Chapter 32
The moon hung above us like a shard of blue glass, scattering its light across the world below. I didn't know how long I'd been flying beneath it—seconds, minutes, an hour. The air was thin and cold and alive, and for the first time in years, so was I.
"Isn't this great?" I shouted into the wind.
"Get me the fuck down!" Shirou barked in my ear, half a growl, half a plea.
For a moment, I blinked in surprise. It felt as if my brother's voice—hoarse, furious, and dare I say, terrified—snapped me out of the trance. I twisted to look back and was greeted with a pale face tight with strain. Only now did I notice Shirou's arms and legs were locked around me with the desperation of a drowning man clinging to driftwood.
For an instant, I almost laughed. Why had I expected… someone else? Absurd thought. There was no one else left to share the sky with. Shaking it off, I let myself smile. Shirou—stoic, perpetually grumpy Shirou—reduced to shouting like a frightened passenger. It was strangely endearing.
But I supposed he'd had enough flying for one night. High-altitude piggyback rides weren't the same as soaring under your own power.
Acquiescing to his demand, I dropped below cloud level and took stock of our position.
Huh. We'd drifted farther north than I'd realized. I must have been enjoying myself more than I thought if I hadn't even noticed we'd crossed the city limits.
Oh well. It had been a lot of fun, and getting back to the city would hardly be a hassle.
I broke the sound barrier on the way down until we reached the edge of Brockton Bay. From there, I slowed to a crawl to avoid causing a public disturbance. Supersonic flight inside the city's perimeter wasn't the best idea after all.
From this height, Brockton Bay looked quite nice. Most cities do when darkness covers the industrial grime and urban decay, leaving only the skyscrapers to shine in the night. In the middle of the Bay, the forcefield bubble covering the PHQ gleamed like the crown jewel of the city.
This far north, however, dark patches littered the landscape, marking abandoned properties, city blocks and even whole districts.
"Something's burning," Shirou muttered in my ear.
Following the direction of his gaze, my eyes swept over the Docks until I spotted a small, flickering dot.
"You can tell it's a fire from this distance?" I asked. Good eye, if so.
"I'm reinforcing every muscle in my body," Shirou's reply was dry and unamused, "in the vain hope I won't die if I lose my grip on you."
I rolled my eyes. "If you were to fall off, there'd be ample time for me to catch you, brother."
Honestly, I'd offered him the kind of experience people dream about and all he could do was complain. People would pay good money for a ride with me. If only there weren't strict rules against that.
"Forgive me if I don't feel too reassured," he said, voice thick with sarcasm.
Ignoring him, I spun the observation formula and summoned the Tactical Interface, projecting a circular screen before me.
"Huh."
On the screen of the holographic interface, a massive, flaming lizardman was duking it out with a rhino-lizard creature.
Tweaking the parameters, I scanned the surrounding area. "No civilians nearby… but I don't see—ah. There!"
Eight figures stood on top of a nearby roof, silhouettes half-swallowed by shadow. Four were familiar, their profiles available in the PRT database: the Undersiders.
Well, I could have inferred as much from the shape of Lung's adversary, as well as two other mutant dogs surrounding the teenage criminals. Hellhound's minions were very distinct, if not entirely uniform in their appearance. It wasn't like Brockton Bay had any other Masters or Biotinkers capable of making something like that.
The fifth one was new, though.
The group's behavior was absurdly relaxed. They were chatting and even laughing. Grue slugged Regent on the arm, Tattletale was flashing a wide grin at a tall girl with long, flowing hair. Only Hellhound seemed focused, watching the battle below with tension in her shoulders.
"It looks like the Undersiders are fighting Lung," I commented. "And they've picked up a new member. Strange. Why would they attack the ABB? So far, their modus operandi has been smash and grab, not territorial aggression."
This wasn't even ABB turf, which only made the situation stranger.
"It could be Lung attacking them," Shirou noted.
"Possibly," I allowed. "But then why is he letting the dog maul him?"
