“Thar’s word,” Amoeboy said, “It looks like the Oshya:de are headed over here.”
They had returned to the old farmer's commune. Metahumans were busy here, unloading sacks of grain from wagons and carts and beasts of burden. They had been working since late last night, taking shifts, the night crew sleeping, tentless, on the grass. Cobalt Joe helped them with this, his electric soul jutting from his back. Aldreia watched as they unloaded, occasionally helping them. But her role today was to be a guard.
She kept watching the horizon. To the west, and to the south. It would be another day or so if the Oshya:de were to come here. They were not like the winged metahumans who had accompanied them here, carrying other Workers aloft to help Amoeboy and Tekahentakwa organize food, water, and what was the barest beginnings of a tent city. They were walking on foot. Near starvation.
Indeed, a few of the carts were wheeling westwards. To meet with the refugees as they streamed towards the commune. Nasir and Evancar were with them. Aldreia found herself surprised that Iandi had not volunteered to join them here. But the Mark Eta's size made it difficult. He wouldn't be able to fit into Thunderhead, and Flying Carpet was too busy lifting heavy supplies there. Iandi alone was a single trip.
These thoughts were on her mind as Cobalt Joe walked up to her. He had been pushing himself hard these last few days. Even with what little sleep he could afford, he still looked exhausted.
“You think they'll come here?” he asked.
“Who, the Oshya:de?” Aldreia asked.
“Luminary.”
The cleric's brow furrowed.
“Right,” she said, “Or people loyal to her, I suppose.”
Her floating fires flickered for a second, dimming and then spluttering back to life. Joe tilted his head as he looked at her.
“You met that one girl, right?” he said, “One of the...”
“Dorucanthos,” Aldreia said, “Yes.”
It took the metahuman a few moments to recollect them. Yes, the Dorucanthos family. One of whom was on the Council.
“Shit,” he said, “You think she's-”
“Drop it, Joe,” Aldreia said, and she crossed her arms, looking away, “Just... drop it.”
Joe shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A few of Amoeboy's enlarged paramecium were pulling a cart now, driven by a wolf-headed metahuman. Needle's hay was floating about the place. Every single piece, Joe realized, was an eye.
She was keeping watch, and he relaxed somewhat.
“Look,” Joe said, “There's no way that she could have known.”
“I said-” Aldreia spat, and then she paused. Her bottom lip quivered. But she controlled herself, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you.”
“It's fine,” Joe said.
“I shouldn't have brushed you off before, either,” Aldreia said, “Before all of this.”
“I don't blame you,” Joe said, “I probably would've done the same.”
Aldreia shook her head.
“You wouldn't have,” she said, “You know that.”
Joe shrugged.
“...She is a Dorucanthos,” Aldreia said, “Melitta. She's wonderful, Joe. I don't know if she'd be... alright, with all of this nonsense.”
At this, the metahuman chuckled.
“The nonsense of nation, right?”
“Yes,” Aldreia said, and she smiled. Like Joe's, it was hard and bitter, “I don't know what she's thinking right now. I don't even know where she is.”
Her hands were shaking.
“And if she's with... with Luminary, I don't know what I'll do.”
Joe nodded.
“You've fallen for her hard.”
“Tch,” Aldreia said, “What else is new. That's the problem with wearing your heart on your sleeve when your robes always get dirty.”
Needle coalesced into a humanoid form beside Amoeboy, who was at the barn. She pointed in the distance.
To the south.
Aldreia sighed.
“Looks like we've got company,” she said.
She snapped a finger, and a fire sparked to life in her palm. Joe's soul erupted from his back.
It was late in the day, and the wind had ceased. As though the world itself knew better than to speak.
***
One of the Workers had the ability to transmute water into coffee. She poured out a cup for Becenti now. He had not slept well. For whenever he did, nightmares would overtake him. Sleep paralysis would set in, holding him in that place between rest and wakefulness, and he would feel an immense pressure on his chest, as though the world had moved from his shoulders to his heart.
So no, he did not sleep. He instead sat at the table in the sandstone tower, occasionally reading one of Tallneck's books, or tapping on the table's surface. He paced the room. His heart was hammering, as the stress and the anxieties overwhelmed him.
