Myst in Worm (CYOA) Part 8 (Patreon)

'So much for having a nice quiet evening,' Myst mused as he read the message from one of Coil's clones letting him know where to find the Slaughterhouse Nine. "At least the clones are useful," he muttered as he ducked into an alley and grabbed his flight suit and visor from his pocket dimension. 'Let's assume plot armor doesn't exist and that Contessa has better things to do than sit around running a path to keep the murder hobos alive, why are they still alive?' he mused as he worked on putting his armor on, trying to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything that would completely screw him over.

'The Siberian makes sense, she's a projection and nearly indestructible. Mannequin isn't quite as durable but he's fast and nearly bulletproof from what I remember of the story so he gets a pass, same with Hatchet Face considering he can walk off getting run over by a steamroller. Shatterbird has some armor but someone should have been able to shoot her which means her barriers are either more effective than you'd expect for glass or she's moving too fast for most people to get a headshot.'

"Possibly," Myst muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the alley and activated his new flight systems. "Shit!" he cursed as he lurched forward and nearly hit the car parked in front of him before managing to pull up at the last second. He rolled a couple of times as he tried to figure out the controls. "Fuck!" he cursed as he clipped the side of a building before managing to hit a patch of open air and head towards the edge of the city, rather happy that he'd cloned Othala.

"So much for my insane idea to use flight against the Nine," he muttered as he used his right hand to program the autopilot on his visor's holographic interface, fairly sure it was going to take more than a twenty minute flight to get used to the controls. He sighed in relief as the autopilot kicked in and his flight evened out. 'Yeah, I'm going to have to actually practice if I want to use this on a regular basis.'

'This can't possibly end well.' He took a breath and tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that wanted him to turn around and flee as fast as possible, mostly because he'd picked the Slaughterhouse mission and letting them rampage would be his fault and he had to be able to look himself in the mirror. 

0o0o0

“Colin, we have a fresh trigger being broadcast by the Merchants,” Dragon urgently reported. 

“The Merchants?” Colin asked, setting down the halbeard he’d been working on. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she assured him. “I found the link on a live broadcast when it was referenced on PHO, on the thread they created when The Duplicator triggered while being filmed just a few days ago. Facial recognition scan says it’s John Biron, and the two Merchants on the clip are Scott Westhouse and Craig Wheelborne, both wanted felons and members of The Merchants.”

“Please tell me they were not smart enough to wipe the metadata from the video stream,” Colin requested, already grabbing his helmet and a halberd off the rack.

“GPS data is all there, sending it to your armor now,” Dragon replied. “Vista will be relieved he’s been found even if he has triggered.”

“What does Vista have to do with it?” Armsmaster asked as he quick marched out of the lab.

“That’s her brother who was declared missing nearly three days ago,” Dragon reminded him.

“That’s quite a coincidence,” Armsmaster noted with a frown, “two triggers being broadcast in nearly as many days and one with connections to a current ward.”

“It is unusual,” Dragon agreed, as Armsmaster ignored Assault, stepping around him and leaping over the edge of the stairway to reach the ground floor, causing some minor damage to the cement that he absently made a note to repair later as he exited into the parking garage, his motorcycle roaring up next to him so he could hop on.

Three minutes later...

John winged his way towards the PRT enjoying the feeling of flight and the warmth of his symbiote. “Woohoo! Ack!” He quickly back-winged as a flare shot off from the ground below attracting his attention. Squinting his eyes quickly focused in on a massive Harley ridden by a man in gleaming silver armor who was holding one of his signature halberds aloft, a bright light blinking on the tip of it. “Armsmaster,” he noted with a touch of surprise. He quickly went into a spiral, bleeding height and speed.

“Mask,” Armsmaster said, pulling a small black domino mask out of a compartment on his thigh.

The symbiote quickly slid up to cover his face, mimicking his memories of Spiderman’s mask.

“That works just as well,” Armsmaster said, returning the mask to its compartment. “You were reported missing three days ago by your sister. Are you currently injured?”

“Nope, feeling great,” John reported, quite happy to no longer be chained to a wall and stoned out of his mind.

“We need to bring you in for a medical eval and to discuss how we are going to report that you were found without disclosing that you are a parahuman,” Armsmaster said. “Hop on.”

“You aren’t one for small talk, are you?” John asked as he climbed on behind the heavily armored man.

“I could make small talk if you like,” Armsmaster said as he spun the bike around and accelerated towards the PRT headquarters. “What would you like to discuss? I understand the latest episode of MythBusters was quite entertaining, even if they completely ignored my suggestion on using a live kitten to check for sonic damage.”

