Chapter 15 (Patreon)

Cape fights were a lot different in real time than anything you could ever read online, either in my previous world or PHO. Time moved infinitely slower in the moment, but in reality - only a minute had gone by since we’d started our lethal dance. Maybe it was because of Megalovania blaring in the background like my very own theme music, but at some point I’d started moving with the beat, bobbing and weaving as I slowly whittled Hookwolf down with strong slashes and stabs from my Armament. He was growing much slower as Chamon flaked at and corroded his metal, forcing him to constantly recycle and regenerate the brittle steel almost as fast as he was utilizing it.

I could see his core, too - or, at the very least, my Hidden Intuition felt as if it knew where it laid within the mass of writhing blades and hooks. It glowed a frigid and icy blue to my eyes, visible even through the nazi’s rampaging steel body, and I kept his core in sight even as I dogwalked him down to his last panting breaths. My mana pool was still going strong in spite of the two Gaster Blaster beams I’d let off before, and I felt like I had another three or so in me before my tank ran out and I had to rely entirely on the Aethyr.

In other words? I was outlasting Hookwolf.

Quite honestly, I was one of the worst matchups for him with my adept familiarity of the eight Winds. His power was immense to your standard, run of the mill cape, but to a man who controlled raw, unfettered magic unleashed from the Realms of Chaos? It was like beating down a particularly rabid and durable animal. My blood sang every time I dodged death by a hair’s breadth, my soul crooned as I broke apart his crumbling metal armor, and my spirit grew. The grip on my spear tightened, my movements becoming quicker, more natural, more effortless.

All the while, I kept my attention focused solely on the oversized dog, watching and waiting for any type of shift.

It was due to this constant vigilance that, as I teleported up ten feet and over yet another clumsy lunge, spring boarding off of the rusty, snarling steel that acted as Hookwolf’s maw, I noticed something change in the tempo of the battle. It was minor, almost imperceptible for someone that lacked a certain situational awareness, but it was there. His blue eyes darted to the right, away from me and my Blaster, and the crumbling metal that acted as his legs seemed to shudder and hiss as he suddenly put on a burst of speed.

The loud, grinding screech of steel breaking and scratching against concrete tore through the air as Hookwolf surged towards Parian in a mad scramble, flecks and chunks of eroding steel flying off of his crumbling body. A wordless, frustrated warcry rang from the manbeast’s metallic throat as he blitzed the wide-eyed woman.

My heart skipped a beat, and real, pounding anger forced my blood to a boil. I was still roughly fifteen feet in the air at the apex of my jump, and in a fraction of a second my brain ran through at least five different actions that I could perform to protect my newest friend. The bad thing about knowing so many useful spells was that I had almost too many options, and there wasn’t a guarantee that any one of them would work.

As I began to fall, a certain spell flew to the front of my mind and I came to a snap decision, immediately chanting as fast as my lips could manage. Chamon, a heavy and dense Wind that rose from the rust-strewn floor like a thick fog, lurched forward at my ancient words, a mass of amber magic that only I could sense.

In its defense, the patchwork gorilla that Parian refurbished her Teddy into let out its own challenging squeak, sprinting forward on its large and unwieldy knuckles to meet the much larger metallic wolf head-on. Parian stood behind Moriarty Parfait’s abandoned kiosk, body shaking in the face of danger but refusing to back down.

Cotton and linen immediately exploded through the air like a confetti, Hookwolf goring through its body like a rusted greatsword through a water balloon. The stuffed animal didn’t stop his momentum in any way, and Parian didn’t even have time to blink, let alone react.

At one moment, the corroded man-beast was pulling away from me and scrambling through food court seats and tables to attack Parian. At the next, the gory remains of an oversized stuffed monkey was littering the floor and a freshly generated, razor-sharp steel spear was blasting from Hookwolf’s roaring mouth, extending out like a lethal metal tongue and heading straight for Parian’s porcelain white mask.

