PWP: 4.11 Seal (Patreon)

Preface

FUCK. I was supposed to schedule this for tomorrow (because I'll be on a flight). I misclicked so you get it early lol.

I suppose it's a good chance for me to (mostly) end the mini-arc in Damascus so whatever. Can you imagine only a week's happened since the FMA transition?

Seal 4.11

Lily Tondo

2010, November 27: Damascus, Syria

“Bubblegum Crisis!” I heard Creed shout, flipping through the air like a drunk seagull before collapsing down in a flurry of bubbles. Whatever the hell he did, he managed to quench the flames instantly, setting people free before they could suffocate in the smoke.

“Did he really name his attacks?” Shelter asked in disbelief.

“He rides roller blades and wears a cape. Why are you surprised?” Jouster grunted. I saw him duck behind one of Ursa’s constructs, avoiding a bullet that would have taken him out of the fight.

“Yeah, but Bubblegum… Crisis…? That’s not even gum!”

“Focus,” Prism chided. “It doesn’t matter how stupid his attacks are.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The rebels were growing increasingly desperate. That flying guy had gone down when our unexpected ally engaged him in an aerial dogfight. I didn’t see most of it, but the giant “Crush Claw” that spiked him into the ground like a volleyball was hard to miss. The one we’d been calling Bulldozer got taken out by a Jouster to the face. Then some kind of blocky duck appeared next to me and started shooting at Firewall.

I wasn’t sure where the duck came from but it was kicking ass.

I decided to help it out. When Firewall ran behind some cover, I imbued my bolt with my power and took aim. I guessed at his likely position and fired, loosing a bolt that ignored every law of physics to fly straight through the brickwork. I missed, it wasn’t like I could see through walls, but that was enough to spook him out of hiding, only for him to get zapped into a twitchy mess with a salvo of smaller lightning bolts.

Seriously, what was this thing?

“Flechette! A little help!” Shelter shouted, drawing me from my thoughts.

I followed his direction to find Ursa Aurora bogged down by eight of Arsalan’s lion-men statues. Between them were the bodies of two people, one was Genie, one of Deadeye’s, and the other was that fresh trigger with a slowdown field.

I could guess what happened. The rebels(?) probably tried to recruit one more cape for their side and sent Genie to talk to the new trigger, only for them to get outmaneuvered by Arsalan’s numbers. Most of the rebels would have been dead had Creed not helped them out despite Deadeye’s bullets. As it was, I could see only half of them still in the fight.

Prism ran in to support them. She’d already tried confoam but the constructs had torn through the foam with the same, uniform gouges as anything else. Her empowered strikes could send them stumbling back, but now that we knew the puppets were living people, she wasn’t putting everything she had into her attacks.

“Enough. Surrender. You will be deported. Continue and you will die,” Arsalan’s broken English crackled through our comms. “You cannot harm the Lionguard.”

I could. Easily. I hadn’t taken shots at them because taking out the SRG soldiers with assault rifles was a bigger priority. Then I learned they were alive. I drew my arbalest and fired. My bolt turned into a silver streak, running clean through a puppet’s knee.

At the same time, another puppet lunged, getting too close to an empowered but distracted Prism. Jouster saw and panicked. My leader swung his lance with detonating force. The point met the puppet and it erupted in a shower of stone and gore. Sandstone and coiling tendrils scattered alongside blood and viscera.

He froze in horrified shock. As gung-ho as he was, he wasn’t a killer, none of us were. The lion-men were supposed to be statues, constructs made of sandstone with minor physics-bending powers on their claws.

Ursa shook Jouster but he was frozen in shock at what he’d done. Drenched in blood, I didn’t blame him. She cursed and began to drag him back by the collar.

“Shit. Pull back!” Ursa yelled. She conjured three bears, one of which bowled a lion-man over, saving Jouster from retaliation.

The living stone ran at them. Two lion-men per bear held the constructs still while a third leapt onto their back and ripped into the bears, dispelling them quickly. Capped at just three constructs, Ursa couldn’t remake the bears fast enough to stem the tide. I watched as Prism sacrificed two of her clones before running to catch up to them.

“You’re a monster,” I said. I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “They’re people. They’re fucking people.”

“Weak,” Arsalan sneered. “The Lionguard keep public order. They were criminals. Now they serve.”

He took terrorists, political dissidents, and… and turned them into his puppets. I couldn’t understand. How did someone like this exist? Was that the source of their striker power? I had to assume so.

If I could find the cape he infected, then maybe…

No, I didn’t want to become a killer, not like this…

One of Ursa’s bears wrapped its jaws around the arm of a lion-man before it popped, crunching through the stone-like armor. It reminded me of the way dad ate crab legs and bile flooded my throat. The man made no sound even as his arm was turned into a mangled pulp. He kept moving forward, heedless of his injuries.

