25.6

Worm, Chapter 25.6 Summary:

Alexandria struck Khonsu, using the impact to propel him towards the Jaguars’ contingent. Ten capes were caught in his time distortion, experiencing extended periods while only moments passed in reality. Moord Nag appeared, riding her shadow’s skull, her appearance unremarkable in a simple t-shirt, dress, and bare feet. Her shadow, now a serpent, attacked Khonsu, its body like circular saws, rasping against him.

Khonsu’s time field trisected the shadow serpent, but it continued to wind around him, maximizing contact. Califa de Perro, the King of Dogs, swept capes out of the way with his spear, avoiding Khonsu’s time fields. Khonsu banished the circles, freeing Moord Nag’s shadow, and created new ones, trapping Legend.

Legend turned the time field into a pillar of light, which Eidolon manipulated, redirecting it into Khonsu and Alexandria. The attack was swift, like a white bullet, striking the ocean and causing a massive steam explosion. Eidolon erected a wall to protect the capes from the steam.

Alexandria, stripped of her costume, and Legend, unaffected by his time in the field, continued to fight. Khonsu had sustained damage, glimmering with light similar to his time fields. Weaver, using spider silk, tugged the King of Dogs out of the path of a time field. The Thanda struck Khonsu with a piece of rubble from the sky, anchoring themselves to his time circles and using a hill as a wrecking ball.

Khonsu was revealed to be reinforced with forcefields between layers. Moord Nag’s shadow attacked the injured areas, but Khonsu retaliated, extending his hands. The Thanda member lifted all defending capes, teleporting them with Khonsu to a beach with silos in the distance.

Weaver’s phone rang; it was Tecton, asking where she had gone. She smiled, recognizing the parallel to his words in the video, except now he sounded more frayed, more weary. She explained that she was going somewhere, and the bosses knew. Tecton expressed concern, saying she was going to screw things up for herself, asking why now. Weaver assured him it was fine, that the bosses didn’t have to like it, and it didn’t matter if they didn’t.

Tecton seemed lost for words. Weaver, working on not treating social interactions like fights, waited patiently. She scrolled through text on her screen, a log of Endbringer attacks and notes. Tecton, finally speaking, said he hoped they were okay, that she’d trust him. Weaver affirmed she did, but Tecton interrupted, asking her to think before speaking further, warning that a good argument wouldn’t lead to a resolution.

Weaver, anxious and terrified, stood on a precipice. The meeting she risked missing was only part of it. She continued scrolling through the log, seeking structure for her thoughts. She stopped at the entry for Bucharest, clicking the video.

The video was dark at first, with only audio. Grace’s voice, panicked, saying Golem was hurt. The camera, mounted on Weaver’s mask, showed empty streets and old buildings. A beep from Weaver’s armband, a yellow screen. Weaver called out a warning, and the city shifted, buildings lunging closer, spikes emerging from all directions.

Weaver’s camera examined the surroundings, blades and prongs poised around her. Blood was visible on her fingers, from a glancing blow. She had dodged using her bugs, sensing the movement of the blades. She freed herself from the spikes, taking two steps before throwing herself to the ground as a figure sprung from the wall, a woman moving too fast to be glimpsed.

The figure slammed into another wall, leaving a piece of herself behind, formed from the gray brick of the building. More figures appeared, creating barriers. Dragon’s A.I. voice advised that the Endbringer Bohu followed a pattern, condensing the city, producing barriers, then deadfalls and pitfalls, and finally complex traps. Annex reported being injured, unable to be fully submerged in his power.

Weaver could see Bohu, a towering figure spearing into the sky, gaunt and stretched, her body extending into the city. Beside her was Tohu, with three faces: Legend, Eidolon, and Kazikli Bey, framed by hair that formed her body. Tohu used her powers to protect her sister, using Legend’s lasers and Kazikli Bey’s wind manipulation.

Weaver closed the video. Another counter to Scion. Tecton spoke, saying he could hear she was watching an Endbringer video. Weaver confirmed, and Tecton asked for her thoughts. Weaver said they’d been through a lot, that she owed him a lot. Tecton said they owed her in turn, that they were a team.

Weaver sighed and scrolled down the log. Tecton, not demanding anything, asked for a straight answer, saying he’d understand if she said she wouldn’t be there. Weaver looked at the list of Endbringer fights, then at the clock.

8:04am, June 19th, 2013

She told Tecton she’d be there at two. Tecton, surprised, asked if she would. Weaver affirmed, saying they’d been through too much, she couldn’t throw it all away. Tecton expressed relief, and Weaver said she’d see him in a couple of hours. Tecton wished her a happy birthday, and Weaver thanked him, hanging up.

