Mark—
No. Sorry.
Blackvein floated off of his porch, onto the grass, to stand, judging the man who had called him out. Tartu Solari was an average-looking man, with Daihoonian roots. The half-white, half-blue hair was Tartu’s only real tell, but he leaned into his heritage with his white warrior-mage clothes, with the blue accents. It was his hero outfit, for sure, and he had just been fighting in it, maybe less than an hour ago.
He looked muddy and small, and after Blackvein’s taunt about cutting off his feet, he looked furious. His vector had faltered, though. His friends were similarly demoralized.
With anger in his voice, Tartu spat, “Cut off my feet and make me walk home on the stumps?”
“Healing magic exists,” Blackvein said, dismissively, as he stepped up from the ground to hover slightly. And then he glared with dark eyes, and spoke with a dark voice, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your own threats, Tartu. Or should I call you thief?”
Tartu breathed out—
He vanished.
Not physically. Tartu was still standing there. Visually, nothing had changed. But the world around Tartu was a sudden void to Mark’s senses. Mark must have flinched at the sudden loss of Tartu’s vector, because Tartu smirked.
“Can’t sense me anymore, can you? Expect more of that going forward because every time you’re given adamantium by your ‘brother’ I’ll be here to take it from you and give it to deserving hands.” Tartu glared. “You’re better as a healer than you could ever be as a warrior, so stay inside the city walls and heal people, Blackvein.” He stood tall, and righteous. “Or just be the Hidden Dragon we all know you to be.”
Oh, wow.
He was actually, for real angry.
His words struck deep. Too deep.
Mark felt floaty.
A disassociation, perhaps?
After a while, when the fight was over, Mark would try to figure out the feeling he was feeling right now, and he would come up mostly empty. He had been feeling a lot of things at that moment. But mostly, Mark would realize that he was happy, at least a little. For the last several months, people had looked at Mark like he had been a hero. They had called him ‘the dragon’s brother’ with awe in their voice and joy in their eyes. Mark had gotten a lot of compliments and ‘thank yous’ for his sacrifice; for all that he had given up for the good of all humanity.
Where four people had died trying to help Addavein fulfill his every-decade payment of his demon Contract, to allow the Hero of Humanity to remain a Hero of Humanity, Mark had succeeded, and all it had cost him was everything in his entire life. Addavein was a recognized problem, of course, but Addavein was a problem that a lot of people wanted to have.
‘Oh nooo… a good dragon again? Oh nooo. Such a terrible problem,’ they would say.
Dragon cultists were still a large demographic.
Mark had never interacted with a dragon cultist… at least not to his knowledge. But there were a lot of them out there. It was rather uncouth to talk about dragons as good people, though, and it had been rather uncouth for a while, but it was easy to understand that sort of speech.
Mark might have been a dragon cultist if he had been raised differently. As it was, he was raised on superhero stories, but a lot of people on Daihoon were raised on dragon stories. Dragons were the heroes and the villains of every major historical play. On Earth, they had humans, and they even had human gods, but Daihoon was still heavily steeped in dragon worship.
And here, now, was a Daihoonian talking about Mark being a hidden dragon, like it was a bad thing.
Which it was, for sure.
But...
There was a lot there, and Mark would spend a while thinking about it all. About inquisitors that killed hidden dragons, about how he had been cleared of all suspicion, about how Addavein was shoving Mark into the villain spotlight so he could be a superhero eventually, for gods only knew why...
But in this space, under grey skies and on freshly grown grass, Mark was not Mark.
Blackvein didn’t need to think about complicated things.
Blackvein was furious at being told what he should do with his life.
Blackvein intoned, “I’m going to punch you in your face now.”
“Just you? Or your friend, too?” Tartu asked, looking at Eliot. “Are you going to risk him getting hurt in a spar, or can we have this just between you and me?”
Blackvein glared. “You and me. Time to fight.”
Blackvein stepped onto the ground and walked forward.
Tartu squared up, one hand going forward to guard, the other going behind his body, to the small hip bag at his back—
Something cracked.
The world vanished. Light turned to dark, gravity turned to weightlessness, sound silenced, and there was no Union to be had.
Mark had been cut off from the world.
He could barely feel his own body.
But he could feel his own body.
Mark felt through his adamantium, too. He felt the grass. And then he felt the grass on his face, like a bunch of dull blades. Was Mark blinking? Was there grass in his eyes? Maybe. Maybe not. Where were his arms? Where were his feet—
Dull pain bloomed on his left side, and then again and again, the sensation of pain moving a little left and right, up and down.
Mark reacted, grabbing onto something. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. His adamantium was inert, laying on the ground all around him, but his arms and fingers grabbed onto something. Fingers clenched on something that might have been fabric. Dull pain bloomed on his back and legs, from the other direction, and Mark had no idea what was happening over there.
He tried swinging his arms, or what might have been his arms—
More pain, this time on the back of his head and then his stomach.
Fuck.
Mark realized what was happening.
He was getting stomped. Literally.