Arsalan stepped forward and crouched. He leaned over one of the downed rebels and placed his hand on his chest. When he drew back, the stone around him that had been inert began to writhe and crawl into the man’s flesh. The man screamed out in agony as living stone burrowed inside him. “Those who break public order will serve in the Lionguard. You have your community service, yes? I am meting out justice.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ursa spat.

“You are weak. This is justi-”

He was interrupted by Creed, the roller blading mercenary dashing out from the last of the doused flames to land a leaping kick against Arsalan. He swerved and twisted in midair in a complicated spiral that I only managed to make sense of using my power, curling his body before cracking it like a whip. The sudden, sweeping kick lacked the force from before, but the leader of the Lionguard was launched like a ragdoll regardless.

Arsalan’s stone armor must have weighed an extra hundred pounds at minimum, but even that didn’t stop him from arcing over the battlefield like a baseball. That the armor didn’t shatter into a rain of dust proved it: Arsalan had brute powers, probably stolen from a criminal doing “community service” in his armor.

A blinding flash of electricity filled the area. The blocky duck rose up over Shelter’s bunker and fired out a salvo of similar bolts to cover Creed. I was starting to think it was some kind of mobile turret, though why it was shaped like a duck and had the cartoony googly eyes was beyond me.

When the sparks faded, Creed was back with us, dragging the man who’d been infected by Arsalan’s power. Creed ripped off the man’s shirt, revealing a spider web of cracks in his flesh. Grayish brown, stone-like tendrils wormed themselves into his body as we watched. He shrieked and spasmed uncontrollably and I knew that sound wouldn’t be leaving my nightmares anytime soon.

“SAINT, hold him down,” Creed said. “Rest of you buy me time. I’m going to try to heal him.”

“Understood,” Ursa said. She turned to Arsalan. “What’s the plan here? The rebels are out. The riot’s over. You think this looks good for you?”

“No matter. Your Wards killed my men,” he said. His stone bracers repaired themselves as we watched. “They will replace the men they killed.”

“You’re a sick fuck. The Protecto-”

“Will hear nothing. Accidents happen. Heroes died in the riot,” he said with a calm nonchalance that sent chills down my spine. It was the calm of a serial killer who’d done this before. “How tragic for you. Your Legend will have my condolences.”

“Stone’s taking control of his nervous system,” Creed muttered beside me. “Can’t stun him. Shit, I haven’t practiced inorganic to organic transmutation.”

“What will you do?” I asked. There was a morbid curiosity I couldn’t shake. He wasn’t what I’d expected in a merc after all I’d read from PHO. I’d expected someone more interested in goofing off than saving lives. I was pleasantly surprised, a silver lining in a shit weekend.

“Eyes up front,” he grunted. He laid his hand on the man’s chest. The sigil on the back of his hand began to glow. “SAINT, hold him steady. Response to electricity indicates the infection spreads by taking over his nervous system. It’s going to crawl up his spine and into the brain. I’m going to rip it all up and transmute his nerves into something harmless.”

“That doesn’t sound harmless!” That sounded the opposite of harmless. Last I checked, people died without a spine!

“Yeah? Do you know how to transmute stone to something that won’t instantly kill him?” he snapped. “Because I fucking don’t! There’s a line between inorganic and organic transmutation, damnit! I don’t do this and he dies! If I cut off his brain and preserve what I can, Panacea might be able to fix it.”

I heard the desperation in his voice and felt like a bitch. What did I know about tinkertech? Creed was… He wasn’t a hero. He was supposed to be a low stakes, joke villain who ran around Brockton acting like a clown, maybe punching a gangbanger once in a while and getting yelled at for selling tinkertech illegally.

But he was here anyway. Helping. Exceeding everything everyone knew about him and going above and beyond to save lives. He didn’t deserve me riding his ass.

“I-I’m sorry,” I apologized. I decided shutting my trap and going back to giving him some room to breathe would be my best bet. I turned back to the fight and started to take the lion-men out by their legs. Creed was right. Maybe Panacea could fix them. I’d get to find out so long as I didn’t blow their heads off.

Despite our best efforts, we were losing ground. Normal bullets didn’t work so it was up to us capes, but even we couldn’t do much. Ursa Aurora and Prism slowed them down with constructs and clones, but they lacked raw stopping power. Jouster had the power but they’d kept him from getting close and my friend was still understandably shell shocked.

I loaded another bolt and fired, clamping down on the bile in the back of my throat. I didn’t want to kill them. They could still be saved… they had to be…

I took out one’s knee. He stumbled forward and lunged to slash one of Prism’s clones to bits. Next to me, she flinched in phantom pain. I wasn’t sure if she physically felt the assault, but watching yourself be ripped apart over and over again couldn’t be fun.