"Those chimeras are dogs?" my brother asked with the incredulity of a boy who hadn't kept his promise to read through the profiles of Brockton Bay parahumans.
The view shifted back to the fight. Lung was swinging lazily at the mutated animal, not even trying to dodge. The dog was actually winning—clawing, biting and tearing through the man's scales.
It just didn't add up. According to the PRT database—the same database Shirou would be going through with a fine-toothed comb later—the chances of flipping the man were basically null, because Lung had already been approached by the Protectorate several times with increasingly lucrative contracts after surviving a prolonged one-on-one fight with Leviathan at the Sinking of Kyushu. Was I looking at the same man? According to Alexandria's account, the Endbringer actually chose to retreat rather than to stay and kill him.
Unless...
"He's playing possum." I concluded. "He's pretending to be on the back foot to ramp up unchecked!"
Shirou wasn't convinced. "I think he's just drunk. I'm no expert on... dragonoids?" his tone became unsure, "but the swaying tells me he's under the influence. Given what I know about the ABB, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Lung is highly resistant to substances," I objected. There was a note in the man's profile, with the attached list of compounds that had proven ineffective against him —courtesy of Armsmaster, I was pretty sure. "No, it makes sense for him to stall until he grows powerful enough to no-sell the Undersiders. I don't know if Grue's clouds have a size limit, but the bigger Lung gets, the faster he would be able to clear them. Personally, I believe he's stalling until his wings manifest. That way he can cut off their escape."
And the so-called escape artists bought Lung's performance hook, line, and sinker. The intel on the Undersiders put their age around sixteen to seventeen, early twenties max in the case of Grue. Rachel Lindt, a.k.a. Hellhound, was a confirmed teenager.
Even so, who in their right mind picks a prolonged fight with an enemy who's practically doomed to win under such conditions? Even a child should see the trap if a man who once went toe-to-toe with an Endbringer was losing against a dog.
The view shifted to show the Undersiders. They laughed, gestured, leaned against the ledge—kids who thought they were untouchable.
All the while, Lung was still growing.
They didn't even send all the dogs...
"I know criminals aren't generally known for tactical brilliance, but at this rate the Undersiders will dodge criminal charges on account of developmental disability. Because this—" I gestured at the projection "—is suicide by stupidity."
Seriously, detaining them would be equivalent to saving their lives.
"I know what you're thinking, sister," Shirou drawled, voice oddly wary. "Do I need to remind you that we're not scheduled for patrol tonight?"
I paused.
It had indeed crossed my thoughts how much good this could do for our careers if we caught Lung and the Undersiders ourselves. Normally, I'd steer well clear of someone like Lung, but with air superiority, the full array of Imperial military formulas, and my new quantum computer? The odds didn't look half bad.
Still, Shirou was right. Us being here in uniform made this technically an unsanctioned patrol, which was a clear violation.
"That is indeed a problem," I admitted. "Good catch, brother. Finally cracked open the handbook?"
"Sure," he deadpanned. "Glad you agree. Now Let's head back already."
"We can't."
"Why?"
Because as per regulations, we were required to report the crime in progress regardless of circumstances. Just because our 'patrol' was unsanctioned did not free us from the legal repercussions of ignoring the ongoing fight in order to cover our asses.
However, reporting it would naturally lead to questions about what exactly we were doing here. Add in the fact we were in possession of an unauthorized piece of tinkertech, and it had all the markings of a disciplinary action.
But what other choice did we have?
The Undersiders were poking Lung like idiots, and if this spiraled into the residential zones, or if he decided to take advantage of his power boost and attack other gangs, the collateral could be catastrophic.
Failure to report that would be complete dereliction of duty, which made this whole thing a choice between a black mark on our records and jail time!
Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled with either outcome.
Fucking reprobates! Couldn't they have chosen another night to settle their differences?! It was such a great night and now I have to choose between an enema and a shit sandwich!
Damn it, I need an out. Think!
