Lazuli was in jail.

An errant Militiamen had managed to snag him mid-prank, right as he was about to throw a sack of laughing gas into the crowd below. The ogre had lifted him, glared at him, thrown him into the jail without a second thought. When Lazuli began snapping about his rights, the guards had just laughed at him, and closed up the cell.

Of course, being Lazuli, this cell was familiar to him. They had even set up a few self help books for him to flip through as he waited for the morning to come and for an angry Becenti to, once more, come down to the jailhouse and berate him.

“Don't throw laughing gas into the crowd, Lazuli.”

“Don't rewire the controls of the Titania Amber, Lazuli.”

“Stop being obnoxious, Lazuli.”

Shit like that.

So, as it was, he was sitting down in the old cot that he was only a bit too comfortable in, reading the book, his monitor-face reflecting dull, bored eyes, when he heard the gunshots.

He looked up. Shouts could be heard upstairs, screams and barked out orders. Then more gunshots. Rapid. Assault rifles, by the sounds of it. There was a gargled gasp.

He heard the door open. Heavy footfalls on the steps.

Lazuli rolled off the cot, crawled underneath it, turned his monitor off so that its neon glow wouldn't betray his position. He could still sense, through built-in scanners, the elves as they made their way down into the cell block.

Panic was not one of the emotions programmed into Lazuli's AI. He was calm as he began to methodically shut down key systems in his form, his primary batteries sizzling down. Elves used sight greater than just what their eyes saw, he knew.

If he was found...

“No one here,” one of the elves said.

“Good,” his compatriot said.

More gunshots rang out upstairs, harsher and more intense now with the open door. The elves glanced at one another, then went up-

And Lazuli heard the ambush. The Militiamen drive blades into Elven bodies, gasps from the would-be assailants. Blood leaked down the steps in miniature red waterfalls.

“Go!” someone shouted, “They're upstairs, dammit! Get them!”

And more footsteps. Footfalls. The gunfire abruptly stopped.

Lazuli settled. He reached up from beneath the cot, pulled the book down. Opened it up, feeling much like Phineas.

Maybe it was better to stay put for tonight. There was darker mischief about.

***

The Lady Deirdre was one of the few people in the Grand Commons tonight. She had parked her carriage outside, moving into the palace, nodding as the guards let her and Joseph inside. She stopped in the circular chamber that had been the center of the debates. She stared at the throne that, scarce a few weeks before, Doge Rithmound had set himself upon.

Joseph moved away from her, looking at the tables that circled around the throne. There was very little light here, a couple of lonely lanterns lighting up the galleries above, a couple of sconces on the walls that shimmered with halfhearted flame. Outside, he could hear the fireworks going off. More of them this time, a neverending cascade of pops and booms that thundered through stone. The metahuman set himself up against a pillar, keeping an eye on Lady Deirdre as she simply stood, staring at the throne.

“Is...” he said, “Everything alright?”

She didn't answer, for a time. More fireworks rumbled. More shadows danced. Joseph felt a twinge of annoyance at her silence, but couldn't blame her. It wasn't his job to be her therapist, right?

He sighed.

And then, the Lady Deirdre spoke.

“So much death, Mr. Zheng,” she said.

He glanced her way. She had sat down at one of the tables. The same table that she had sat at during the debates. Where she had watched her sons, angry and violent, make their unvoiced decisions to try and unseat her. Where she had announced her withdrawal from the election.

“Here. Out in the multiverse. All for the seat in a city.”

She gestured at the throne. Yet even with that mundane pronouncement, she did not move to sit on it. She did not have the right.

She was not Doge.

And, perhaps, that was answer enough. Joseph didn't have to say anything, nor could he. He opened his mouth, closed it.

He had no answer.

The Lady Deirdre sighed. She had been weeping, earlier in the night. Before her carriage ride. Joseph had heard her through closed doors, the racking sobs of an ancient woman.