I took out the other leg, but that didn’t stop him either. The lion-man crawled towards us on hands and knees, heedless of any pain or injury. The only reason he wasn’t running was because he physically couldn’t with my bolts jamming his knee joints.

Behind them, Arsalan laughed mockingly. I’d never hated a person more, not even March. He knew we wouldn’t go for the kill. He was confident that he knew how the Protectorate behaved.

He was wrong. I heard Ursa’s voice crackle through the line. “Enough. S-class rules. Fight like your life depends on it.”

She followed that up by picking up an assault rifle and letting loose towards Arsalan. It was textbook: Shoot the master. He laughed and tanked the shots, the stone armor easily withstanding bullets.

“Jouster, we need you up front. My clones will cover you,” Prism urged. I could hear the regret in her voice but we needed him.

The turret called SAINT sent several arcs of electricity at Arsalan, but he’d kept a few puppets with him to hide behind. Next to me, Creed finished up whatever he was doing. The parasitic stone didn’t seem to be expanding anymore so I hoped that meant he’d succeeded.

I saw my leader pick up his lance. His hand was trembling but there was none of that to be heard in his voice. “Yeah, you got it. I’m good.”

They charged forward and met the lion-men. A conic explosion burst from Jouster’s lance, blasting two of them into so much bloody sand.

I threw up. The acidic bile that had lingered in my throat came up like a fountain and dripped from my mouth. The stench of this morning’s breakfast only made me retch again. I felt Creed place a hand on my back. He rubbed my back in gentle circles and held my hair so I could throw up in peace. It didn’t really make me feel better, but I appreciated the sentiment.

“Breathe,” he said, his voice unidentifiable through his helmet. “You’re fine. It’ll pass. Focus on what’s in front of you. Step by step. Figure out what you want. Then what needs to be done. Then do it.”

What needs to be done? I didn’t know. There was a reason Jouster was Wards Leader, not me. I wasn’t good at making on-the-spot decisions.

I didn’t want this. All of this. This was an endbringer truce. It was supposed to be about helping people. I came to pass out supplies, maybe dig through some rubble, not, not what was looking like the first shots of a brewing civil war.

It’d… It’d all be over if someone took out Arsalan. The rebels fucked up too. Maybe they started the riot, maybe not. I didn’t remember anymore. I didn't think it really mattered at this point. But that could get sorted later. Right now, Arsalan was the problem. If someone could remove him, then we could have some room to breathe. Report back to New York and let Legend handle things. He’d know what to do. He always knew what to do.

If someone could take out Arsalan…

I winced as the cold truth showered me like an ice bath.

I could take out Arsalan.

All this? I could put an end to it.

An end to the fighting.

Right now.

Hands trembling, I notched another bolt and took aim. I’d never shot to kill before. I’d been proud of that fact, that despite having a lethal power, I’d never resorted to taking another life. Deep in my heart, I’d prayed I’d never have to even while knowing it was inevitable.

One day, today, I’d be called on to take a life. One life to save many. Could I do that? Could I bring myself to pull the trigger?

My power flowed readily into the bolt, as smooth as every other time I’d used it. It felt no different than gliding down the street or doing stunts for children and tourists. I hated it. I felt like there should be more, more gravitas, with what I was about to do. Executing someone shouldn’t feel the same as juggling a pen.

“It’ll all stop if I do this. Just one shot,” I whispered, tears clouding my vision. I’d always thought the only time I’d ever shoot with killing intent would be against an endbringer. Arsalan, for all the hate I felt, was a man. “Just one arrow…”

Then I felt a hand over my own, pushing the arbalest down. Creed shook his head. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t need to be you, kid.”

There was a pistol in his hand, one I was sure hadn’t been on his person a moment ago. I’d remember that pistol for the rest of my life. It was gorgeous, beautiful in a way no weapon of death should be. It had a walnut finished handle and a gleaming, golden filigree along the black, metallic body that perfectly caught the light.

It was a masterpiece, something that could become the prized possession of any collector. It looked like something that a pirate captain would use, or maybe a treasured heirloom that belonged in a museum, a relic that’d sell for millions or be passed on in family lines.

For all that it was obviously a pistol, it didn’t look like a weapon of death.

He held it out with a steady hand I envied. Everything about his stance was perfectly balanced, as if he knew exactly how to position himself for maximum effect.

His cape fluttered behind him. The orange accents of his costume stood out against the black and gray admiral’s uniform. There was a grace and poise in the way he stood, a sense of purpose I doubted I’d ever had before. For a moment, I thought he must be the most dignified man in the world.

