off, or an abnormally powerful gunshot. 

“Huh.” Dimitri’s Russian-accented voice piped up from the front seat, easing the car to a slow and gentle stop at the intersection’s red light. “Hero man did not show. Maybe he too scared to fuck with-... Wait. Do you hear tha-”

CRACK!

He almost didn’t realize what had happened. The pain took a few seconds too long to properly kick in.

Coil gagged viciously, bloodshot eyes bugging out of his skull as ten long, gleaming feet of an ornate, masterfully-designed spear skewered him to the backseat of his Toyota, ripping entirely through his chest cavity and continuing through the back end of the car. The entire windshield shattered from the force of its entry, glass shards embedding themselves into Dimitri’s face, and the large, bear-like Russian man was screaming bloody murder as he held the bleeding, tattered remains of his face.

Somehow, all of this felt so, so distant.

There were shouts all around him, people screaming and yelling - both his mercenaries and normal civilians, but none of them approached. None of them helped.

Not that they could, he realized as his head lolled downwards against his will, giving his bugged out eyes quite possibly the most disturbing sight he’d ever seen. His chest was torn open like a cadaver prepped for dissection, singed and flayed brown skin surrounding a hole the size of a fucking bowling ball. Blood leaked out in droves like a waterfall, and he saw something there, beneath the torn flesh and crushed bones-

His heart. It was his fucking heart. 

Coil could see his heart.

He was dying. 

He was dying.

He was fucking dy-

.

.

.

Coil gasped, clenching his fist tightly against his sternum. Ignoring the odd looks from the mercenaries stationed at his door, he whipped his head to the small digital clock resting on his desk.

12:00 AM.

His heart - his still beating, still healthy heart - skipped two whole beats, and without an ounce of hesitation, he split realities again.

.

.

.

Still filled with the fear, despair, and anger at his first death, Coil decided to be proactive and aggressive in the first reality. Attempting to flee the city when Avalon apparently had an ability to track him down no matter what… It was a foolish decision, but it also taught him something important that somewhat matched other videos of the boy in action.

Much like a ‘sorcerer’, he preferred ranged combat. 

Oh, he absolutely could throw down in hand to hand, that much was obvious from his fight with Hookwolf, but every other recorded combat encounter had him overwhelming enemies with various Blaster, Striker, and Shaker powers. Thinking back on his destroyed reality, that loud ‘boom’ in the distance was most likely - and he shuddered as he realized this - Avalon throwing his spear from, at least, a few miles away. Whatever powerset he possessed, it allowed him to ascertain Coil’s exact position, see him from an extremely far distance, and throw his spear with enough force to exceed the speed of sound.

As pants-shittingly frightening as all of that was, him attacking in that manner showed that he definitely favored attacking from range. Perhaps he wasn’t as comfortable in CQC? Or maybe he was less durable than he wanted people to know, and that weakness simply wasn’t known because he rarely got hit.

But Coil had over fifty mercenaries jam packed in this bunker. He couldn’t dodge forever.

“Attention all units,” he announced into the intercom microphone attached to his desk. “Avalon has invaded the premises. I repeat, Avalon has invaded the premises. All squads prepare for combat immediately.”

It wasn’t a lie, despite the distinct lack of Avalon on the camera feeds. There was no promise that he would come in loud and proud, and although announcing things the way he did alerted the boy that he was onto him, Coil had already committed to playing the aggressive game in this reality. Turning the tables on him was probably the best chance he had.

“Squad 1, confirming. No sign of him here!”

“Squad 2, confirming. Clear.”

“Squad 3, confirmin’. Don’t see him, boss.”

“Squad 4, confirming sir! Nothing here, either.”

“Squad 5, the atrium outside your office is cl- wait, what the fuck was that? Jenkins, are you good? Jenkins! Who the fuck- SHIT! OH, SHIT, WAIT PLEAS-”

SQUELCH!

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Coil staggered away from the door as what could only be called World War 3 erupted outside of his office. The mercenaries next to the door slowly followed suit, kneeling behind whatever cover they could find in the small, compact space and aiming their assault carbines towards what was both the entrance and the exit.