“Myron Becenti.”
The older man turned. Meloche was there. Aye, Meloche. The philosopher had arrived earlier in the day, and had set to work with helping organize food to be sent to the Oshya:de, from the granaries dotted around New Ludaya. There had been talks about going into the storage caverns in Mt. Redress, but that place was increasingly becoming locked down with the Workers protesting near the site.
“Meloche,” Becenti said, “Please, have a seat.”
The mound of sap sat at the table. Becenti joined him, and the two of them listened to the sounds outside. A few Workers patrolling the tower.
“Amazing, isn't it,” Becenti said, “A mere day, and already so many people are up and protesting the Council.”
“It's not just the Oshya:de,” Meloche said, “I believe they are the straw that has broken the camel's back. It's... everything about this place.”
Becenti nodded.
“The Workers. The Warriors.”
“The Rulers, too,” Meloche said, “New Ludaya, as it is now, is not a democratic nation. It was Luminary who assembled the Council. If the nation continues, without change, then it will be very unequal indeed.”
“...It stands against what I wanted it to be,” Becenti said.
“Of course it does,” Meloche said, “You weren't there to put the foundations down.”
“I had thought,” Becenti said, “That Luminary and I had the same idea. The same dream. That we could make a place where we would be free.”
He shook his head.
“But this place is not free.”
“No nation is,” Meloche said, “To be within a nation implies a certain degree of oppression.”
Becenti looked up at the philosopher, a grim smile painted on his face.
“Reading some of the more radical thinkers?” he said.
“All thinking is radical, when it comes to politics,” Meloche said, “But my literature as of late has been more... pertinent, to our situation.”
He looked out the window.
“It is, quite frankly, terrifying,” he said, “That we can be no better than our oppressors. When the High Federation finds us, I fear it will be like looking into a mirror.”
Movement outside.
Shouts and warnings.
And a second dawn was approaching. Pulling the light of the day around herself like a shining frozen star.
The woman in white.
Luminary.
Becenti glared at her.
“She'll want an audience, I suppose,” Meloche said.
“Do you think she's alone?” Becenti asked.
“You know her better than I do,” the philosopher said.
“Do I?” Becenti said, “You've worked with her more, here. I only knew the Luminary of the past.”
“Are they not the same?” Meloche said.
The old metahuman shot the philosopher a ferocious glare. But then, he considered the truth in Meloche's words. He sighed, rubbed his temples for a moment, as the feelings of guilt and betrayal bubbled up once more.
“...She is more than capable of defending herself,” he said, “I doubt she will have anyone with her aside from, perhaps, Mister Meaning.”
Tallneck poked his head up from the bottom floor. He looked panicked. Becenti waved at him with a hand.
“She won't attack us,” Becenti said to him.
“A-Are you quite sure?” the teacher asked, stricken, “She's alone. And that's quite a bit of light she's pulling in.”
“Trust me,” Becenti said, “If she were going to attack this place, she would have leveled this place from a distance.”
“She is that powerful?” Tallneck asked.
“She is,” Becenti said, “...Let her in, I suppose. We will talk.”
***
Luminary was, indeed, alone. Not even Mister Meaning accompanied her. That set off alarm bells for others in the tower, for it meant that she was multi-tasking, setting her aide to undertake action on her behalf. She approached the entrance to the tower with a grim smile on her face, ever putting on the facade of the matron. Uni resisted the urge to open fire on her immediately. But no. Light was dancing around Luminary, five strands that spun around her like the rings of a gas giant. Even more shapes floated in the air, glowing celestial needles that she could rain upon the tower at once, if she so chose.
Rainbowfish greeted her, flipping a coin absently in his hand as she waited at the door. His eyes narrowed at her.
“Founder,” he said.
“Rainbowfish,” Luminary said, “I come in peace.”
“Drop the light show,” Rainbowfish replied, “And you're free to enter.”
“I do this for my own safety,” Luminary replied, “How do I know that you will not harm me when I go inside?”
“Becenti assures me, you will not be harmed,” Rainbowfish said, “Release your hold, Luminary. And you may enter.”