Then, a single gunshot rang throughout the battlefield, louder than any other. In the blink of an eye, it was over. Arsalan and the puppets he’d kept near him exploded into a crimson mist.

X

Bryce Kiley

2010, November 27: Damascus, Syria

I couldn’t help it. I’d told her the words that a senior EMT once told me in my past life.

I’d been a med student then, doing a rotation in the ER when the EMT ran in with the victim of a car crash. His body was badly mangled, distorted into a pretzel when his motorcycle hit a semi. That he lived long enough to get wheeled in to us at all was a fucking miracle.

And yet, I froze. I froze like every other student did because human bodies weren’t supposed to bend like that. I froze until the EMT slapped me silly and told me to get the doctor.

His words then helped me in the future, desensitized me until I could shut off the part of my lizard brain that was horrified at the state of some of those patients. That experience had also convinced me that ER wasn’t for me; I’d transferred into pediatrics as soon as I fulfilled my academic requirements.

And… And I’d said those words to Lily. I’d told a girl to “Do what needs to be done,” as if a sixteen-seventeen year old was supposed to make those decisions.

I watched Lily, Flechette, aim a killing shot at Arsalan. She was doing what she had to and I couldn’t help but think that this was wrong. All of it. Earth-Bet was so fucked up. A teenager shouldn’t be here at all, never mind be the deciding factor in putting down a homicidal asshole like Arsalan.

And yet, here she was. Because she was a hero. Because she was one of the few good souls in a world as fucked up as Earth-Bet.

She wasn’t beautiful. Or graceful. Or any of those other words. There wasn’t some cinematic lighting as the wind whipped her hair dramatically behind her.

In truth, she looked like shit. I couldn’t see her eyes, but her mouth and chin were stained with vomit. Tears tracked down her ruddy, sand-blasted cheeks. Her form-fitting costume did nothing to hide how her whole body shook like a leaf in a storm. She was a mess, inside and out.

And yet, she raised her bow anyway. Because it needed to be done. Because this was the fastest way.

Because I told her to.

No.

I refused. I wouldn’t dump this all on her.

Lily deserved better.

Maybe it was time I stopped waffling around and took charge for myself. Hadn’t I promised Faultline that? Hadn’t I said I’d be a hero now?

Before I was consciously aware of what I was doing, my hand was pushing hers down. I took a step and reached into my hip pouch. The Walker Pistol felt comfortable in my grip. It greeted me warmly, like a friend.

She wasn’t the only one who could end this. A Walker Pistol loaded with a special bullet, a Muggy Ball. The kind of weapon made for Vinsmokes and awakened zoans, the kind that was laughably overkill against most capes. Unlike the Air Treks, raid suit, or TMs, this pistol existed for the sole purpose of murder; there was no other conceivable way this could be used.

How appropriate then that I’d take my first life with this gun.

I took a deep breath and centered myself. Even now, I couldn’t lose my balance, not even if I wanted to. With a steadiness not my own, I took aim.

Arsalan didn’t dodge. Why would he? He’d taken a near supersonic kick from Crown Chimera and stood up with nary a crack in his armor. He had brutes in his thrall somewhere. If I had to guess? Probably far away. They all seemed to share their powers like the Yangban anyway so why not keep the important infected safe?

He didn’t dodge. And he had a split second to realize just why that was a terrible idea. Then he and every one of the infected near him turned into a fine mist. A massive fireball bloomed from his position, like when Mihawk deflected them with his sword.

Then, like puppets with their strings cut, the lion-men collapsed one by one, unable to sustain themselves without the master.

It wasn’t lost on me. My first mission as a “hero” ended with me murdering someone.

Seriously. Fuck Earth-Bet.

Author’s Note

Have you ever finished writing, reread it a few times, and couldn’t feel satisfied but also couldn’t say exactly why you felt dissatisfied? That’s where I’m at. I feel like I could have done better with this whole thing, but I’m not sure how and didn’t think I’d get an answer if I held onto the chapter for a few weeks longer so I published anyway. Ugh…

Some of you may have forgotten, but Bryce did make a pistol from One Piece. A Walker Pistol, a gun developed to pierce even the Germa suits and genetic enhancements of people like Vinsmoke Reiju. He also made Muggy Balls, tiny explosives capable of injuring awakened zoans. Put them together and you get an instant showstopper that isn’t reliant on Bryce’s aura reserves.

Protecting Lily is reason enough for Bryce to act, but that means more than just making sure she lives, right? Bryce (and maybe me too if I’m honest) has a bit of an idealized view of her. He’s labeled her in his mind as one of “the good ones.”

In other news, fuck Earth Bet.