His eyes shot towards the surveillance monitor, and what he saw turned his body numb.

A dark figure was darting across the bloodstained atrium floor, light blue laser blasts burning the air where they whizzed and streaked past his body. Squad 5 kneeled and braced behind cover, the remaining eight mercenaries screaming call-outs as they did their best to not die. Already, two corpses were bifurcated on the floor, oozing blood and offal, but the gruesome deed he dealt didn’t seem to bother him at all as he clenched his left hand to his chest and conjured what seemed to be… a red ball of some sort of energy?

In that moment, a lasershot clipped his side, tearing through his clothes in a spray of blood - but the same man who actually managed to land the hit flinched back as that red ball of energy slammed into his face, sending a pulse of crimson light down his entire body.

Avalon had already teleported up to the second floor of the atrium, the spear in his right hand lopping off another merc’s head as blood flowed freely from his side, but now there was a golden ball of glowing energy in his left hand instead, which he held against his bullet wound, even as the mercenary’s decapitated body fell over the side of the railing down below-

Where the merc with the red glow had just turned on the rest of Squad 5, screaming his throat raw as he ripped into his comrades with his Tinkertech carbine.

It was chaos. It was disgusting. It was hell on a TV screen. And in those brief fifteen seconds that he’d watched the feed, transfixed by what he was seeing, the fighting had already stopped - almost as fast as it had begun. 

“Squad 3 and 4 heading towards the Atrium! Requesting support!”

“Squad 1 on the way.”

“Squad 2’s… going to watch the front entrance. Over.”

Avalon was making his way to his office door, now. Coil could see him on the monitor. His side had already stopped bleeding, the nasty wound washed away by that golden orb of energy. He was muttering now, gesturing with both hands as his spear floated in the air above him, and Coil… Coil tasted copper in his mouth. Or iron.

The aggressive route hadn’t worked. He needed to run. He needed to leave.

“Shoot him! Shoot the fucking door!” Coil spat over his shoulder, scrambling to lift the hatch hidden behind his desk. The latch was stuck, but he wasn’t weak. It just needed a bit of elbow grease and a lot of fearful fucking desperation.

“... But why-”

A voice, deep and smooth and so fucking frightening, echoed from behind the large, galvanized steel door - twelve thick inches of blastproof protection. “Aq§i'oy…”

“Just do it, damn you!”

With a snarl of exertion, Coil finally flipped the hatch up. The sound of gunshots barking out behind him ricocheted off the metal walls, filling his skull with aching, mind-numbing pain, but Coil didn’t care anymore - he needed to go. He ignored the mercenaries, he ignored Avalon, and he ignored his right mind telling him to just give up and plead for amnesty. He ignored it all.

Maybe that was why, when Coil twisted around to climb feet-first down the hatch, he belatedly realized that the loud banging noises wasn’t just gunshots and ricocheted noise - it was Avalon somehow tearing the door apart with his bare hands. Maybe he would have just dove down into the hatch without wasting those precious few seconds being extra careful and safe, which were not the traits he needed to be utilizing at that moment.

Maybe then, if he’d done everything right there at the end, he wouldn’t have died from the cape kicking his desk back towards him with enough strength to nearly split the furniture in two with that one hit.

Maybe then, he wouldn’t have died from a broken spine, folded backwards over the entrance of the hatch like a snapped chopstick.

Maybe then.

Maybe then…

.

.

.

Coil stumbled, his spine tingling uncomfortably as the memories hit him. Hard. 

Avalon was coming. Avalon was coming, and not telling his mercenaries ahead of time was the worst possible decision he could have made because now there was no one to stop him. There was only one explanation for how he got past all four of the initial squads - Stranger powers. He had some way to- to go invisible, or make his presence stand out less, or shapeshift to blend in, or-

It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. Coil breathed through his nose, fighting through the stitch in his side as he dead sprinted down the dark, musty escape tunnel. If Avalon wished it, he could kill him without him even noticing. He could teleport in and chop his head off, or send a lightning bolt down the annoyingly linear tunnel space - an unfortunate sacrifice for stability - and frying his body to a crisp. He needed a plan beyond escaping into the sewers and trying to leave Brockton Bay. He needed a way to throw the boy off of his trail.