The old woman considered that, before nodding. The light dispelled. Every needle. Every arrow. The rings.
All, save one. It floated in the air, hovering in place near the fourth floor. Luminary flicked her wrist, and the glow disappeared, melding with the light of the day. Thus camouflaged, she feigned acquiescence. And Rainbowfish let her inside.
She ascended the stairs, led upwards by Rainbowfish. Uni took up the rear, hemming her in. They brought her up to the fifth floor, towards the same table that, just the previous night, Becenti had sworn to protect Tekahentakwa. He sat there now, his face grave and exhausted. Meloche sat next to his right, Tallneck to his left, and the teacher stared far down at Luminary. Kehaulani had been chosen to speak there as well, as another perspective of the Workers. Eksonis was in another building, and he and one of the midwives, Paper Puzzle, tended to her son.
Amidst the books and the tall windows.
(And the spear of light levitated, invisible, up to stare down at the Workers.)
“Myron,” Luminary said.
Becenti did not reply.
“Meloche. Tallneck,” Luminary said, “I'm surprised that you two had the gumption to pull something like this off.”
Tallneck went pale. Meloche shrugged.
“I had little to do with it,” the philosopher said, “I heard the truth, and I acted on it.”
“Indeed,” Luminary said, unimpressed, and she looked at Kehaulani, “You. I remember you. Your son is a native of this plane, is he not?”
Kehaulani shook her head.
“He is not.”
“He was born here, and therefore he is native,” Luminary said, “Is that not how this goes? It is how we have survived, in the past.”
“It is colonization,” Becenti said.
His voice was hard. Hard and professional. He was putting on a front, Luminary knew. She had heard that tone so many times from her little brother. She usually smiled at this. Smiled at Shimmer's antics, at his attempt to portray himself as the stoic.
She was not smiling now.
Instead, she strode forward, and took a seat.
“I will start,” she said, “With my demands.”
“Your demands,” Becenti said, flatly.
“My cards on the table,” Luminary said, “I have spoken with the Council. And I come to you as their representative.”
“Interesting,” Meloche said, “You, yourself, come? And not your lapdog, Meaning?”
Luminary's frown deepened.
“Mister Meaning is on other business,” Luminary said, “These have become busy times.”
She shook her head.
“I will start by saying that I am aware of the news that has been coming and going throughout our nation,” she continued, “About those inhabitants who used to live on this plane-”
“Who still do,” Becenti said.
“-And their current situation,” Luminary said, “And while we are... regretful, of these circumstances, that does not change that over thirty thousand metahumans now call this plane home.”
“You butchered them,” Becenti said.
“I did what was necessary,” Luminary said.
He went quiet at this. Meloche took point, now.
“What are your demands?” he asked.
“That all Workers immediately return to their duties,” Luminary said, “The Council will speak with the leaders of the former inhabitants, and a deal will be struck. There is still time for negotiation. They may live on this plane. Perhaps they may purchase living space from us. That, or when we are stronger, and more numerous, we can find another plane they are willing to live on.”
“That is genocide,” Meloche said.
Luminary shook her head.
“Do not tell me what is, or is not, genocide,” she said, “I have experienced it.”
“As have I,” Meloche said, “I think most of us on this plane have. And the removal of a people from their native land, by force, is genocide.”
“It would not be by force,” Luminary said.
“Quite on the contrary,” Meloche said, “You come from a position of power, after you have slaughtered them and forced them into caverns with little food and water. 'Force' in this scenario is the implicit threat of violence.”
“There would be no violence,” Luminary said.
“And what of those who would not agree to leave?” Kehaulani asked.
“That will be a bridge to cross when it arrives,” Luminary said, “But those are my terms. Return to work, and the previous inhabitants of this plane would be free to leave.”
“And,” Becenti said, “What if the answer is 'no'?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
***
Warriors.
The weird and the wonderful. Weaponized. Hone to a sharpened edge by fate. They were led by the Shadow of the Giant and by Iconoclast. Metahumans who spat fire and ice. Fractal floated high above, along with Pigmalion and a dozen other flying metahumans. A small attack force. They had stopped, standing in the field.