She wouldn’t have survived the attack. Maybe he was getting desperate, and that mad dash was his attempt to gain leverage in the fight. Maybe he hadn’t actually been aiming to skewer her through the face, and his goal was to stop the steel an inch away from her mask, all dramatic and villainous-like. Whatever his original intent was, it wasn’t allowed to come to pass…

“-lak Xamön'oy!”

Because suddenly, with the roar of concrete splintering into dust and brittle steel snapping like thin twigs, ornate golden bars sprouted from the floor like gnarled roots from the most ostentatious of trees, twisting around Hookwolf’s body and forcing him away from the kiosk lest they pierce his weakened frame. He slammed his bladed snout against the bars, practically frothing in rage, but the brittle steel easily snapped when thrown against the glimmering gold metal. The bars surged unerringly upwards, forming a large, circular cage that skimmed even the 30 foot tall ceiling of the food court.

Ironically enough, it looked reminiscent of a gilded birdcage.

“FUCK! NO! LET ME OU-”

Wind screamed as my Sole Protector-powered spear careened through the air with a loud crack, shimmering an effervescent gold beneath the mall’s fluorescent lights. My eyes, burning with both hatred and disgust, made sure that the magical Armament flew true - between the bars of the Gilded Cage, and directly towards the trapped wolf’s glowing blue core. Hookwolf was out of moxy now, that much was obvious, and although the Plague of Rust had faded away, he didn’t have much energy left over to replace his existing browned, corroded metal. As a result, the glimmering spear tore through the nazi’s body like a bullet through wet toilet paper.

As I walked forward, I could see the exact moment, the exact instant when he realized where the spear was going. He only had time to widen his eyes and twitch before the massive Armament skewered that glowing blue spot, wrenching all the way through his body and coming out the other side. As if on cue, the background music went quiet.

Rusted blades and hooks, chipped and corroded, fell to the ground in droves. They slipped through the gaps in the cage, clattering to the concrete floor. Lying in the mass of metal, impaled clean through the gut by the ten foot long spear, was Hookwolf, greasy-haired and humanoid once again. Blood gushed from beneath his metal mask, and even more poured from the wound in his hairy stomach. He was grasping weakly at the shaft of the weapon, but his hands couldn’t grip it strong enough to gain any actual leverage.

Choked, bloodied curses spilled loudly from his lips. And slurs - can’t forget the slurs.

“Parian,” I said quietly, not turning my gaze away from the trapped and dying nazi. “Go check on Cricket, make sure she’s still unconscious. Tie her up too while you’re at it.” My voice was low and monotonous, but there was an undercurrent of steel there that brokered no arguments.

“A-alright. Okay. I can do that…” She stepped away from the kiosk, shooting the cursing Hookwolf a wide-eyed glance, before staggering towards the downed form of Cricket. The tattered remains of her stuffed animal floated after her, forming intricate knots in the air as it did.

Hookwolf groaned again, before spitting out a globule of blood and glaring at me. “Fuck!  Damn it…y’know you’re not g-getting a fucking hero’s reward for doing me in, right? Stupid nigg-”

“Sinaö,” I hissed, commanding the Winds of Ulgu to heed my will and silence the nazi before my patience snapped and I executed him in front of a dozen CCTV cameras. I didn't chant for a spell that I actually knew, and no spell utilized only one word from lingua praestantia, but apparently my understanding of the Winds was enough to create something. Hookwolf’s voice abruptly petered out, and he could only flinch and make wheezing noises as I leaned against the gilded bars of his new cage.

“Good bitch.”

He went still, glaring at me with murder in his eyes. Even that emotion was weakening from blood loss.

I smiled thinly, and my voice lowered to an almost inaudible whisper - too quiet for any cameras to potentially pick up. “We have maybe two minutes before the Protectorate bursts in here to ‘take control of the situation’. That’s two minutes of healing so that you get a nice, clean trip to the Bird Cage.”