Whether we wanted to detain them ourselves, request reinforcement, or simply report the damn thing—all that would have to go through comms. Which meant leaving a record. A trail.
Director Piggot might prioritize results over strict adherence to the letter of the rules, but even Sophia had the sense to overlap her solo escapades with official patrols, leaving both herself and Director Piggot room for plausible deniability.
Even if the Director were inclined to extend to us the same leniency she offered the girl, should someone dig into it after the fact... Unrelated investigation or an audit; my and Shirou's position would be vulnerable either way. I also didn't want to garner the same professional reputation for rule-breaking as Shadow Stalker.
"We're heroes. It's our duty to stop villains," I replied absentmindedly, racking my brain for the solution.
We needed a believable story—something that could explain why we were here without raising questions, or at least give us an alibi solid enough to survive an inquiry. But what?
Wait... I had an idea.
"We can simply leave. No one has to know we were even here," Shirou grumbled as I took out my phone. My personal one.
Short-sighted.
Powers varied too much for that to be safe, and the PRT had a dedicated Thinker division that, among other important responsibilities, handled internal affairs and monitoring. Their methodology wasn't something the Wards had access to, but it made sense for them to constantly monitor their fellow parahuman employees on the subjects of corruption and dereliction of duty.
The thought of some unseen presence hovering over my shoulder and scrutinizing my actions wasn't a pleasant one, but the idea of my department being subverted by a Master was even less appealing.
And it wasn't like WEDGDG was all-seeing and infallible either. The majority of the PRT's counter-subversion protocols were written in red, and a deep dive into the database revealed plenty of horror stories of their failures.
If it ever came out that we'd deliberately turned a blind eye to an active crime scene we were legally bound to report...
No. That kind of risk was unacceptable.
I punched in the number and pressed call. The line picked up almost instantly.
"Who is this? How did you get—?" a gruff voice began.
"Is this line secure?" I cut in, putting just the right amount of urgency into my voice. Below us, the remaining dogs piled into the fight. Better late than never, I suppose, but it only meant Lung was about to get serious.
A short pause. Then Armsmaster's clipped reply: "Routing through my personal system. Talk."
"We're currently observing Lung—"
"Tracking your location," he interrupted. "Keep visual. Do not let him escape. ETA, minus ten."
The line went dead.
My jaw dropped.
He hadn't even given me the chance to explain, let alone ask for discretion or damage control.
I briefly considered calling back, but knowing Armsmaster he was already in motion. Either he had already alerted the PRT, or was personally on his way.
And he was heading to the wrong coordinates too. Our current location was about a mile away from Lung.
If Armsmaster was rushing here alone, in a fit of parental panic perhaps—in his mind, his son was currently in the vicinity of the extremely dangerous parahuman—I might still salvage this. But if he'd triggered a full PRT mobilization, the sheer force they'd send to bring down Lung would make hiding impossible.
"I take it the call didn't go well," Shirou quipped.
This isn't the time for your snark!
"We are going in," I said instead. It wasn't the time for bickering either.
At this point, there was no other choice. Whatever the consequences, it was better to face them with tangible results on our hands. Deploying unapproved tinkertech in live combat inside a city was a serious breach. But if we brought her six neatly restrained villains, I could claw out some leniency from Director Piggot.
Again, usually I would be hesitant about diving in to fight against such odds.
With Sword of Paracelsus though?
Shirou's naming sense might be chuuni as fuck, but in light of what his creation could do, I was willing to forgive Mr 'Bone of His Sword.' This time.
I pointed my finger in the direction of Lung and started calculating trajectory vectors.
Once again, I couldn't help marveling at the sheer processing power at my disposal.
The quantum computer sword could easily handle parallel processing of at least a dozen formulas. Stabilization was such that it didn't require focus to maintain the integrity of the framework. It even had a memory function...
Wait.
Halfway through, I stopped inputting parameters and stared at my finger.