Cobalt Joe and Aldreia were there to greet them. Lunus Oculus and Thunderhead, too. Amoeboy stood beside a large amoeba, which pulsated and jostled. This one, above all of them, looked predatory. There was a way that it kept inching towards the Warriors, only to be pulled by its master.
Iconoclast strode forward.
“You,” he said, pointing at Amoeboy, “Where are the Oshya:de.”
The farmer scratched his cheek.
“The who?”
“Don't play coy,” the Seat of History said, “We have reports that there is a line of them coming towards this commune, and that their leadership is here.”
“An' what would ye do with them, lad?” Amoeboy asked.
“That is none of your concern,” Iconoclast said.
“So you'll kill them, then,” Cobalt Joe said.
Iconoclast's eyes darted over to the other metahuman. Cobalt Joe held himself casually, but there was a tightness to him nonetheless. He looked about ready to pounce on the Seat of History. Anger burned in his neon blue eyes.
(Then, anger often did for Joe.)
“Barbaric,” Iconoclast said, “We would not do so.”
“Then why do you want them?” Joe asked.
“So they are here, then,” Iconoclast said.
Joe crossed his arms. The air stank of ozone.
The breeze picked up. Bits of hay floated around. Yes. Needle was here now. Someone was floating down towards the ground. It was Fractal. She was fully in her gravity-powered form, orange and rippling, and her aura was casting around all of them.
Joe grimaced. She could crush them all, if need be.
But there were no Oshya:de out here. He knew that Rohahes and Tekahentakwa would have gone to the barn to hide. Where Needle's influence was greatest. No metahuman wanted to harm the other.
They were in a dance, and he knew this. Eyes kept flickering, from Warrior to Worker and back again. There was hesitation in the way everyone was moving.
No one wanted to be the one to sling the first stone.
No one wanted to be the one to hurt someone who, just a few days prior, had been a comrade.
***
“Then there will be violence,” Luminary said, “There will be no choice. We are in a tense situation here. And I come to you first to negotiate with words, in hopes that the alternative does not come to pass.”
“You always speak of violence,” Tallneck said, “Always action. Always Warriors and Workers. A-Always preparing, for when the time comes. There is something subtle there, isn't there.”
Luminary craned her neck to look at him.
“And what is that, Tallneck?” she asked.
“Our reason for being here,” Tallneck said, “Our damned class system. The Workers and the Warriors. Weapons pouring in from off-plane.”
“For when the time comes,” Luminary said.
“And what does that mean, exactly?” Tallneck asked.
Luminary tilted her head.
“Oh?”
“We always say that. 'When the time comes,'” Tallneck said, “Always, always, preparation, for when the time comes. What is that time? When the Federation finds us?”
Luminary was silent. She allowed Tallneck to think.
(To come to conclusions that he had been putting off, ever since he had arrived to New Ludaya.)
“...You intend for the High Federation to find us here, don't you?” he said.
At once Becenti's eyes widened. Kehaulani sucked in a breath. Meloche's hands balled into molasses fists. Luminary merely waited for them to calm down.
“There are many paths to liberation,” she said, “True liberation. Liberation, to me, means that we are free to do as we wish. That we are free to live our lives without looking over our shoulders. That our children are able to grow up without losing a mother, or a father, or an entle or cousin.”
They had all lost someone.
They waited for Luminary to finish her point.
“And who is responsible for this?” Luminary said, “We all know. The elephant in the room. The giant of the multiverse. The High Federation.”
“There are others,” Tallneck said, a bit weakly.
“But it is the High Federation who encourages it. Celebrates it, even. How many planets have we gone to, where there is a festival celebrating a metahuman massacre? They idolize our butchers. Nothing is new to the High Federation. That is their weakness. The Silver Eye has witnessed every atrocity under its many suns. In the far reaches of space. Every act of violence, every wretched sin.
“And they have never once learned from their shame.”
“And so,” Becenti said, “This nation. It's to stand against them.”
“We are the offspring of Epochia,” Luminary said, “We once were a nation that stretched across the multiverse. It is time we were again. We will go into the Silver Eye. From the galactic north. We will free our brothers and sisters in chains. We will take world after world, and bring justice to the unjust.”