He tried to mumble something, but another dribble of blood was all that came out. Clicking my tongue, I reached between the golden bars and grabbed the shaft of my Armament. I could have simply dematerialized it like almost every other magical effect in my repertoire, but…

I yanked the spear out with a sickening squelch, and Hookwolf’s body seized and flexed, every muscle pulling taut as he attempted to roar his pain out to the world - keyword being attempted. A spurt of blood and maybe something more meaty came out alongside the wicked head of my weapon, but I paid it no heed - I wasn’t one to enjoy gore for the sake of gore. I didn’t take pleasure in seeing the effects of my ‘assistance’...I just took pleasure in the fact that a racist, lynching piece of nazi trash was experiencing agony.

And when I called upon Aqshy, the Wind further emblazoned by my own enjoyment and passion, I was able to witness even more pain as Sear Wounds slowly and methodically cauterized and healed the bloody hole in Hookwolf’s gut. Maybe I smiled a little bit, maybe I didn’t.

Regardless, though…karma was truly a bitch.

___________

Hookwolf lasted maybe thirty seconds getting ‘healed’ by me before his silent screams lulled him into a peaceful slumber. Parian, having tied the unconscious Cricket and the four nazi goons up with supernaturally tough cloth coiled into rope, tentatively approached me not long after Hookwolf tapped out. I raised my hand in greeting - my mood was significantly better after tortu- healing the greasy haired wolf man, and a little smirk rested on my face as I watched her approach me.

She stopped a couple feet away, and…bowed. At the waist. I blinked.

“Thank you so much for protecting my life, Avalon! I’m sorry I didn’t help more...I was w-weak.”

Her words were rushed and unsure, a far cry from the composed persona I’d started to see the woman as. My first instinct was to snark it off with my usual flirtatious nonchalance, because I truly was not the best with emotionally traumatized women, but something stopped me. I could see the way that her legs were shaking. Her blonde wig was askew, just enough to where I could see dark brown hair beginning to poke out from the back. She was completely thrown off her game. Thinking about it, that was probably the closest she’d ever been to dying.

Right. People actually freaked the fuck out when it came to shit like that. Now my mood was ruined again…fucking nazis, man.

“You were scared,” I said gently. She flinched violently when I pushed off of the cage, but didn’t move up from her bow.

“I was weak. You said that if you don’t fight-”

“Stop that.” I stopped right in front of the bowing woman and placed my hand on her chin, the golden claw of my gauntlets scratching a thin line against her porcelain mask. Parian didn’t seem to mind, though, as I brought her face up to meet mine, straightening her out of her bow. Dark pools of ebony stared unblinkingly into my own eyes, and I tried a smile. It came out crooked.

“You had the chance to run, and you decided to stay. It was stupid, but what hero isn’t just a little bit stupid? Definitely not me. All that matters is you looked death straight in the face and survived. That’s not weakness, that’s streng- oof.”

I was cut off by the gut-punching sensation of Parian slamming her face into my abs and hugging the fuck out of me. The fact that two very attractive, emotionally-charged women have hugged me over the course of 24 hours was insane, but I pushed away that thought in favor of stroking her fake Goldilocks hair. She wouldn’t really feel it, but it was the thought that counts, right?

“Regardless, thank you.” Parian murmured, pulling back and straightening her mask. I saw a glimpse of her face - smooth, dark brown skin and plump, full lips - before she had it covered back up. She knew I saw it, too, but her eyes stayed resolute and grateful as she stepped a respectable distance away. She definitely knew that I knew that she knew, and that…excited me a bit - at least until I remembered that she was a lesbian.