- - - -
Eliot stared, wide-eyed, cameras rolling, as Mark got his ass handed to him.
He should step in, right?
But… Mark had said not to, and… And Eliot wasn’t sure about the right move.
Mark was curled on the ground, adamantium fallen to the grass, while Tartu yelled at him and kicked him in the stomach, the chest, and then the back. Tartu moved around Mark, hitting him wherever he felt like, completely in power. Mark could do nothing.
Tartu’s white and blue hair was slick with sweat as he grinned, blood on his boots.
Mark wasn’t in any danger of dying because he had a Body in the high 50s and Tartu was barely able to do more than open up tiny cuts where Mark’s clothing didn’t cover, but holy fuck, this was a blow to the ego, and it had been going on for 5 minutes now. Eliot had told himself that he was going to step in and stop it, but this was a fight between Mark and Tartu, and so he stood frozen.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Other people had shown up to watch, and two of those new people were the ones who made decisions about these sorts of things. Neither of those two people were moving.
Noel Oliphant just watched, recording on his camera.
General Aurora Valen had dropped out of the sky a minute ago, and she was just watching, too. She was probably communicating telepathically with Noel, though, since the two of them were standing together and Noel was looking apologetic. Noel still had his camera rolling, though.
Tartu spared Aurora and Noel a glance now and then, but when they did nothing, he returned to kicking Mark.
Mark tried to grab for Tartu, but it was like he was drunk out of his mind. He reached and faltered, his adamantium laying on the ground, his eyes unfocused.
Eliot wanted to step in—
‘Don’t,’ Aurora said, her voice drifting into Eliot’s mind. ‘This is what Mark signed up for.’
‘To get fucking beat up?! Stomped? You saw the wands that Tartu broke! Whatever spells he used were curated for Mark. This is practically an assassination attempt.’
Aurora just leveled a light glare at Eliot.
Eliot turned back toward Mark. He wasn’t sure what was happening there, but he’d be finding out later. He hoped Mark could forgive him for not stepping in…
Fuck.
Tartu kicked Mark’s hand away and moved behind him, roaring, “Look at how easily I defeated you! All that power you gained and look at where it’s gotten you!”
He kicked Mark in the back of the head and Mark belatedly moved to guard his head, but he didn’t do much but slap himself in the face with one hand, and roll himself over with the other.
Tartu kicked Mark in the face, saying, “Look at how protected you’ve been! Two spells, gained by work, and one Power that’s vaguely good against most things, gained by an HONEST Tutorial, and you’re on the ground, unable to sense me at all. Unable to do shit. But don’t worry,” Tartu sneered. “Your teammate is recording for you. You can watch it later, Blackvein. Watch how I dismantled you.” Tartu exclaimed, “Gods! You are a traitor to humanity. You brother of dragons. This won’t even reach you, will it.
“I’ll take my Power away and you’ll come right back together, and whatever tiny pain I have inflicted you won’t even care about, because you’ll vanish it away, like the healer you should be— FUCK YOU! You even have a True Healer for an uncle!
“In two hundred years I hope you look back at this moment, captured for eternity, and it humbles you.” Tartu kicked Mark in the head twice more, roaring at him, “Unless you’re a hidden dragon and I get to execute you, instead of just teach you a lesson.”
Tartu stepped back.
He breathed, and then he pulled out a vial from a pocket of his hip-bag, saying, “But to make sure the lesson sticks, I’m taking your weapons away, as is my right for defeating a villain. Gods know you wouldn’t give it up like you should.” He flicked the lid off of the vial with his thumb, adding, “Lucky for you, this potion is pretty fucking rare, but humanity has been dealing unruly humans for a long, long time.”
The potion effervesced into the air like a bubbling soda, and Eliot had no idea what it was, but other people knew. Aurora stared daggers at Tartu, but she said nothing. Nothing verbal, anyway. Others gasped. Someone standing to the side exclaimed something about something, and then mumbled to a friend, and Eliot focused on whatever they had said. His recording of the event played back on a small eyeglass he overlaid on his face, while words echoed in his ears.
“That’s shavallian!”
Eliot would look that word up later, but he understood the effect easily enough, when Tartu poured the potion onto Mark and the potion vanished into his cuts, into his blood.
The adamantium shield and the crown and even the slivers of black, all of which been twitching up and down with every kick to Mark’s person, suddenly ceased movement. Tartu gestured at his team, and his team moved in fast. The brawny, Shawn, grabbed the shield. It was heavy, but he was a brawny and he could hold it just fine. Lenny picked up the blades on the ground, using some leather gloves to not cut himself.
Kardi took the crown and held it on her head, at an angle, grinning for the camera while she spun a gun in her free hand. “Mwaaah!” she said, making a kissy face.
Tartu looked like he was on the edge of falling over, but he maintained, standing tall, saying, “I win.”
Aurora spoke, “The taxes on Hero/Villain Program gains are 95%. Pay up.”
Silence.
Eliot was suddenly stuck between disbelief and joy.