Perhaps, if the Lord Alabaster had been patient, a few more years perhaps, he would have become head of House Deirdre naturally. His mother was, in some ways, not long for the world. But he had gambled, and lost, and now an old crone was bereft of the future.

Joseph wondered if his own mother cried about him, in that way. He wondered how his family was taking his sudden disappearance. They didn't know about the multiverse, did they?

Maybe his father.

But Nai Nai, if anything, had been a secretive old thing.

Maybe his father suspected.

But Nai Nai, if his father would have asked, would have berated him. Shouted him down.

Just like his father had done to him.

No doubt, Joseph supposed, that they thought he had just left. Wandered off. Disappeared off the face of the earth. He had been half-tempted to, even while he had been at university. Even the occasional calls from Lily had been painful.

He grimaced at the thought of that.

He had been thinking of the past like this more, lately, and he didn't know if he liked that or not. It made his heart hurt.

(For this is what growing feels like.)

“...I wanted to be Doge, you know,” Lady Deirdre said.

Joseph turned back to consider her.

“Yeah?” he said, “Ruler of the whole city? The big orange crab, in the palm of your hand?”

He smirked, but it was a false one, and he found that he didn't like wearing it. But he wore it nonetheless. The Lady Deirdre's eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice measured, “Ruler of the city. Servant to it, as well. The two terms go hand in hand. To lead a city, one must be subservient to it. You make the decisions, but it is only through the consent of the people.”

Joseph opened his mouth to counter that.

“And I know, Mr. Zheng, that the people do not have a voice here,” Lady Deirdre said, “Perhaps, once upon a time, they had more mobility. Perhaps Doge Rithmound will encourage that, make the most of a system that worships wealth, and produces those such as Busciver.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Joseph said, “You need people with morals, right?”

“And wealth corrupts morality,” Lady Deirdre said. And something came to her. Her eyes seemed clear, “I apologize, young man. I don't know what's gotten into me.”

She stared hard at the throne.

“Perhaps loss clears away the lies we tell ourselves. My sons are dead because of the worship of wealth in this city. They brought it on themselves, yes, but...”

Her lower lip quivered. Joseph looked away.

“B-but, I still loved them.”

She was about to break down, again, when something flashed in the corner of Joseph's eye. Movement.

There, in the upper gallery.

Joseph's soul took over, its head overtaking his as a helmet, its sharpened vision glaring through the dusk of the chamber.

His body moved before his mind did. The soul extinguished. Re-circuited through his system. He pointed a hand.

The bolt sang across the chamber, filling it, for a split-second, in a harsh cobalt light. It smashed into the upper gallery terrace, shattered the rails and the floor. The elf spun and fell, flipping through the air and landing on her feet. She took aim at the Lady Deirdre.

Joseph was faster. The second bolt struck the elf, sending her into a wall, stopping her heart.

More elves now. Joseph was rushing to Deirdre, his soul fully realizing. It grabbed hold of the noblewoman, pulling her in and covering her-

As a hail of gunfire erupted around them.

The eagle rolled with the Lady Deirdre, bullets ripping through its feathered form. Cold pain lanced through Joseph's spine. He gritted his teeth, using the eagle's vision to triangulate the attacker's position. He and Deirdre took cover behind a table.

But he knew that would be torn to bits.

“Move,” he gasped, “Go.”

She was no novice, at least, and she followed his orders. They moved from table to table, gunfire roaring around them. Joseph's soul took the brunt of it.

To his detriment. His vision was swimming.

The sprays ceased. They were reloading.

“Go!” Joseph shouted. And he and the Lady Deirdre ran towards the doors out of the chamber.

Two elves dropped down to intercept. One had a blade. The other raised up a spear.

The soul's claws snarled at them, parrying their strikes. The spearman drove forward. Joseph brought out the eagle's hand, allowed the tip to plunge through its palm, close around the shaft, and snap it.

The swordsman took a chance at that point, hacking at the eagle's other hand. Joseph grimaced as the blade dug deep-

And the hail of gunfires tore through the eagle's back. He gasped as one pierced through azure skin and scraped against his shoulder.