The sound of boots moving quickly over concrete had me straightening my back. The sound was echoing from what sounded like the back entrance of the mall, and judging by the tempo it had to be at least a full squad of soldiers. Not surprising, considering the news they probably received - Hookwolf, Cricket, and a team of nazi thugs seen just strolling into the Hillside Mall, right before civilians fled en masse and gunshots rang out through the building? I was more surprised that it took them so long to show up. The entire fight lasted a few minutes, and then I healed Hookwolf and had a little heart to heart with the pretty lesbian in the doll mask. Overall, their response time to what was a very public and violent cape attack left a lot to be desired.

Or maybe I was just being too harsh on them. It wasn’t like I knew what the usual response time was for shit like this.

“Heads up,” I said to Parian, stabbing my Armament into the concrete and leaning against it boredly. “Peanut gallery’s gonna be here soon.”

The woman blinked. “Oh? Ohhh…the PRT.” She watched me closely. “Do you not like them?”

“Meh, they’re like the garbage man. I’m cool with ‘em taking out my trash.”

She gave no further response, opting to simply nod her head in silent understanding, and together we waited for the footsteps to draw closer.

It didn’t take long - within moments, an armored man with a goatee and a fit woman wearing military fatigues turned the corner into the food court, respective weapons held at the ready. The man held a sleek-looking halberd in both hands, gripping the cobalt-blue weapon tightly, and the woman was holding what appeared to be a glowing green assault carbine.

I put names to costumes immediately.

“Ah, Miss Militia…” And judging by the awed whisper beside me, apparently Parian did too.

They took a brief moment to analyze the situation for themselves, attention lingering a few seconds longer on Hookwolf and the golden, blood-splattered cage he was trapped inside. A full squad of six PRT troopers fanned out around them, holding what looked like flamethrowers up to their shoulders. Judging by the lack of surprise in their body language, I had a feeling that they’d already known that Hookwolf and Cricket were incapacitated. Most likely information remotely pulled from the cameras.

Armsmaster, ever the courageous leader, immediately approached me after a quiet command to the PRT soldiers. I watched them cautiously approach the tied up nazis, before the bearded hero’s voice brought my attention back to him. Miss Militia, meanwhile, skirted around the side to examine the Gilded Cage more closely. I saw no reason to stop her - Hookwolf getting captured and sent to the actual cage was all part of the plan, after all.

“You were brave, fighting Hookwolf and Cricket alone, though I doubt they left you much choice.” It was more of a statement than it was a compliment, and in spite of him speaking to the both of us it was obvious who he was directing it to. I couldn’t see his eyes from beneath his visor, but I just knew that he was staring straight into my soul.

Parian merely looked over to me, still leaning back against my oversized spear. I shrugged like it was no big deal, a small smile pulling at my lips. “What can I say? When you give me a big stick and a bunch of racist assholes, I tend to clean house. Call it karmic justice.”

Armsmaster tilted his head, looking past me and at the massive, gaping hole that used to be the entrance to the men’s bathroom. His voice was dry when he responded, but there was a note of dry humor there. Surprising, considering the way many people tried to frame him on the wrong side of autistic. “That looks like you used a lot more than a ‘big stick’. We’ve been granted emergency access to the CCTV footage in the mall, and although I was more preoccupied with getting here in time to assist-”

I interrupted him, not necessarily to be a dick but because I already had a feeling where the conversation was going. “A little birdie in your ear piece whispered all of my little tricks in gratuitous detail, right?”

Armsmaster paused, and I figured he was listening to someone’s voice in his earpiece, probably coaching him through the best way to handle a snarky new player like me. The pause was only for a split second, however, as he continued like he’d never missed a beat. “Correct. We know of Parian, as she is a recognized Rogue, albeit still unregistered with the PRT…” At this, he trailed off and gave her what I could only assume was a disappointed look.

Parian actually had the gall to look reprimanded, glancing down at her shoes. “I’m…going to go over there.” She pointed at one of the benches that managed to actually survive the battle, and promptly walked away. The intense atmosphere was clearly a lot for her to breathe in.