“That is the time,” Tallneck whispered.
“This plane, this is only the beginning,” Luminary said, “This plane is a small one. It can only hold so many of us. So our nation will expand. It has been built to do so.”
“By fire and by metagene,” Becenti said.
“As it was, in ancient days,” Luminary said.
***
“It is the right of the Council,” Iconoclast said, “That any building be searched, that any question be answered, to the fullest extent of one's ability.”
“I'm tellin' ye,” Amoeboy said, “I've never heard of these folks yer on about.”
Iconoclast's eyes twitched. He stepped forward, past the old man.
“I'm searching the property,” he said, “Warriors, on me-”
And Cobalt Joe stepped in front of him.
“No, you're not,” Joe said.
“I have the right,” the Seat of History said.
“Do you?” Joe replied, “Show me.”
And Iconoclast dashed a fist against his jaw. Joe stumbled to the ground. High above, Fractal winced. Lunus Oculus gasped. Iconoclast stepped past him.
“Warriors, on me,” he said, “We search the place, and-”
And then there was a terrific eagle's scream. Something large erupted from Cobalt Joe's back, and an azure backhand swiped up into Iconoclast's chest. He was sent flying into the air for a few silent, terrifying seconds. Every metahuman started as he crumpled to the ground in a puff of dust and stray grass.
Cobalt Joe rose to his feet. The eagle was fully realized, claws like sickles pulsing and sparking with his every heartbeat.
“You better hit harder, next time,” Joe said.
Iconoclast stood up, catching his stolen breath. He was pulling metal slabs out of his pocket, and at his touch they started to dissolve and re-shape themselves. Other Warriors were starting to power up their metahuman abilities.
All of them were centered at Joe.
The Amber Foundation member smiled. It was vicious and angry.
And scared.
“Hey, Aldreia,” he said, “I just fucked up, didn't I?”
The cleric was weaving a spell of flame, fire dancing on her fingertips.
“You did, Joe,” she said, “But what else is new?”
***
“I don't want that.”
This came from Kehaulani.
Let us speak of her. How she looked at this moment. She was staring at the wall, a finger digging into the wood on the table, errantly carving up a splinter. The other hand was balled and close to her stomach. She was lost in thought. The very back of her mind counted every star. But that was simple noise to her, like long-term tinnitus, and her forward thoughts were of the future.
“I don't want that,” she said, “What you speak of is war.”
“It would be,” Luminary admitted.
“...My son would be fighting,” Kehaulani said, “My husband. Myself. Everyone I know would be fighting.”
“Every citizen, a soldier,” Luminary said.
“I don't want that,” Kehaulani repeated, a third time, “I have spent my entire life fighting. In wars. To survive. I don't want that to be my son's life.”
“We often don't have that choice,” Luminary said.
“And yet this nation stood... stands, as a place where we can be safe,” Kehaulani said, “Where we can heal. Where we can grow old.”
“And that,” Luminary said, “Lies the problem. We cannot do these things, cannot truly be safe, until the High Federation is dealt with.”
“But forcing people to do this?” Kehaulani said, “Instituting a system of Warrior and Worker, where we are defined only by what we can do 'when the time comes?'”
“We would still be oppressed,” Meloche said, “Forced into what we do not want to be. How many Warriors, who otherwise would be skilled artisans, or writers, or poets, would be made to die on the front lines?”
“The world has little use for writers and poets right now,” Luminary said, “Perhaps, when we are free...”
“That is the work of generations,” Meloche said, “Generations, without art. We will not have our peace with the laws you have enacted here. The Warriors and the Workers will continue to stratify. Will become another tool of control – as it already has been. It is not because of the Oshya:de alone that there are protests across the plane.”
“But, at least, we will be alive,” Luminary said, “We will be able to stand on our own feet.”
“And will that be worth it?” Becenti asked.
Luminary looked over to him.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Will all of this be worth the slaughter of tens of thousands of people?” Becenti said, “Is our liberation built on the bones of the Oshya:de?”