Tartu’s face fell, Kardi exclaimed something about ‘but my new crown!’, while Shawn and Lenny both looked like they wanted to yell out ‘unfair!’, and Eliot burst out laughing. He made sure to capture the faces of everyone present, though. It might make Mark feel better about his loss, later.
Tartu said, “There’re no laws—”
“You seem to be mistaken about what ‘the law’ is, Mister Solari,” Aurora said, light floating around her. Rainbows gripped the shield in Shawn’s hands, and Shawn let it go. Radiance plucked the crown from Kardi’s head. The needles remained with Lenny. Mark’s adamantium flowed to Aurora, while Mark remained on the ground and Aurora spoke, “Here, now, in this place, the laws are what I say they are. That is what it means to be a part of a settlement army, and you are one of my soldiers. I allow the Hero/Villain Program to exist because it must, because of forces far beyond our land here. But I dictate how the Program functions, and I will not allow rampant thievery. Be happy with the blades you retain, for they will be enough for your personal needs.” Aurora commanded everyone present, “Disperse! Show is over. Go home!”
Some people rapidly bowed and got the heck out of there.
Tartu stared at Aurora, almost saying something, but he pulled back. He glared at Mark.
And then Tartu escaped with his people and his blades. Eliot estimated he had gotten away with maybe 200 grams of adamantium. Maybe more; maybe less.
Mark remained on the ground, gradually coming to—
Mark jolted awake, surprise on his face.
- - - -
Mark jolted awake, but he still fell asleep.
Everything was soft. Nothing felt real. Voices swirled around him and Mark recognized one of those voices as Eliot’s. Gradually, Mark realized he was sitting on his ass on the grass, and his vision returned. Mark looked up at Eliot, at Eliot was saying something, but all Mark could focus on was the lack of feeling in his limbs, and the lack of Unionsense in his soul—
“You’ve been dosed with shavallian,” Aurora said, standing beside Eliot, her voice cutting through the fog in Mark’s mind. Was she speaking with her mouth? Or with her mind? Mark had mistaken the rainbows in the air for the sky, but no, it was just Aurora, standing there. “I took the drug every week from ages 9 to 12, to allow my body to catch up to my innate Skill, so that I could take the Tutorial and not be overly encumbered by being a small child. Shavallian normally takes a week to leave the system, but that’s for an internal dose. For a dose applied to the skin it only takes a day. By this time tomorrow, you’ll feel fine, Mark. Until then, you’re forbidden from actions outside of any safe space. You are confined to your room. Eliot and your team will be your protectors.
“As for the outcome of the fight, I have confiscated Tartu’s winnings. You will not be getting them back because I will not be playing favorites. He beat you in a fair fight so he dictated his victory, and that’s how the Hero/Villain Program works. That’s what you agreed to when you joined the Program. I know you joined it under duress, but this action works both ways. This time, the Program worked against you. Next time, you can make it work for you.
“But there will be no more HVP action for the foreseeable future. We’ll speak again if that changes in a few months.
“When your ‘brother’ gives you more adamantium, try not to lose it so easily next time.
“Good day, Mark. Feel better.”
By the time she finished speaking, Mark could see again, fully, and he saw his shield and crown floating beside Aurora, held in her grip. Mark was still sitting on the ground. He would have stood and said something, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth and his arms were the only things keeping him upright.
Mark just nodded.
Aurora flew away.
It was just Mark and Eliot—
“I got everything on video, Mark,” Eliot said, as he pulled metals from a hole in the ground, from the storage area in the basement of Castle One. With a wave of a hand he crafted a wheelchair. Mark almost panicked when he saw the wheelchair, but Eliot didn’t notice. “Let’s get you insi—”
“No chair!” Mark spat, suddenly finding out that he could control his arms and most of his lower half. He pushed away from Eliot and collapsed to the ground. Eliot stood over him, seeming suddenly scared. Mark was scared, too. “No wheelchair! I can…” He looked at the ground, separating him from the porch of the apartment. “I can hover… Right? I can hover?”
He tried to fly; to lift himself off of the ground. But his adamantium was gone.
It was like he was missing his hands, even though both of his hands were still connected… and his left pinky was angled very, very wrong? Oh.
His hand was broken.
The world felt dull.
It was too much.
Mark suddenly remembered physical therapy. He remembered smelling himself; his soiled bed.
The sick.
He tried to stand, but that was not happening. He dragged himself on the ground, but he rapidly tired and collapsed. And that’s when he felt all of the wounds, all over his body. The pain of broken ribs. The difficulty of breathing. Had he pissed himself? Oh fuck, he had.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
Not again.
Time passed rapidly and way too slow.
The next thing Mark knew he was eating soup and Isoko was sitting next to his bed, and his fingers were flexing back into the proper positions. Eliot might have made a treadmill and simply moved a whole bunch of dirt around, with Mark on top of it, to get him into his room. Sally was furious. Eliot had needed to repair a wall. Sally yelled at Eliot and Eliot had no defense at all.
Mark felt numb.