“You suggested using a live kitten?” John asked in disbelief. 

“Of course,” Armsmaster agreed, “not only is a kitten more sensitive to noise and vibration but the effects are more dramatic than using an unboiled egg.”

“You are a heartless monster,” John decided, making four copies of the hero.

“I don’t see why you’d say that,” he said, sounding slightly confused, “it was just testing engine vibration.”

“Oh,” John said, calming down, “sorry, I thought it was one of their explosive tests.”

“I’d never suggest a kitten for one of those tests,” Armsmaster said, sounding offended. “You need more mass, so a puppy is the only choice.”

John sat there speechless for a minute. “You’re fucking with me aren’t you?” he finally asked.

“That is the purpose of small talk, yes?” Armsmaster asked with a grin in his voice.

John laughed. “I don’t know why my sis says you’re stuffy, you are a riot.”

“I have to be stuffy,” Armsmaster replied, “it’s part of the job. Humor should only be used to put people at ease when they’ve gone through traumatic events… or you’re fucking with someone and you know that if they share it, they’ll never be believed.”

“And this would be both,” John said with a grin.

“It seems that way, yes,” the modern day knight agreed with a grin.

0o0o0

Myst paused as he walked out of the rest stop bathroom and noticed a middle aged man leaning up against a beat up van drinking coffee. Normally he probably wouldn't have looked twice at the man that looked down on his luck but he was hunting the Nine and he could see an Omega symbol on the back of his hand which he knew Manton had. 'Fuck, one bad move and I'm screwed.' He took a breath and let it out, reminding himself that he had multiple clones and that he could always slip into his pocket dimension and hide for a couple of hours or days if he had to. 'Screw it, if he's not Manton, I'll give him a hundred dollars and apologize.'

He focused on the man he was fairly sure was one of the most dangerous parahumans in existance and used his Midas ability to turn him into a stone statue. He stared at the statue for a couple of seconds, his mental gears spinning, half expecting Cauldron to open a door or for the Siberian to appear and try to kill him. "Yeah, that's anticlimactic," he muttered as he walked over and transferred the statue into an empty field in his pocket realm.

He turned and headed towards the RV section of the rest stop, hoping he could find the rest of the Nine before they vanished into the wind. He felt like bashing his head against a convenient tree or at least rubbing his face in frustration when he saw a man with blond hair and a stupid goatee sitting in front of an RV in a lawn chair playing with a pocket knife next to a blonde haired girl playing with a handheld game system while a brown haired young woman in her late teens or early twenties barbequed a couple of steaks on one of the rest stop grills with an almost manic look in her eyes. 'Even if I wasn't looking for the Nine, there's snow on the ground and you're lounging around like it's spring.'

Myst used his midas ability on Bonesaw, turning her into a stone statue and causing her chair to collapse under the weight as he slowly walked down the sidewalk.

Jack's gaze flickered towards Bonesaw then he rolled to his feet and slashed at Myst, using his power to project his blade. "Attack!"

Myst used the speed Othala provided to rush forward and touch Bonesaw's leg, sending her to his pocket dimension before anyone could grab her or do something horrible like break the tinker. He smirked at Jack. "Sorry, I'm stealing Riley."

Jack slashed Myst across the face twice, slightly annoyed that the other cape wasn't even pretending to be bothered. "Do you know who I am?" he asked as he tried to figure out why he wasn't feeling the flow like every other time he'd ran into a cape.

"A fucker with a mouth," Myst replied as he focused on Jack and turned his head to stone as Hatchet Face, Mannequin and Shatterbird charged out of the RV.

Myst laughed as he dashed over to Hatchet Face, grabbed his arm and copied the shocked cape four times, thinking about a dignified assassin while copying them. "Kill Hatchet Face!" he ordered as he slipped past the ugly brute. "Grab Burnscar!" he shouted as he punched Shatterbird in the throat and sent her to his pocket dimension.

Burnscar gulped as she gestured and nothing happened, most likely due to the extra Hatchet Faces. "Shit!" she cursed as two of the naked clones grabbed her by the arms and held her in place.

"I suggest surrendering," Myst said as he stalked towards the almost buglike cyborg while the clones beat the shit out of Hatchet Face. He felt a bit like the Flash or maybe Spider Man as he watched one of Mannequin's spiked chains fly at him in 'slow motion' thanks to Othala's speed boost. 'This is awesome!' He reached up and grabbed the chain. "Goodbye."