Eighteen, she thought. She stood and stretched, swaying as the craft changed course. A two-fingered swipe showed the craft’s course and ETA, another returned her to her desktop.

C/D: Endbringer 28:18:44:34

C/D: End of the World -16:21:56:50

Sixteen days late. Weaver had revised the countdown clock to assume Jack Slash would appear on the date he’d set with Golem. June fourth was the deadline, June twelfth the day the Slaughterhouse Nine had left Brockton Bay. It wasn’t supposed to be precise, but watching the clock tick past the deadline, knowing something could be happening, made her heartbeat quicken.

Dinah had confirmed things were still in motion, but the idea was losing traction. Weaver had heard PRT employees liken Dinah to evangelical preachers who made up excuses when their endtime predictions failed.

Weaver’s bugs sensed the insects within the city as the craft descended. The Dragonfly settled on the beach, and Weaver stepped down, feeling the sand shift beneath her feet. She joined the residents, walking to work, children on their way to school.

She took in the familiar smells and atmosphere, not good, but associated with home. It was an unfamiliar area, but she had studied the maps. She could see additions in the distance, a white tower and a blocky structure containing the scar. She had read up on changes in Brockton Bay, heard more from her dad.

The area was marked with graffiti, devils, castles, angels, hearts. New buildings, quaint layout. In the midst of it, an addition, breaking the flow of the footpaths. Accord had drawn out the city plans, the Undersiders had altered it to make room for a marking.

Two masks, resting against one another, one laughing, the other solemn. Cast in bronze, set on a broad pedestal. Weaver approached, seeing objects placed on the pedestal. Wedding rings, twenty, thirty. She turned, seeing how the surrounding buildings were marked with graffiti.

“I thought I’d see you first, Regent,” she said. “An apology, for not coming sooner. For not being there at the funeral.”

The empty eyeholes of the solemn mask stared down at her.

“I’ve thought about a lot of things in the time I’ve been gone. Framing stuff, stepping back to consider just how fucked up it was that I was spending time with you, condoning what you’d done. You took over small-time gang lords, I know. Took over Imp, even. So why did I let it happen?”

The wind blew her hair across her face. People were staring from across the street.

“Then I think about how you went out, and I think… you know, it doesn’t balance out. One selfless deed, after all the shit you did? No. But that’s your cross to bear, not mine. I don’t believe in an afterlife or anything like that, but, well, I guess that’s the mark you left. When we die, all that’s left are the memories, the place we take in people’s hearts.”

She reached out to touch one of the wedding rings, partially melted into the surface.

“Sounds so corny when I say that, but it’s how I have to frame this, you know? You lived the life you did, with a lot of bad, a little bit of horrific, and some good, and now you’re gone, and people will remember different parts of that. And I think that would sound arrogant, except, well, we’re pretty similar on that score, aren’t we? It’s where we sort of had common ground, that I didn’t have with any of the others. We’ve been monstrous.”

“I’ve hurt people for touching those.” The voice sounded just behind her, in her ear.

“Imp,” Weaver said.

She turned around to look at her. Imp had grown into her attractive, dangerous look, wearing the same costume Weaver had given her two years ago, adjusted with high boots and elbow-length gloves, a cowl covering the gaps. Her mask was the same, gray, noseless, long, disappearing into the cowl, with hints of teeth at the sides, angled eyes with black lenses, curved horns arching over her straightened black hair.

“Tattletale said you’d be back today.”

“I figured she’d know,” Weaver said.

“Was it worth it? Leaving?”

Weaver hesitated. “Yes.”

“I told the others. They’re on their way.”

“Okay,” Weaver answered. Too fast. She reached out with bugs, sensing the crowd, the way they were standing. People who shouldn’t have been paying attention.

She looked at the rings on the memorial. “Heartbreaker’s.”

“He collected them. I uncollected them.”

“I’d heard he died.”

Imp nodded slowly. “Said I would. I told you I’d kill his dad for him.”

An admission. Weaver felt a kind of disappointment mingled with relief.

“People keep prying them loose, but there’s usually someone nearby to keep an eye out and get a photo or description. I track them down and bring the rings back. Once every few months, anyways. Kind of a pain.”

“It’s how he would want to be remembered, I think,” Weaver said.

“Yeah.”

No snark, no humor? Weaver wondered how much of that had been a reflection of her friendship with Regent.

“And you recruited the kids,” Weaver said, using her bugs to track the bystanders, noting more who fit the criteria. Heartbreaker’s offspring, unmistakably.

“I recruited some. They needed a place to go, and it’s kind of nice, having them around,” Imp said. “They’re good enough at fending for themselves. One or two, you get the feeling they’re almost like him. In a good way.”

“I’m glad,” Weaver replied. Then, realizing that any number of those kids might have taken after their father in the powers department, she felt ill at ease, creeped out.