Armsmaster ignored her exit. “But we have nothing in our files pertaining to you, a new and apparently powerful cape.”

The unasked question lingered in the air, and I allowed it to simmer for a moment longer. I wasn’t really one for dramatics, but there was something about being actually fucking magical that was starting to bring it out of me. If I, a motherfucking wizard, couldn’t have a dramatic and mystifying flair, who the fuck could?

“...Avalon,” I eventually responded, cutting my eyes to the Gilded Cage that Miss Militia was still inspecting. “The Tarnished Hero.”

Distantly, as if it came from outside, the sound of thunder striking in the background cut through the comparatively quiet food court, causing one of the PRT soldiers lugging the nazis away to practically jump out of his skin and drop his quarry. The skinhead groaned in pain, rousing from unconsciousness, and the soldier swore quietly and resumed his thankless work.

Armsmaster simply stared at me, bemused. “The chances for rain today was at an all time low, and there’s no humidity. It's definitely not storming outside. Did you create that noise?”

I blinked innocently. Hidden Intuition was highlighting his visor a blaring red, practically screaming to me that he would definitely recognize the fact that I was lying if I lied to him. That didn't change anything. “No.”

Another pause, and he frowned. “You’re lying.”

“I am,” I agreed easily, pushing off of my Armament and willing it to fade away in a dissipating show of fading golden light. “Now let’s get to the important stuff. Hookwolf,” I turned and gestured to the bloodied and unconscious man, “Is going away permanently, right? To the Bird Cage.”

Miss Militia took the opportunity to introduce herself to the conversation. Standing from where she’d been rubbing grains of corroded steel between her fingers, the militaristic woman turned to me and offered her gloved hand. “Miss Militia. It’s an honor to meet you, Avalon.”

I accepted the handshake, squeezing slightly before letting go. Her warm eyes stared into mine throughout the entire exchange. What was it with these heroes and their intimate eye contact?

“Honor’s all mine, truly.” And it genuinely was. Say what you wanted about the Protectorate, but Miss Militia was a woman worthy of respect. Getting past the trauma of being a human fucking minesweeper…she was stronger than most. I didn’t let that distract me from my question, however.

I eyed Armsmaster.

The man sighed, sheathing his halberd on his back. “That isn’t a decision that I’m allowed to make, unfortunately. I doubt they’d change course now though. He’s escaped custody en route to the Bird Cage twice already. He assaulted you and Parian in broad daylight, and attempted to maim you both.”

Miss Militia spoke up here, the emerald green energy floating between her hands idly shifting into a serrated combat knife that she promptly sheathed. “He’s going to the Bird Cage, guaranteed. Though, it could prove a bit difficult with these golden bars in the way.” There was a wry amusement in her voice, but also a sternness, too. She wasn’t commanding me, but she was definitely implying that I should play ball. I watched her for a moment longer, peeling back a layer and truly analyzing her body language, and my Intuition lit her up like a firing squad.

Miss Militia knows that you are a teenager due to your face and mannerisms, and wants you to become a Ward. She is hoping that you show a willingness to work with the PRT. She feels anxious because she does not want to turn this first meeting into a confrontation. She recognizes you. She is fairly certain that you have killed before. She is fairly certain that you have killed nazis before. She is-

Ohhh. Adrenaline rushed through my veins.

I made absolutely certain to keep my face cool and collected as I dialed my Hidden Intuition back down to its lower settings, dissipating the onrush of information that shot through my brain in a mere fraction of a second. Honestly, I should have expected this - sure, I had a shiny new costume and more abilities, but how many young black men with dreadlocks and magical golden attacks were there in Brockton Bay? Probably not many. Add in ‘with a grudge against nazis’ and…well, you wouldn’t really narrow it down much further, but it was still an extremely low amount.