***
Amoeboy gestured, and his amoeba, faster than anyone could anticipate, rushed forward, smothering Iconoclast in its elephantine mass. It shivered and shook as the Seat of History struggled against it.
Aldreia directed a hand, and a pillar of fire erupted from her open palm. It sailed upwards, clipping Pigmalion as he made to dive towards the Workers. His angelic statue began to fall like a stone towards the earth.
Two Warriors engaged Cobalt Joe. One of them had snakes for arms, hissing, venomous reptiles, somewhere between king cobras and anacondas. They whipped them forward at Joe, who grabbed one with a cobalt claw, deftly moving out of the way to avoid the other. The eagle yanked the snake in its hand, sending the metahuman flying towards him, grabbing the metahuman wholesale in the other hand, raising him into the air.
“Joe!” Lunus Oculus said, “On your left!”
Indeed, the other Warrior was lowering himself to all fours. His mouth opened unnaturally wide, and energy began to foam around his lips.
They coalesced into a white-hot beam. Joe threw the other Warrior away and hunkered down, letting the energy wash over his soul's form. The pain went from flashing hot to ice cold. But it was pain, and little else, and the energy dispelled.
And Joe threw himself at the other Warrior. Sent a fist careening into the metahuman's jaw, sending him flying away.
Needle was fully awakened now. Hay floated around him like a thousand daggers. Swirled, kept many of the Warriors who were rushing to their compatriots' aide at bay. But there was still hesitation in all of them.
Especially in Fractal, high above. Who watched all of this.
The air around her shimmered with her power. It was expanding further now. Towards the earth below.
...She needed merely to wait.
But not all of them were hesitant.
The Shadow of the Giant watched Cobalt Joe as he fought the Warriors. The pale man smiled.
“Interesting,” he said, “Very interesting.”
And he unveiled his metahuman power.
His shadow had been pointing away from the sun, stretching towards the east. But at once it drew behind him and lengthened towards the horizon.
The air went cold.
Heads turned.
Those Warriors who were about to engage broke off.
The shadow lifted from the ground. And with its newfound expansion into the third dimension came a widening in its shape. Muscles pupated from the mass of darkness. Its lower half split, forming two legs. Arms pulled themselves free. Hair, long and free, flowed in the grass plains' breeze. A single eye, pupil-less and glowing, dominated the Giant's forehead.
It stood twenty feet tall.
Its head eclipsed the sun as it stared down at Joseph.
Who swallowed.
And raised his fists.
“Good,” the Shadow said, “You're sporting.”
The Giant's fist came crashing down.
***
“It was necessary,” Luminary said.
“...That's all you can say,” Becenti said, “That it was necessary.”
The woman in white's mouth flickered. She was, Becenti realized, having difficulty with her emotions. In trying to keep them in check. As the person he had known her as struggled to re-assert itself. As her past met her present, and was appalled.
“The Luminary I knew,” Becenti said, slowly, “Was a kind woman. She saw the best in everyone. She raised you up, so you could stand at her side. The both of you... the both of us, against the world.”
Luminary took in a deep breath. Exhaled.
“What changed?” Becenti said, his voice hard, “What... happened to you? Thirty years ago, you would never do this. You would never stoop so low.”
“Thirty years is a long time, Myron,” Luminary said, “People will change.”
“Change,” Becenti said, almost laughed in his bitter way, “Change. And tell me, how much of you has changed, that you would be alright with the murder of a world?”
“I am what the Federation has made me,” Luminary said, through gritted teeth, “I am what this world requires.”
“There is little requirement in this,” Becenti said, “Our resistance is not just glorified war. There is violence, yes. There is action. But there is not genocide.”
“You speak of resistance,” Luminary said, “You? Of all people, you? You bow down to the Federation, Myron Becenti. You were on Prime to be Valm's lapdog, and nothing else.”
Becenti did not rise to her insult. He merely looked sorrowful. He frowned, and looked, once more, to be on the verge of tears.
“But I would not do something like this,” he whispered, “I wanted a nation, Luminary. I wanted a home. But not at this cost.”
“Then you are a fool,” Luminary said, “Still the same naive little boy in spandex that I picked up from the ashes all those years ago.”
She slammed a fist on the table.