Imp was eyeing her. Weaver cocked her head, hoping it conveyed curiosity.

“I like you better than her,” Imp said.

Like her better than who? Weaver wondered. Before she could ask, she sensed an approach and turned to look.

“Bitch is here,” Imp said, noting the turn of her head and the figure at the end of the street, ignoring traffic as her dogs made their way to them.

Rachel, Weaver thought.

“She’s been going to the fights, helping out here when we send for her. I haven’t been going to the fights, so I dunno how much you’ve seen her there. She’s been checking in on me, wandering around here with her dogs and scaring the everloving shit out of people until I come to say hi, then she leaves for another few weeks. I’ve probably seen her the most.”

“I’ve barely seen her at all,” Weaver said.

The dogs weren’t running. One dog was larger than the rest, with half of a bison’s skull strapped over its face, armor and bones strapped on elsewhere. It was Angelica, lumbering forward. Rachel was controlling the speed of the other dogs to allow the wounded animal to keep up.

She was riding Bastard, different from the others, symmetrical, the alterations flowing into each other better. Two other dogs accompanied her. The onlooking crowd hurried on their way as the dogs approached Regent’s monument. Rachel hopped down as they reached their side of the street.

Rachel was taller, browned by sun, the jacket Weaver had given her tied around her waist, a t-shirt and jeans, calloused feet instead of shoes or boots. Her auburn hair hadn’t been cut in the two years since Weaver had seen her, tangled bits cut away. Only a sliver of her face and one eye were really visible through the hair, a heavy brow, an eye that seemed lighter in contrast to the darkened skin.

And damn, Weaver thought, she’d put on muscle.

“Rachel,” Weaver said, overly conscious of how they’d parted, of the awkward conversation during the New Delhi fight. “Listen-”

She wrapped Weaver in a hug, her arms folding around her. Weaver, caught off guard, didn’t know how to respond, putting her arms around her in return. She smelled like wet dog and sweat, and like pine needles and fresh air.

“They told me to,” she said, breaking the hug.

“You didn’t have to, but it’s… it was a nice welcome,” Weaver said.

“Didn’t know what to say, so they told me to just do. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I asked and they told me to hug you if I wanted to hug you and hit you if I wanted to hit you. Yeah.”

“It’s good?” Weaver asked. “Over there?”

“They’re building, it’s annoying to get in and out. But its good. Tattletale made us bathrooms. We’ve been building the cabins around them.”

“Bathrooms are good,” Weaver responded.

She nodded agreement.

“I remember you complaining about the lack in your letter,” Weaver added.

“Yeah,” she said.

It wasn’t easy to carry on a conversation with her.

“Others are checkpointing in,” Imp said. “Just to give you a heads up.”

“Checkpointing?”

“Teleporting, kinda. Limited. Um. We’ve only got a second, but you should know in advance that they’re married.”

“Who?”

But Imp didn’t respond.

Foil and Parian appeared in a nearby building, the same building the girl with the baby was watching from. Two others had arrived with them. The Red Hands. The alliance had gone through, apparently.

“So. You draw me over to the dark side, and then you flip,” Parian commented.

“I hope it’s working out,” Weaver said.

She shrugged. “It isn’t not working out.”

“We’re fine,” Foil said. “I suppose I should thank you. If you hadn’t left, I don’t think I could’ve come.”

“You may be the only person to thank me for leaving,” Weaver said.

“Don’t be so sure,” Imp added.

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

Tattletale arrived next. Grue appeared at the location with more Red Hands as she stepped outside. Where the others had been modest, approaching with a kind of leisure, she almost skipped for the last leg of the approach. She hugged Weaver briefly, then kissed her on the cheeks. The mandibles, really, where the armor framed her jaw.

Of everyone, Weaver was least surprised at the changes with her. Her hair had been cut shorter, and she wore a mask that covered the entire upper half of her face, coming to a point at the nose. Her shoulders, elbows and knees had small shoulderpads on them, and there was a definition to the horizontal and vertical lines of black that marked her lavender costume. She wore a laser pistol at her hip, which bounced against her leg as she ran. PRT issue. Extremely illegal to own.

“Jerk!” she said, after she’d kissed Weaver on the cheeks, “You’ve barely responded to my fan mail!”

“It’s kind of hard to reply to it without drawing attention,” Weaver said. “You don’t know how much I wanted the details on what’s being going on here.”

“Jerk,” she said, but she smiled. “But I should warn you-”

She didn’t get a chance to finish before Weaver saw.

Grue approached. Of everyone, he was the least changed. Physically, anyways.

But the Red Hands walked in formation around him, and one, a young woman, walked in step with him, close enough that their arms touched. They could have held hands and it would have been just as blatant.