They wanted to bring me in and detain Hookwolf without causing me to escalate or react in a potentially dangerous manner. By not mentioning the fact that they knew who I was, they were hoping to form a sense of camaraderie and trust. Respectable, and not as heavy-handed as I thought they’d be, but I…simply didn’t want to become a Ward. Being forced to go to school, have a curfew, go through training montages with a bunch of boring teenagers? Ugh. I had magic to master, girls to fuck, and nazis to bait into a massacre.

I’d just have to show that I was in control of my powers now and not going on a murder spree. Yet.

“...He’s pretty fucked up,” I suddenly said, turning to the Gilded Cage and commanding the bars to part. “But he should be stable enough to move…not that anyone would be upset if you dropped the bloodthirsty nazi murderer on his head a couple times.”

I had to browbeat the Wind a little since the cage was made to stay for a full day, no more and no less, but Chamon had been easily moldable by my will throughout the entire fight. The golden bars crunched and yawned as they were wrenched wide open, just enough to fit a couple of grown men through.

“Take him to the van and make sure he is secure. Brute and Changer protocols.” Armsmaster commanded.

“Yes sir.”

One of the two soldiers watching the exit of the food court quickly moved into the cage, boots crunching and breaking over rusted metal scrap as he flipped the unconscious Hookwolf over to his stomach and pulled his wrists behind the small of his back. A pair of odd looking handcuffs - Tinkertech, most likely - were slapped on right before a spray of yellowish containment foam blasted from his…foamthrower and coated the nazi’s back. Immediately, the foam expanded to cover both the handcuffs and Hookwolf’s arms.

Combined with the Hell I wrought upon his metal…that nazi wasn’t breaking free anytime soon.

The second soldier moved forward then, grunting as he helped his teammate pick the two-hundred-plus pounds of racist man meat up and over their shoulders before briskly making their way out of the food court. Efficient, professional, and with minimal communication…they were pretty damn impressive. Still not cool enough to change my stance on joining the PRT, though.

“Thank you, Avalon. You’ve done this city a great service,” Miss Militia said sincerely, causing me to look back over to her. Her and Armsmaster were standing side-by-side now, in a way that subtly hinted at his broad shoulders and manly jawline, while her shapely and athletic form seemed almost action-figure like with the way that she crossed her arms below her chest. She was smiling, this much I could tell from the way that her eyes crinkled at the edges, and I had a niggling feeling…

‘Oh great, here comes the fucking Wards pitch...’

“But have you thought of officially registering as an Independent Hero with the PRT? You wouldn’t be obligated to work directly with us, but we’d like to be able to assist or call for assistance if need be.”

‘...What?’

“What?” Armsmaster blinked, dropping his ‘subtle hero’ pose and staring at Miss Militia. He didn’t sound or look upset or angry, just puzzled.

They both suddenly winced, almost in sync, at something coming from their earpieces before Miss Militia pressed her finger to her ear and sighed. “You’re both powerful and skilled with your abilities, Avalon - I don’t mean to ‘kiss ass’, but I only want to be straightforward. Do you agree, Armsmaster?”

“...He is,” Armsmaster hesitantly agreed, a bemused frown on his face. “A Trump who has grown exponentially since the last time we’ve heard from him. Detaining Hookwolf alone is not an easy or common feat.” There was a begrudging respect in his voice, though it was tempered by caution and warning. The man had all but outright stated that they knew what I'd done, but were pussyfooting around it for now.

Miss Militia nodded her head, looking me straight in the eye. “Be honest with me. If I were to explain to you the very real benefits of becoming a Ward, including but not limited to a fifty thousand dollar trust fund, a guaranteed minimum wage salary doubled upon a full membership, and a team of loyal and trustworthy kids around your age…would you even hesitate before saying no?”

My crooked smirk was answer enough, but I felt she wanted to make a point to a certain Director so I played ball and verbally replied. “I learn more about myself and my abilities every day, and I don't need battle buddies to do that. I've got no interest in joining the Wards. I’m sure they’re all very nice, but…I’m not a team player. Ask Hookwolf - I called him mean things.”