Offensive formulas had this quirk, where guidance and trajectory calculations, if included, had to be computed last. The theory behind it was that without a preexisting framework those calculations had nothing to anchor to, making completing them before anything else a meaningless thought exercise.
Simply put, you couldn't tell where something had to go without defining that something first.
And normally, you never got to see this particular formula between initialization and execution, for the simple reason that the process usually happened inside a firearm's barrel. Not everyone had the finesse required to use optical formulas by hand either.
This skill of mine had been put to good use in the last months, so I knew exactly what it was supposed to look like. A luminous globe of mana, incomplete and unstable
But that wasn't what I was seeing.
Curious, I pointed an observation formula at my finger. On the screen, a thin disc of light spun lazily in the air, partially obscured by my finger. It wasn't a simple disc either.
Enhancing the image, I could observe arrays of familiar variables and alien symbols weave outward from the disc's edge, spiraling toward its center in an intricate, geometric dance.
I tweaked a few parameters, and the disc expanded, spinning faster, gaining new complexity like it was building itself.
The hell...?
Reading the arrays closely, I could confidently say that this was unmistakably a holographic representation of the optical formula, but for some reason presented as a classical depiction of a magical circle.
I wasn't sure about the function of the additional symbols, or if they even had any beyond aesthetics, but they didn't seem to cause any errors.
Shirou hummed in my ear.
"Did you seriously add this just for flair?" I asked, incredulous. "Are you that determined to saddle me with the Magical Girl image? What's next, sparkles and transformation sequences?"
"You already have glitter on your wand," he shrugged. "And keep in mind, I never used the sword myself. It's basically useless to me. But if you are confused about the Spell Circle, I'd say it's par for the course. Anyway, you're wasting energy keeping it half-actualized."
I frowned. Shirou was right, of course, but the drain was negligible. What caught my attention, however, was that the formula hadn't collapsed already. Computation orbs didn't do 'pause.' You either finished the sequence or it unraveled in seconds. Yet here, the sword held the incomplete framework steady, as if waiting for the next input.
Interesting. What if I...
Aborting the current calculations, I started over.
Originally, I'd planned to snipe each target one by one.
This time, I initialized nine formulas at once, before running inputs in sequence, holding back the last parameter of each formula as a kind of execute command.
Nine glowing discs formed around me in a perfect ring, rotating in sync as I fine-tuned their vectors.
"This brings back memories," Shirou muttered behind me.
Execute.
Nine beams of light erupted downward.
Six villains and three monstrous dogs hit the ground in the same heartbeat.
The Undersiders collapsed on the spot, their legs neatly skewered by precision fire. The dogs were cleanly decapitated by much wider beams.
Lung was trickier. Brutes generally were. Shooting his legs would do damage, but would it be enough to stop the ABB leader from escaping? Not only was he a regenerator, but the resilience and makeup of Lung's physiology was also affected by his power.
I had to cause injury in a way that would impede his ability to flee while not killing the man outright. However, it simply wasn't clear how much damage Lung could reasonably sustain at this point. Lung's Brute rating increased proportionately to the degree of his transformation. Piercing his leg might not even work, cutting it off might buy us some time, but how much?
Taking into account my experience with Aegis, Lung's status as a regenerator, and the size he had grown to, I decided that better to be safe than sorry.
Aiming at the narrowest point of his silhouette, and pumping a significant amount of mana into the optical formula, I fired the widest beam I had ever fired outside the use of Type 95.
The blast punched a hole through Lung's pelvic region, effectively bisecting the man. Or whatever you call it when someone's torso and legs fly in three different directions.
High enough that growing his legs back should take time, but low enough that his heart and lungs should remain intact. Maybe even his liver. If the shock didn't kill Lung outright, then he would probably make it. Bleeding out, at least, was a distant possibility, what with his regeneration and the beam cauterizing the wound.
I rushed to his position.
And if Lung just so happened to die... Well, as I'd said, Brutes were tricky and thus occupied an interesting position in the book when it came to appropriate level of force. Regenerator Brutes of this level doubly so. I was sure I could talk myself out of significant repercussions.