Burnscar stared in disbelief as Mannequin vanished. "Please don't kill me," she begged as she watched one of the clones twist Hatchet Face's head completely around, snapping his neck far easier than should have been possible considering what she'd seen him survive.

"I'm not going to kill you," Myst replied as he focused on the pyrokinetic and turned her into a statue, figuring he'd deal with her later. He glanced around and grinned slightly when he realized that none of the scattered people had actually stuck around to watch the very brief fight and were in the process of running for their lives. "That's better than DC, half of them would have stuck around to watch," he muttered as he walked over and transferred Burnscar to his pocket dimension.

"What do you want us to do with him?" one of the Hatchet Faces asked.

"Nothing," Myst replied as he walked over and transferred Hatchet Face's corpse to his pocket dimension so that he could collect the bounty. "Is Bonesaw's lab in the RV?"

"It's packed up, but there are some dangerous pathogens," one of the other Hatchet Faces replied.

"Good to," Myst turned when he heard metal being ripped apart and stared at the massive six legged beast that was rushing towards him, "know." Despite his protections, he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine as he saw the van sized abomination charging at him, moving surprisingly quickly considering his size. He almost felt sorry for Crawler as he dodged the monster's acid spit, blurred forward, slapped his hand against the creature's leg and transferred him to an empty cell in his pocket dimension.

"What happened?" one of the Hatchet Faces asked in confusion.

"I sent him to a prison dimension," Myst replied as he walked over and touched the RV. He sent it to a secure area in his pocket dimension, not seeing a point in leaving bioweapons lying around where someone might find them. "Other than turning parts of him into stone, I don't really have a way to hurt him."

"Now what?" one of the Hatchet Faces asked as he looked around at the various cars and vehicles that were already fleeing as fast as they could.

Myst glanced at the ripped apart U-haul that Crawler had torn his way out of then looked at the steaks on the grill. "That depends, did they poison the steaks?"

The Hatchet Faces shook their heads. "No, Riley was working on leveling her Pokemon," one of them explained after glancing at the rest of the clones.

"Good." Myst walked over and speared the steaks and tossed them on a paper plate that someone had left by the grill. He wasn't willing to trust the food himself but he was reasonably sure some of the homeless he'd walked past could use a decent meal and wasting a decent steak was pointless. 

"Our appearance is going to cause problems," one of the Hatchet Faces admitted.

"Don't worry, we'll take care of it," Myst replied as he tapped the clones and sent them to the lake as he didn't want them running around before Panacea had a chance to change their appearance. "Hopefully the bounty is worth the paperwork," he grumbled as he headed back over to where he'd left Manton's van to see if there was anything worth looting before he went to deal with the PRT.

0o0o0

"Let me get this straight, you hit us a couple of times in various pressure points and we'll be able to learn magic?" Chris asked excitedly.

"Cultivation," Leet corrected, thinking about some of the cultivation novels he'd read and wondering if they could streamline the system as most of them required years or centuries to get anywhere from what he recalled.

"What's the difference?" another Chris asked as he glanced between Leet and Myst.

"Cultivation is basically using spiritual energy while the other type of magic I can offer uses energy from the world," Myst explained.

"How do we start?" Nessa asked excitedly.

"With a lot of pain," Leet said as he stepped forward. "I'm not afraid of pain!"

"Right," one of the Othalas muttered under her breath. "Can we give him regeneration?"

"Probably not," Myst replied as he studied Leet's meridians, fairly sure at least some of the 'glowing' paths of energy lined up with actual pressure points but not sure as he'd never made an actual study of pressure points, just where to hit people to cause the most pain and damage and thus where to not hit people during sparring.

"Shit," Leet muttered, suddenly looking less thrilled with the idea. "Fine, hit me before I change my mind."

Myst reached out and jabbed the first spot then quickly jabbed the rest of the meridians he needed to hit in order to unlock Leet's ability to cultivate spiritual energy. He frowned as Leet collapsed and started screaming, a touch surprised by the level of pain the tinker was experiencing. "Huh, the process might need some adjustment."

Amy rushed over and touched Leet's forehead, checking his health and zoning out as she tried to make sense of the information her power was showing her. "Huh, it certainly did something."

"Form a line, I'll awaken everyone's magic while we're waiting for Leet to stabilize," Myst suggested as he focused on Aisha and pushed with his magic, causing her to light up with an ethereal purple aura for several seconds. "Huh, that wasn't as hard as I thought."