Weaver had faced Endbringers, the Slaughterhouse Nine, she’d taken down who knew how many bad guys… and she had no idea how to face this.

He’d moved on, and she was glad he’d moved on. He maybe needed someone to lean on, to give him emotional support, and maybe she was that. Weaver told herself that, she tried to believe it, but she was jealous and hurt and bewildered and…

And she bit back the emotion, approaching, ready to hug.

When he extended a hand for her to shake, she had to fight twice as hard to suppress any reaction to the hurt. She could tell herself that he’d at least done it before she’d raised her arms to hug him, but… yeah.

She took his hand and shook it. Then, on impulse, she pulled on it, drawing him forward and down a little, and put her other arm around his shoulders. Half of a hug, half a shake.

“Happy birthday,” he said, after she stepped back.

The others echoed him. Welcomes and happy birthdays. He’d remembered, but… that choice of words.

Weaver eyed the young woman. She was a rogue, in the dashing villain sense, wearing a mask around the eyes, and old-fashioned clothes with lace around her ample cleavage. Her jacket and slacks were festooned with belts, bearing utility pouches and knives. The glove that wasn’t red had a knife attached to each fingertip, a brace around it to keep everything in place.

She met Weaver’s gaze with one of her own, a narrow, hard look.

“Oh. Skit- Taylor, meet Cozen. Second in command to the Red Hand.”

“Nice to meet you,” Weaver said.

“Pleasure’s mine,” she said. “I’m meeting a legend, after all.”

Awkwardness followed.

And in the midst of that, Imp’s statements finally caught up with Weaver.

I like you better than her.

Don’t be so sure, Imp had said. Well, Cozen would be happy Weaver had left.

Then, with a realization like a dash of cold water to the face, Weaver remembered.

They’re married.

“Taylor,” Tattletale said, rescuing her before she could say something dumb. She hooked her arm around Weaver’s and led her around and away. “Much to talk about.”

“The end of the world,” Weaver said. “Endbringers. Finding Jack, or the designer-”

Safe topics, somehow more reassuring than this.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Everyone’s playing it safe, keeping things quiet.”

“What do we do?”

“What was the plan?” she asked. “When you came?”

“I’ve got six hours before I need to be in New York. They’re swearing me into the Protectorate.”

“Congratulations,” Grue said. He sounded genuine.

“I should be saying that to you,” Weaver said, glancing at him and Cozen.

“Oh. Thank you,” he answered, in his characteristic eerie voice. She couldn’t read his tone, and felt a little grateful that at least one of us was spared sounding awkward.

“Six hours,” Tattletale said. Another rescue.

“I was going to visit everyone in turn to catch up, visit my mom, then see my dad.”

“Well, we’re all here. We can go somewhere together,” Tattletale said. “There’re stories to tell, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Weaver said. She almost wished her original plan had gone ahead, that she could have a really short visit with Grue, a longer sit with Rachel and her dogs, then a long discussion with Tattletale about what was going on, before she headed off to see her mom’s grave and her dad.

“Come on. We’ll walk, see the sights,” Tattletale said. “figure out what to do for breakfast or brunch.”

“Okay,” Weaver said. She glanced at the others. Would they be down, or would they back out? Parian and Foil weren’t close to her, but they were sticking around. Cozen wasn’t making an excuse and leaving, and neither was Grue. She could see him exchanging murmured words with her.

She must have looked a little too long at him, because Imp fell in step beside her.

Weaver glanced at her.

“I was just fucking with you,” she whispered. “I thought you probably deserved it.”

Weaver’s stomach did a flip flop at that. Anger, relief, bewilderment, more anger. Still more anger.

“Man, the way your bugs reacted. Hilarious. You act like you’re all stoic, but then I just have to look over there and over there and I see bees and butterflies circling around like eagles ready to dive for the kill.”

Weaver opened her mouth to say something, but Imp cut her off.

“She is pregnant,” Imp said.

Weaver’s mouth shut.

“Kidding. This is fun. Come on, butterflies, I see you over there. Do your worst, I know you want to kill me.”

Weaver considered jabbing her with her taser, and the thought was vivid enough that she imagined it buzzing at her hip.

Except it wasn’t her taser. It was her phone.

As it had so often this past month, she felt her heart leap into her throat, that pang of alarm. A very different kind of alarm than Imp had been provoking from her. More real, more stark.

She drew the phone from her belt, then stared down at the text that was displayed. A message from Defiant.

“Endbringer?” Rachel asked. Something in Weaver’s body language must have tipped her off.

Weaver shook her head, but she said, “Yes. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“An endbringer with a lowercase ‘e’,” Weaver said. “It looks like Jack may have made his challenge to Theo. It’s starting.”