Time to end this quickly. The eagle swung at the swordsman, who stumbled back.

And Joseph dropped the eagle, turning 'round and rammed a shoulder into the spearman. He pressed a hand against the spearman's chest as the elf snarled at him, drawing out a wicked dagger, rammed it into Joseph's ribs-

Or would have, had Joseph's jacket, enchanted to be stronger than steel, not deflected the blow.

Lightning curled around Joseph's finger tips. He sent the small bolt through the elf's chest. It was enough to send the spearman back, cracking his head against the wall, and he was silent.

At once, Joseph wheeled on the swordsman, manifesting the eagle's arms over his shoulders as he rushed forward. The swordsman danced back from the hissing claws, blade flashing wildly to deflect each shot.

But Joseph was faster, and each claw was like a blade of its own.

And he got under the swordsman's guard. A claw tore through his stomach. The elf gasped, fell to his knees as his innards spilled outwards.

Joseph turned around, towards the still-open door to the chamber, fired off a few rounds of lightning. Then he and the Lady Deirdre stumbled off. The noblewoman's face had become stone-like. She was in full survival mode. She almost looked calm, in contrast to Joseph's heavy breathing, the panic thundering through his form. He kept glancing over his shoulder, looking around to make sure no one followed them as they retreated into one of the Grand Common's side halls. They stopped behind a suit of armor. Joseph leaned against the wall.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Outside, more fireworks went off. They had a new quality to them, now, after hearing the popping gunshots in the chamber.

“It's a coup,” the Lady Deirdre whispered, “Sunala's trying for a damn coup.”

“Guess I shouldn't be surprised,” Joseph said, “You alright?”

She nodded.

“And you?”

“No,” Joseph said, “But I've felt worse. I'll be fine.”

He glanced over. Better to not have the eagle out now, for its light painted the halls and revealed his position.

Movement again. Against the wall. Joseph nearly jumped.

“Guerico,” he said.

“Holy shit, Joe,” Guerico gasped, “That was-”

“The elves,” Joseph said, “Where are they?”

“I saw them going down the stairs,” he said, “There's four of them.”

“Armed?”

“Two of them with rifles. Two of them with bows.”

“What about the guards posted here?” Joseph asked, “They out?”

“Dead, Joe,” Guerico said.

He nodded, his heart pounding. He wasn't used to the loud shudders of gunfire. Plasma, he could take, but the bullets tearing through his soul had more oomph to them, a physicality that his soul couldn't overcome.

He would have to be careful. Ice filled his bones.

“Leave me, Mr. Zheng,” the Lady Deirdre said, “You have to stop them.”

Joseph, for a moment, considered that. His face scrunched in concentration.

“...No,” he said, “That's not an option. Not while we're exposed like this.”

“I'm getting in your way, Mr. Zheng,” Lady Deirdre said.

“I'm aware,” Joseph said, a bit too darkly, “But they're after you.”

He glanced up. He needed to get the noblewoman someplace safe.

“Guerico,” he said, “When you were running over to me, what rooms did you see?”

“A couple of armories,” Guerico said, “A storage room.”

“We'll go there,” Joseph said. “Guide me there. Keep an eye out for the elves, too.”

“What,” Guerico said, “Do you want me to carry you, too?”

The metahuman glared at him. Guerico put up two flat hands.

“Right,” he said, “Sorry.”

The Abstract Man moved off, far faster than Joseph or the Lady Deirdre. They followed after him, dancing down halls and moving across corners to make sure they weren't being tailed. The fireworks were going off now in chorus, bright explosions that covered the city in their song.

They were to cover the gunfire, Joseph realized.

They were to cover the coup.

If the elves succeeded, the people of Scuttleway would wake up under a military occupation, none the wiser of the death that had taken place in the night.

There, the storage room. Joseph opened it up, breathing in the smell of dust and wooden crates. They went inside, closed the door.