As it happened, I didn't have to.
Flying over to the upper half of Lung's body showed that the man was unconscious. Also alive, judging by the steady rising of the scaly chest. The same couldn't be said about the mutant dogs nearby. Their heads were cleanly destroyed. Three misshapen carcasses twitched slightly on the ground.
I hovered there, studying Lung's form with a mix of curiosity and professional interest. Carlos' biology shifted with damage, but he'd always remained recognizably human. Lung had gone well past that threshold—a towering, reptilian brute with glimmering silver scales and wicked claws.
Bizarre.
Well, now it was up to the man's power if he survived. Since new legs didn't sprout immediately, it was safe to assume we had a few minutes at least.
I dropped Mage Shell for a moment and turned to Shirou. "Do you mind watching him? I don't think he is in any condition to flee, but better safe than sorry."
Shirou let go of my shoulders and landed on the pavement. He looked annoyed, but visibly pleased to stretch his legs. "Do you think I can behead him, and call it a tragic accident later?" he quipped.
I gave him a look. "Your sword slipped after I separated his legs from his torso? I don't think bringing Lung back in four pieces will work, brother."
"I'd rather not have him pull a Hookwolf and make all this pointless," Shirou muttered. "I'm pretty sure half the city would agree."
"The ABB isn't the Empire," I countered. "Lung only has Oni Lee and Cornell Bomber as flunkies. The PRT can handle two capes. He's not escaping."
Granted, the combination of a teleporting self-duplicating suicide bomber and a tinker specializing in explosives was a nasty one, but it was still seven on two, not counting the Wards.
"Cornell Bomber?" Shirou repeated. "You mean that Bakudan girl?"
"She calls herself Bakuda," I corrected. "I prefer Cornell Bomber, because it doesn't make her sound like a firework safety mascot."
Or a Pokémon.
That psychotic failure of a student had recently come up during one of the team briefings. Turned out, during the whole Empire riots, the ABB leader had left the city altogether. He went on a little trip to New York in order to grab a new recruit.
How the New York office lost her with Legend on rapid response was anyone's guess. The only reasonable explanation I could come up with was that he'd been deployed elsewhere at the time.
It hadn't even been a covert extraction—Lung literally waltzed into a federal district court in session and didn't leave until he grew wings to fly away with his prize. There was probably a joke about a dragon kidnapping a maiden buried in there somewhere.
According to Carlos—who got it from Triumph—there'd been a screaming match afterward between Directors Piggot and Wilkins. Supposedly, Piggot's retort had been: "Maybe if you'd sent reinforcements to guard the Nazis, I'd have the manpower to monitor Lung, so fuck you!"
New York's reputation had already been shaky with recent scandals and gang wars, so Wilkin's frustration was understandable, but honestly? Considering their incompetence had indirectly caused my and Shirou's living situation, I was inclined to agree with Director Piggot's alleged response.
"Just keep an eye on Lung," I said, rising in the air following the noise of panicked shouting. "I'll deal with the rooftop idiots."
As I ascended, I primed several optical formulas using the delayed activation trick again, forming a halo of glowing 'spell circles' around me.
It wasn't nearly as efficient at this distance. Simultaneous coordination of multiple vector trajectories took time, and it was just easier to point finger and free fire. Although if I simply discharged the primed formulas, anyone standing directly in front of me would be in for a very bad time.
Still, the halo of ominously glowing Elenium-blue discs was good for intimidation. Hopefully, the Undersiders have enough collective brainpower to connect the discs with the lasers of the same color.
Better to immediately establish that I could shoot them again and any resistance was futile. —
I rose above the rooftop's edge and issued my demands immediately.
"You are under arre—!"
"Wai—!"
"Fuck—!"
"Jes—"
"Rhaargh—!"
All voices were drowned by the veritable tide of buzzing insects smothering the air with black, writhing motion. They slammed into Mage Shell in a useless frenzy.