She couldn’t stop herself from snorting. I mentally applauded myself - first my girlfriend, then Parian, and now an actual Protectorate hero? I was on a roll!

“Exactly. You want to stay independent, while fighting the good fight on your own terms, and that's an option like any other. Many young heroes choose the same thing.”

Armsmaster clicked his tongue. “It is exceedingly rare for ‘many young heroes’ to go from throwing a few glowing knives to short-range teleportation, emitting a metal-corroding Shaker effect, and conjuring twenty foot tall metal cages made from gold.”

Miss Militia shot him a sharp look, most likely for his rather clumsy reveal of knowing about my shitty first day on Earth Bet. I wasn’t really one for pussyfooting either, though, so I waved my hand and put on a deadpan expression.

“In my defense, I had only just gotten my powers.” The non-lie came out as smooth as butter. Technically I wasn’t bullshitting them - I had just gotten my power earlier that afternoon, and if that didn’t shift their gears in the right direction I didn’t know what would. The fact that anyone would even dare to blame me for what was effectively me fearing for my life in the midst of a hate crime pissed me off, but these two were just following orders.

The sharpness in Miss Militia’s eyes softened considerably, and suddenly I felt a little bad for pulling at her heartstrings. Only a little, though. “...That caused your Trigger?” she asked quietly, uncrossing her arms. Her hands twitched, as if she wanted to either touch me or grip her combat knife. Maybe both.

Armsmaster was still watching me, so I opted for a non-answer. They wouldn’t push me too hard on this topic anyways, I could tell from their expressions. Even goat chin was starting to become uncomfortable.

“Huh. While you were watching my traumatic ordeal on your flatscreen monitors, did either of you ever come to the realization that they were getting ready to fuckin' lynch me?” A note of genuine anger sparked through my throat, surprising even me, and I quickly reined it in before it colored my decision-making. My voice turned cold. “Forgive me if my control was a little bit off in the midst of all that.”

…Silence. Crickets. I could have laughed at the awkwardness if I wasn’t suddenly in a shitty mood again. Instead, I forced a smile on my face and looked down at Miss Militia. Despite the significant age gap, she was still fairly shorter than me.

“Mark me down as an Independent Hero. Don’t know if I’ll come in for testing, I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, but shoot me a DM if you need me. I’m on PHO.”

I turned to head towards Parian, who’d been innocently twiddling her gloved thumbs and expressly looking away from us for the past ten minutes. In my peripheral vision, I could see Armsmaster go to reach for me, but both Miss Militia’s hand and a buzz from his earpiece stopped him in his tracks.

“I’ll be in contact, Avalon - trust me, I know a true hero when I see one. I look forward to seeing you at HQ.” The gritty determination in her voice was commendable. How could one woman sound so confident about something that was absolutely not going to happen?

I merely threw a hand up over my shoulder and banished their unique brand of drama from my thoughts. My Second Sight watched as they walked away, Miss Militia’s combat knife shifting through at least seven different weapon systems in the brief few seconds the two heroes were in view.

Parian looked up at me, her blank white mask conveying more emotion than it should have been able to. “Would you like to talk about it?” she asked softly. No pity lined her words, only understanding and a healthy dosage of admiration.

I smiled. “Nah. Want to meet my girlfriend?”

She nearly broke her neck with the speed in which she nodded.

_____________________________________

Rolled Powers:

A Pod (NieR - 200 CP): Pods provide an invaluable service for YoRHA. Communications, logistics, combat support, they can even serve as a chair while fishing. Pods are standard issue for all YoRHa field units. This one is a bit unique though. Normally a pod can only utilize a limited number of pod programs (spells). However, this pod not only comes with all the pod programs in the game available from the start, but you can program new pod programs into it based on any magic spells you may know. It also has all spells at the ready, all the time. No need to swap them out.

250 CP Remaining.