“Guerico,” Joseph said, “Keep watch outside.”

“Gotcha.”

He didn't see the Abstract Man leave, but he didn't need to. Guerico knew his role. Joseph brought up a hand, caking it in his soul, a torch of cobalt light flooding through the room. He squinted in the sudden light, looking at the Lady Deirdre. The sorrow on her face was gone, or perhaps pushed down deep into her stomach. It had been replaced by a mask of professionalism. She'd been through these situations before. Good.

“Right,” Joseph said, his mind racing, “You stay in here. Hide in a crate, maybe.”

“And I will be safe here?”

“I'll stick to the halls around here,” Joseph said, “...Become the hunter.”

He felt frank in that statement. Part of him was shocked by the confidence in his voice, despite his fear.

Because he had been through worse.

There was a chance he was going to die, but he had been through worse.

“Stay hidden. If they get me, then hide as best you can until help arrives.”

“If it's a coup, there may not be help arriving,” Lady Deirdre said, “If they're targeting major tactical points throughout the city.”

“Where would they target?” Joseph asked.

“The Grand Commons,” she said, “Obviously. The prison, as well. Perhaps the Bronze-Hued Keep, but Rithmound keeps his own defenses. Maybe Castle Belenus-”

Joseph's heart sank at that.

“What I’m saying, is that any response will stretch the Militia thin.”

He nodded.

“If I die, they'll probably find you. There won't be any help.”

“Correct, Mr. Zheng.”

The light extinguished.

“I just won't die, then.”

He opened the door. Closed it discreetly behind him. Left Deirdre in shadow.

He was relieved that no one had found him yet. Joseph took a deep breath. He was in one of the side halls, a window on the opposite wall, the city beyond. Fireworks were going off above, a neverending neon cascade.

“Just how many do they have?” he muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Guerico asked. He was on the wall right by the door, a single eye on the bridge of his nose looking at Joseph quizzically.

“Nothing,” Joseph said. He took a deep breath, “Alright. Let's do this. Scout ahead. Get me their positions.”

“On it, boss,” the Abstract Man rushed off. Joseph crouched down, sticking to the wall, as though at any moment someone would open fire on him. He turned a corner, going down another hall, weaving his way back to the main chamber.

Guerico returned a moment later.

“They've split off into pairs,” he said, “One assault, one bow. They'll try and get you at range.”

Joseph nodded, sweat beading his brow. He wiped his forehead. Took a deep breath.

“Show me the first ones.”

The Abstract Man gave him a thumbs up, moving off. Joseph followed him, his eyes tracking his guildmate's movements. He found the first pair of elves as they were trailing through one of the art galleries, grand paintings from throughout Scuttleway's history adorning the walls, symbolic orange crabs snipping swan's heads or famous Doges arguing in the debate chambers. They stopped at their sensing of Joseph, most likely using more than sight to track him down.

Well, there would be no element of surprise here.

He was still yet to enter the room, keeping himself hidden by the door frame. The one with the assault rifle was starting to level it-

And Joseph hit the deck, sliding on the ground so he could see the elves through the door, pointing a hand out.

The bolt flashed, and his aim was true. It struck the elf head-on, sending them careening back, the resulting sonic boom shuddering the world. The air reeked of ozone as Joseph charged at the elf with the blow, who raised it up and fired an arrow. Two. Three.

Joseph lifted his jacket so it covered his face, the arrows plinking off of the enchanted cloth. He was on the elf now, a claw swirling around his hand. The elf was pulling out a dagger. But the metahuman was faster, slashing a deep rent into the elf's side. Joseph's legs danced as he moved back from the returning slash, remembering Contort's words from long ago, when he had first been in these sorts of situations.

“If the other guy has a knife, then it's too risky to make big, dramatic flourishes and whatnot. Keep yourself mobile, and concentrate on staying alive.”

Alive. He had to keep himself alive.