Ah. So that's the new one's power. Lovely.
Unlike the rest of barrier formulas, Mage Shell wasn't designed for heavy combat. It was more aerodynamic buffer and environmental control than shield. Sure, it was standard practice to hold it on at all times, unless you were really starved for computation power, but Mage Shell was still the worst of all barrier formulas due to having a pretty low saturation threshold.
I wouldn't feel safe relying on it against a goon with a handgun. Insect bites, however? Good luck with that.
Still, this was getting irritating. The Undersiders were wounded, cornered, and still too stupid to surrender. Which left me with an annoying problem: how to knock them out without actually killing them.
I wasn't spoiled for options when it came to non-lethal takedown. Killing them? Absolutely—it wouldn't take a second. Safely putting them to sleep?
Aside from bashing their heads with the mace hanging on my belt or the flat of my new sword, there wasn't much to it. And it wasn't the heat of battle against burly white supremacists—wailing on wounded minors might come across as excessive brutality. Not the ideal optics for the PRT.
Hmm. What if...
One thing I could do was use electricity formula as a makeshift taser. It wasn't a completely safe option, but I would assume none of the teenagers had heart problems, considering their age and lifestyle.
The problem was, electricity formulas weren't a very developed part of the aerial mage toolkit. They were a relic of the early stages of the militarization of magic, inspired by the sorcerers of old taming lightning to fry their foes.
The research quickly showed that it wasn't feasible for military application. Generating sufficiently powerful electric current was extremely mana-intensive, and when you took into consideration the distances at which aerial mages operated, it was ridiculously cost-ineffective.
As such, the formula I used against Sophia was actually intended for powering generators when you ran out of gasoline and the need was dire enough to waste mana. It literally didn't have a ranged variant.
I would also have to drop Mage Shell to touch them, and that meant being devoured by bugs.
I looked at the quantum computer in my grip.
Back in the military, I was never one to outright modify formulas outside of some optimization for activation sequences and minor calibrations. In theory, every mage was capable of modifying formulas, but without extensive research and testing it was a very questionable—not to mention dangerous—endeavor. If you were lucky, the result would be a simple collapse of the formula. More likely than not, you would have an explosion of mana. There were also cases of involutory orb detonations. As such, aerial mage doctrine heavily discouraged the practice and only light customizations were allowed for those with excellent mana control.
But heavy on-the-fly modifications were hazardous even for certified specialists, which I wasn't. My participation in Imperial scientific research amounted to being a guinea pig of a test pilot for a literal madman.
However, given how firmly Sword of Paracelsus held incomplete formula frameworks together, I could at least be reasonably sure there wouldn't be an explosion. As for the safety of the kids, if output control failed, I had enough skill to throttle the mana flow, to keep them from frying.
I quickly slapdashed an area-of-effect function borrowed from artillery formula into the electricity one and ran the sequence, carefully making sure that all vectors pointed away from me.
A burst of electricity erupted, frying the swarm and sending the Undersiders into convulsions.
Checking their pulse to make sure they weren't dying on me—thankfully not—I zip-tied them and looked over the roof at Shirou. He was standing over Lung, deep in thought and carefully watching for the slightest sign of movement.
On his shoulder, my brother rested an honest-to-goodness executioner axe. One of those big ones, shaped like the crescent moon.
"Is he still alive?" I called out for him.
"Yes. He's shrinking, but he's almost got his thighs back. The moment he so much as twitches, I'm claiming self-defense."
Before I could assure Shirou I would keep him safe, the roar of a motorcycle split the night.
Rising into the air, I spotted Armsmaster breaking every speed limit in the state.
Alone.
Perfect! If he'd come by himself, there was still time to spin this. Surely, he wouldn't want his son to get in trouble?
A slow grin tugged at my lips.
Finally, things were going my way!
A/N
If you want to read 4 chapters ahead or support me visit my p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / kirunax