“This is what nation is,” she said, “The sacrifice of freedoms and morals, for the sake of security and a better future. A world for our children.”
Becenti shook his head.
And something within him broke.
Someone came stomping from upstairs. They heard voices. Wavemaker shouting at Iandi. The supersoldier was thundering up the stairs.
“Iandi, calm down!” Wavemaker said, “They're busy, they're-”
“Becenti!” Iandi said.
“...Hello, Iandi.”
The Mark Eta pointed out the window.
“Light!”
“Yeah, man, it's daytime,” Wavemaker said.
But Becenti's eyes widened. He turned around, and looked out the window. Then back to Luminary.
Then back to the window.
“Iandi,” Becenti said, “What does it look like?”
“Spear!” Iandi said, “I can see it because of my eyes.”
His cybernetic eyes. That could see more than what others could see. Becenti's eyes narrowed as he looked at Luminary, though she was already rising.
“The Oshya:de,” he said, “You were going to see if they were here, and kill them.”
Luminary did not respond.
“Mean!” Iandi said, and he advanced on her-
Only for the spear of light to shoot forwards, smashing through the window, erupting into Iandi’s chest.
Becenti let out something between a cry and a roar, and he leaped over the table. Luminary ducked out the way as he ran to Iandi's side. Iandi was screaming, blubbering.
But he was rising to his feet. The shaft of light in his chest did little to stop him.
And he rushed at Luminary.
Who, perhaps out of a sense of pity, perhaps because of Becenti, instead of engaging him, jumped backwards. Light solidified around the window, shattering what glass remained. Tallneck shouted in surprise. Becenti pulled heat from his body, forming a wall to shield him from the shards. Meloche covered Kehaulani.
And Luminary leaped out of the window. Light cushioned her, carried her on a carriage away from the tower. Workers below pointed, gasping and whispering in shock.
Iandi grabbed the spear, and tore it from his chest.
“Owie,” he cried, and he wept painful tears as a combination of regenerating cells and nanotechnology sealed the wound shut.
“You're alright, Iandi,” Becenti said.
“Hurt me,” Iandi said.
“She did,” Becenti said, and at once he was exhausted, “She did.”
***
Joe leaped to the side as the fist cratered the ground where he had just been standing.
The eagle dissipated, and he took aim. Ozone sparked and filled the air, and he unleashed a bolt at the Giant.
Who batted it away like scattered cobwebs.
“Shit,” Joe said.
He was aware of other Warriors rushing towards them now. Aldreia, on his peripheral, creating a wall of flame to keep them at bay. More hay lifted from the ground and scattered out. Even Thunderhead was fighting now, transformed as a sports car and revving his engines, threatening to run people down.
The Giant was far faster than he had any right to be. It was as though he were a guest to this level of the multiverse, and the rules of nature, of physics and mass, did not apply to him. At once, the Giant was on him, the Shadow trailing just a bit behind. Joseph's heart pounded, and his soul re-circuited, erupting from his chest and meeting the Shadow's blows. Fist met fist. Claw curled over hand, scraped at solid darkness.
For a moment, the two danced.
But only for a moment.
The Shadow shot a glancing blow against the eagle's beak. Brought up its fists, and brought them down in an arc. The eagle lifted up its arms to block-
And they cracked, nearly shattered, against the blow. Joseph let out a grunt of pain. The eagle dissolved back into him as he stumbled away.
But the Giant loomed over him.
“It is curious,” the Shadow said, “We had spoken about this before, yes? What is your soul, but yourself?”
“Fuck... off,” Joseph said, and he pulled himself to his feet. Lifted his fists. Talons covered his hands like gauntlets. The Shadow stood in front of the Giant, swaying a bit, as though a stray wind would pick him up and carry him away.
“Your soul, Cobalt Joe,” the Shadow said, “Can it see now?”
Joseph did not respond.
Nearby, Iconoclast had torn his way free of the amoeba. Vines lashed and snapped as he rushed forward, with a ragged roar. He was taking out more and more pieces of metal, all of the slabs he carried at once, and more plantlife was blooming from them, transformed and under his control.
Thunderhead honked.