He dodged back as the elf slashed at him again, bringing up his arms instinctively. The elf was bleeding out from his own slash. Good. He would weaken, slip up, make mistakes. Joseph moved back, letting the elf fill the space between them, keep the elf on the offensive, let him slip up-

There. A too-wide swipe. The elf had overstepped.

Joseph's fist soared upwards, into the elf's face. A sharp crack on the nose. The elf went down.

Joseph's hand turned into a claw once more, the soul's energy overtaking his, and he drove it into the elf's back. Once. Twice, to be sure.

And the elf was dead.

Joseph stepped back.

He had killed him.

He had killed before, of course, but not like this. Not this...

Execution.

He stared hard at his created corpse. At the way blood seeped from the elf's back, pooled on the floor. It had been the logical thing to do. If the elf woke up, he would continue his crusade, right? It was an enemy he was leaving to knife him in the back.

But still...

“The act of killing gets easier. The dreams don't.”

What dreams he would have, when this was all over.

Joseph moved on.

***

He found the other pair of elves, with Guerico's advice, moving down the hall just by where Lady Deirdre had been stowed away. They were keeping to the walls, like he was, evidently having heard his dispatching of their compatriots.

They hadn't expected a metahuman here, had they? He smiled to himself, in spite of everything.

He rounded the corner. Pointed-

The elf was faster, leveling the rifle and opening fire. Joseph grimaced as he leaped back behind cover, bullets ripping through the marble where he had been just a moment ago. They were advancing on him now.

His soul realized. Manifested. He sent it along his arm, around the corner, its claws swiping at the first elf, who was just a hair too close, a hair out of alignment, evidently having not expected the soul to whip around like this. An errant claw latching onto his chest, pulling him in. The eagle drove its beak into his chest, tore free his heart and whatever else. The elf's ragged screams echoed through the halls, through Joseph's mind.

It was the elf with the bow who fired on the eagle. Five plumed arrows drove into the soul's chest and neck. Joseph gasped as the reverb shuddered through his system. His vision became filled with ice as he rounded the corner himself, his soul still reaching for the elf with the bow, who was keeping back, skipping and firing arrow after arrow into the eagle's form.

No choice. Joseph dropped the soul. The arrows that had buried themselves in feather and cobalt flesh fell away. The floor was stained with plasmatic blood. The elf sneered at him, aiming the bow right at his face.

Joseph wrenched off his jacket, wrapped it in his arm, held it in front of him as the elf fired. He worked to close the distance, but the elf was smart, always keeping several paces ahead of him.

The soul was powered up enough. Joseph took aim.

And fired.

The lightning lanced through the elf's form, pushed them back, made them lower the bow. It was not a powerful enough shot to kill them – Joseph's soul was still rather wounded – but it was the opportunity he needed to close the distance.

Joseph raised his fists. The elf, grimacing, looked up to see him start swinging.

The old one-two. A haymaker. Followed by an uppercut. The elf was lifted off the ground at that last shot, hitting the ground hard. Joseph planted a boot on the elf's chest. The elf was not moving. He leaned down to check the elf's pulse.

Still solid. Joseph formed an azure claw, standing over him.

But hesitated.

Part of him, the Joseph that was still new to the multiverse, still relatively innocent to the act of murder, did not want to go through with this.

Part of him, the Joseph that had learned to be more pragmatic with these sorts of situations, knew he would be able to get information.

“Guerico,” he said, “Keep watch.”

“On it, boss.”

The Abstract Man moved off. Joseph checked over the elf's body for weapons, anything that could be used to get free. Then, when he had stripped away those, Joseph's soul realized, picked up the elf in a claw.

“Guerico,” he said, “Any place where I could get some rope?”

“I'm not sure,” Guerico said, “I can look around.”

“Do so,” Joseph said, “And, thanks.”

“Any time, Joe,” Guerico said. And he was off again. Joseph started making his way back to the storage room, keeping watch with all four of his eyes to make sure there wasn't any more trouble. But it seemed like Sunala had been devoting her forces to other parts of the city.