Aisha froze, not wanting to screw something up by moving. She relaxed as the flames covering her vanished. "You could have warned me," she complained.

"Would you?" Myst asked with a hint of amusement, knowing she liked messing with people.

Aisha playfully flipped Myst off. "Now what?"

"Homework," Myst replied cheerfully as he conjured a copy of the book with the light spells and tossed it to Aisha.

"Deal," Aisha replied as she flopped down on the pool chair and started reading, not the least bit annoyed at having 'homework' considering it was a book of spells.

Chris frowned as he studied the Leet who was curled up on the ground. "How long is he going to be like that?"

"A couple of hours," Myst replied as he walked over and grabbed Leet's feet, not sure how long the process would take. "We should probably put him on a bed so he doesn't hurt himself."

Vicky flew over and grabbed his arms and helped Myst lift him. "Where to?"

Myst glanced over at the row of empty rooms. "Room six is the closest."

"Works for me," Vicky replied as she floated backwards towards the hotel room.

0o0o0

“Milord?” the four Armsmasters chorused, wondering how they had appeared here and why there were four of them and looking to their Lord and Master for orders.

John relaxed in his Lay-Z-Boy recliner reading fanfiction on his Old World Media Tablet in a small parking lot surrounded by grey fog not having created anything more just yet. “I need you guys to unload this,” he said gesturing to the open shipping container. “But first,” he said and waved his hand, safety gear and clothing appearing at their feet, “you might want to get dressed.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied and quickly donned their new clothing, making sure everything fit well and was properly secured. “Where should we unload the contents to or would you just like them set in the open?”

A shed appeared behind him, the fog rolling back as it took shape. “Stack them in there, being very careful not to break anything. If it is too heavy just say so. In fact.” John waved and a pair of pallet jacks appeared with a stack of pallets. “There, that should speed things up.”

“Yes, sir,” they agreed and quickly started getting to work. 

0o0o0o0

“And we’re here,” Armsmaster said woodenly, as he got off the bike. “I’ll guide you to the infirmary and send for Panacea, she will be here as soon as is convenient for her as there are a great many demands for her time.”

John just nodded, wondering if this was the real Armsmaster or the one screwing with him was, as the difference was like night and day. ‘Maybe that was the point, to distract me with something else?’ he thought to himself as he followed him inside.

“And here we are,” Armsmaster said, “I’ll leave you in their capable hands.”

“Thanks,” John said, eyeing the way Armsmaster was moving and wondering if he had based it on Robocop, if the movie even existed here. 

“What should we call you?” the on duty officer asked, as she picked up a clipboard and waved John inside. Her name tag read Sgt Cask.

The symbiote peeled back from his face. “John Biron,” he replied. 

“Unmasking is a serious decision,” Cask noted looking away and pretending not to notice. “What should I put down for your name, I’m afraid I didn’t catch it before.”

“It’s still John Biron,” he replied, “and since I have grown wings, it’s kinda going to be hard to hide that.”

“You can’t make them vanish?” she suggested. “Changer abilities are often intuitive.”

John considered that and decided not to use shapeshifting to hide them. “No, I’m afraid they are permanent new additions and the golden glow is kinda hard to hide.” He gestured to the halo of light above his head.

“Very biblical,” she noted. “Are you religious?”

“Not so you’d notice,” John replied with a shrug, “though I agree they do fit an angel theme.”

“How did you fit a black jumpsuit on over the wings?” Cask asked curiously.  

The symbiote shrunk until he was just wearing a black speedo. “That’s also one of my powers.” 

“My you are… healthy looking,” she noted, shifting in her chair and writing some more things down on her clipboard.

“Technically I classify as a monster cape or a case 53, even though I have my memory, being inhuman and all,” John offered.

“We’ll have to wait for Panacea to be free for an in depth scan, but do you have any current pain or injuries I can deal with until she’s available?”

“No, though I am hungry,” he replied, “and a bit tired. It’s been one hell of a day, for the last several days.”

“I’d imagine so,” Cask agreed. “Let me get a bed for you and have some food sent down. I believe they had sliders today unless you have a food restriction?”

“I’ll take six,” John agreed, “with milk or water.”

She led him down the hall to a room with a large bed and a plethora of medical equipment. He was pretty sure the room doubled as an operating theater considering the windows above that looked down and the way the bed was placed.

He climbed on the bed, his symbiote vanishing to who knows where and pulled the covers up. “Creepy but comfortable,” he noted as he relaxed.