And when Iconoclast kept pressing forward, he peeled off to meet him. Vine interrupted wheels, lifted them from the ground. Thunderhead churned, and began to transform into a helicopter, and the grass plains buzzed with its warlike whirling.
Joseph took his stance. advanced on the Shadow.
Who shook his head.
“It is no use,” he said.
The Giant batted at Joseph, who spun, dancer-like, away from the strike. The Giant was merely playing with him. And yet the obvious weakness was the Shadow himself.
And, no doubt, the Shadow knew this.
So why, then, did he make himself such an obvious target?
“What will happen when you die, Cobalt Joe?” the Shadow said, “What will happen?”
“I meet my ancestors,” Joe said, “Just like you're about to meet yours.”
But the Shadow shook his head.
“The true me looms over you,” he said, “I will not die. I will merely go with him. He existed before me, did you know that?”
The Giant writhed, rippled, and another fist came rocketing down. Joseph dodged this one, too.
Thunderhead was lifting off the ground now, high into the air. Iconoclast was still holding onto him, vines wrapped around rail and arm.
“Joe!” Aldreia called out, “Together!”
“Right!” Joseph yelled.
He went left. She skirted the Giant's right, and her hands burned white-hot before she sent out a bombast of fire. At the same moment, Joe speared another bolt of lightning. The Giant took both of them, shuddering for a moment at the strikes, before it spun like a tornado and knocked Aldreia away.
“An annoyance,” the Shadow said, his voice even, “You did not answer my question, Cobalt Joe.”
The Giant's hand closed over Joseph. Lifted him into the air.
And when the Shadow spoke, it was in the Giant's voice. Deep and booming, and the world shuddered with every syllable.
“Are you your body, or are you your soul?”
Joseph blinked.
“...What?”
“Think on this, Cobalt Joe, meditate on these words,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “And-”
They were interrupted by the spinning Thunderhead. Iconoclast had pulled himself up so he was in the cockpit of the vehicle.
The metal vehicle.
“To hell with this,” the Seat of History said. He rested a hand on the cyclic control.
And his power activated. Metal transformed into vine. Like acid, it washed over the rest of Thunderhead, eating away and morphing every metal part of him into grass and plants and flowers and roots. Iconoclast jumped out right as all power of flight left Thunderhead's newly green form, and the Worker plummeted like a verdant meteor to the earth.
He thudded. There was no screech of metal on metal. No explosion. It was as though a tree had fallen in the wood.
And every metahuman ceased their combats. The Shadow of the Giant dropped Joseph, who hit the ground and rolled.
Fractal floating dimly in the air.
Amoeboy frowned, and looked away.
Every needle of straw froze in place.
And Lunus Oculus rushed over to the site of Thunderhead's crash.
“Thunderhead?” she said, “Thunderhead!”
There was no response.
“No!” Lunus screamed, “No no no, wake up! Come on, don't do this! Don't you dare leave me, too! Don't you-”
Joseph looked back to see the Giant receding back towards the Shadow. The pale man was shaking his head.
He took the chance to walk over, put a hand on Lunus Oculus's shoulder.
“I think he's gone, Lunus,” he said.
And Lunus Oculus screamed. Collapsed in on herself, Joe supported her as she crumpled into the grass.
The Warriors had stopped. Many of them looked aghast. Not a few looked at Iconoclast with something resembling revulsion.
“...We are done here,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “Warriors, we return home.”
“No,” Iconoclast said, “We-”
And he noted the looks everyone, Warrior and Worker, was giving him. He quieted down, took one glance at the man he had killed, before he started to walk away.
“It's over?” Pigmalion said, and the hog-headed man looked forlorn and lost, “W-What do we do?”
But the other Warriors who had accompanied Iconoclast were leaving, too. Heading back south. To Mt. Redress. So he joined them, too.
Aldreia's fire spells ceased. The plains were pockmarked with burns and craters. She surveyed the area, tried to ignore the sobbing Lunus Oculus, to give her privacy. Tried to concentrate on the sound of the wind as it whipped across the fields.
There would be injured to attend to.
The cleric went off to find them, in hopes of keeping the casualties at one.