The Grand Commons was a location to secure, but the most immediate threat to the coup were forces that could stop it.

“Rope, Joe,” Guerico said, returning, “In one of the storage rooms.”

He nodded. Let Guerico guide him to the room. Indeed, there was rope inside, and he took it and wrapped it 'round the elf, tying him up. With that done, he returned, prisoner in tow, to the Lady Deirdre.

He knocked on the door, opening it up.

“It's me.”

“Good, Mr. Zheng,” the Lady Deirdre said, “Are you alright?”

Ghost pains were spidering throughout his body. But Joseph nodded.

“Got a present.”

He closed the door behind him, let his soul fully manifest, painting the room in light. He dropped the tied-up elf on the floor. The elf was coming to, now, bleary and groaning. Joseph glared at him.

“Alright, guy,” he said, “How many of you are there?”

The elf's eyes widened at him suddenly. He struggled for a second, his face contorted in a grimace. Joseph's hand shot out, grabbing at the elf's face, pulling him close.

“How many?!” he snarled.

And the elf bit something in his mouth, giving a triumphant smirk-

As foam filled his jaws. He started to convulse, glaring up at Joseph with eyes full of hate. Eyes full of fear. Joseph's heart skipped a beat. The Lady Deirdre's eyebrows went up. And, in a moment, the elf was dead.

“...A pill,” Joseph muttered.

“It is to be expected,” the Lady Deirdre said, and she glanced over at the metahuman, “Mr. Zheng, are you quite alright?”

He was shaking. He dropped the now-lifeless elf, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He stood up, brought up a hand to lean himself against the wall. He could not shake the image of the elf's face from his mind. The ghostly glare. He swallowed.

“I'm...” he pushed down his disgust, “I'll be alright.”

Lady Deirdre nodded.

“There'll probably be more coming, once they receive word that the group here failed,” Joseph said, “But I'm thinking, Sunala's probably moving more for Rithmound. For...”

Anger started up again. He looked up.

“For Castle Belenus. And they won't even know.”

He made to leave.

“Mr. Zheng,” Lady Deirdre said, “Where... where are you going?”

And he stopped.

“I was...” he looked back at her, “I need to warn them. Let them know what's going on. You heard the fireworks. I don't think anyone knows that she's doing this. People'll wake up tomorrow morning to see that she's taken over. It'll be chaos.”

“I am aware, Mr. Zheng,” Lady Deirdre said, “But...”

She hesitated. For both of them knew what Joseph was thinking. That he would abandon her. That he would leave her, for when the wolves returned.

Joseph's heart hammered. He could not help but think about his friends at the guildhall. Rosemary was there, at the very least. Barbara, too. A few others here and there, and spread across the city. He could not help but feel frustration boiling over. The need to do something. But...

But the Lady Deirdre was right. He had a role to play here, and it was helping her, here and now. To protect a part of the city.

“Guerico,” he said.

The Abstract Man pulled up beside him.

“Go,” Joseph said, “Get to Castle Belenus. Warn Wakeling about what's going on. Warn everyone. This isn't over.”

“Are you sure, Joe?” Guerico asked, “You'll be on your own.”

“I'll be fine,” Joseph said, “Let them know I'm here. Get some backup. I don't know, just let them know what Sunala's doing. That's all that matters.”

For a moment, Guerico hesitated. The one unblinking eye fell.

“Good luck, Joe.”

“Same with you.”

And he was off. Joseph opened up the door, glanced this way and that. He looked back to Deirdre.

“You stay here,” he said, “I'm going to scope out this place, best I can. I'll be nearby, in case anything happens.”

The noblewoman nodded.

“Be safe, Mr. Zheng,” she said, “And not just for my sake.”

He flashed her a dark smile, and closed the door behind him. Leaving him alone in the Grand Commons. The fireworks continued to blaze outside, a neverending orchestra of light and sound. There was a more sinister edge to them, now.

…

…

And the coup continued. Dances in shadow. Gunfire veiled by fireworks.