He needed-

He needed…-

‘Is… is that whistling?’

The ominous sound nearly sent him into hysteria.

It echoed against the narrow walls, bouncing back and forth at a high, staccato-like tempo that made his heart drop out the bottom of his ass. It was Avalon - it had to be, because who else could it have been? 

Coil couldn’t turn around to check. He didn’t want to, because confirming the inevitable would simply break him. There was so much left for him to do in this world, with these amazing powers that could have, quite literally, given him the entire world if he would’ve just played things better. If he would’ve kept Tattletale closer, forced her to serve him hand and foot instead of stick and carrot. If he would’ve fostered a more loyal and committed atmosphere amongst his cape hires, maybe Circus and Chariot would have shown up nearly an hour ago when he’d called them. Maybe, just maybe, things could have been different.

But now? Now, all he had left was himself.

Woosh.

A breeze, and the scent of gunpowder and blood. The hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood to attention. Coil split his realities desperately-

Coil turned around, raising his pistol up towards the whistling menace. There was a flash of ornate steel, Avalon’s tall, statuesque form twirling around his gun, and suddenly - pain. His severed hand dropped to the ground with a meaty thunk, blood spilling all over his black suit, and before Coil could even think to speak, a glowing fist found purchase in his face.

Something squished, a wet sensation popping in his ears, and everything went black-

.

Coil dove forward, old, rusty instincts built over a decade of PRT field work pushing his out of shape muscles into overdrive. He slammed onto the damp ground way too hard, and something in his knee fractured, but that pain was nothing compared to what Avalon would do to him if he caught him. He screamed to block out the mind-numbing whistling, twisting onto his back and shooting wildly up at the cape-

But no one was there. His heart stopped, and Coil split the timeline.

A boot slammed into his face, popping his brain like a watermelon. Everything went black-

Coil raised his arms to shield himself, and the bones in his forearms snapped like thin little twigs as Avalon’s boot pressed down with slowly mounting pressure, forcing the fractured bones to press harder and harder against his face, and Coil screamed in pain as he activated his power aga-

His nose crumbled beneath the pressure, and something sharp and wet - his septum bone, maybe - jutted upwards, poking into a place it should not have been poking. Fresh agony ripped through Coil’s body, the most pain he’d ever had to experience in his life, and for a moment, all he knew was pain. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even begin to muster up the focus to split realities again. It wouldn’t have even mattered if he did. It… it didn’t matter. He lost.

Scared and alone, overpowered and outplayed by a fucking kid.

A moment passed, something else cracked inside of his head, and the lights went out. Darkness overwhelmed his vision. Dully, beneath his screams, Coil realized that he just pissed himself.

A second later, in a grotesque explosion of blood, bone, and brain matter… Coil’s skull exploded, and he finally died.

The last thing he heard, as haunting as it was beautiful, was Avalon’s low, harmonious whistling…

___________________________________

A/N:

So… Coil died. Heh.

Writing this was a bit of a challenge, but I actually really enjoyed it. We got to see a more serious and focused side of Avalon, although he did play around a little bit at the end once he was sure that he won no matter what.

I couldn’t figure out a good way to have Avalon counter Coil’s power with his perk here without it coming off as lame, so I just did it this way. Hopefully you all enjoyed the hunt!

As far as Amy’s interlude went: I did what I could with the information I have on the Dallon family. I really do think Vicky would be on Amy’s side here, and Carol doesn’t want Amy. That’s canon. She expressly does not fuck with her at all, she just took her in out of obligation. And here, so tired and also hurt/pissed off with Vicky, Carol decided to just come clean and talk it out with Amy. Amy’s almost 18, after all - no reason to treat her like a child.

Let me know how you all feel! No rolling here since it wasn’t Avalon’s POV, but we will be rolling next chapter. CP is at 300 now!