“It is Civu-Dari,” Eco noted.

He and Meloche could see her in the distance. The witch cut a dark image as she made her way across the Valley. Civu-Dari was on a litter of some sort, her strange, three-eyed servants holding her aloft, still more trailing behind her. All of them bore weapons, blades and spears and axes made from her bone and body, and a few of them were limping from injuries no doubt sustained during the journey. One visibly dripped behind, slower and slower...

“Barbaric,” Meloche growled.

“It is her way,” Eco said.

“That does not mean it is right.”

“I never said it was,” Eco said.

They were on a dune nearby, watching her from above. She had given no indication that she had spotted them. The sun roiled overhead, marking the day as three hours past noon. Neither of them could really feel the heat's effects – Meloche was covered in too much sap, and Eco's power worked with the extreme weather, not against or in spite of it.

“Thoughts?” Eco asked.

“On what?”

“On our friend, there,” Eco said.

“She's dangerous,” Meloche rumbled, “Arrogant. She thinks herself a god.”

“You'd usually be proud of that,” Eco said, “Was it not you who said we used to be rulers of the multiverse?”

“Yes, and it was a dark time,” Meloche said, “Epochia was a myriad nation. It had myriad ideologies. Including ones shared by Civu-Dari, down there.”

He stared at her. The lagging Dari fell to the ground with a final, weak cough. His goddess ignored him. Abandoned him, left him in the dust trails, the rest of her army snaking away from the body like a great centipede.

“Perhaps it is better we were scattered,” Meloche said, “At least we have learned some measure of humility, and look upon those like Civu-Dari with scorn, and not worship.”

“Only took thousands of years of war,” Eco said.

“Indeed.”

“She'll be getting away from us, if we don't do anything,” Eco said.

“She would use Visionary's sight for her own use,” Meloche said.

“The same as us,” Eco said.

“Yes,” Meloche rolled his shoulders, “Only difference is hers would be a selfish vision. A glory to herself, and herself alone.”

Eco smiled, “And we can't abide by that, can we?”

“A battle with her is a battle against her Dari slaves,” Meloche said, “To defeat her, we must go through them. A pitiful battle, they know not what they do.”

“Look at the blood on their blades, Meloche,” Eco said, “They know exactly what they're doing. They're brainwashed, not infantilized.”

“All the same,” Meloche said, “Let me deal with them. My body is built to withstand sword thrusts.”

“And her magic?” Eco asked.

“You have smatterings of the void within you, yes?”

Eco nodded, “Hate doing it. But yes. Let me get close as a sandstorm. Then, we shall see how she reacts.”

“Let us be careful,” Meloche said.

“Aye.”

***

They were two who approached her little army. She recognized one as the philosopher Meloche, a being of sap and sadness who lumbered forward. His feet were covered in sand, stuck to his honey-like body. There was the barest hint of the metahuman beneath the weight of maple, a dull, dark humanoid outline that the sap covered like a sheath of armor. Beside him was a being completely made out of sand save for a satchel that crossed his desert-formed chest. He ambled in great footfalls, gaining in size as more and more of the earth gathered through him.

Your goddess needs you, she thought. She prepared another warping spell, to be fired by a ballista. She beaded another spell from beneath her cloak, one to freeze liquid – a trump card, against Meloche.

“Greetings, philosopher,” she said.

“Greetings,” Meloche's voice was deep and rich. Civu-Dari had to give a genuine smile at that. He was known for his speeches on his home plane, drawing in crowds to listen to his sermons. An oral storyteller, this Meloche was.

Probably preferred speaking to writing, since every quill, pen, or pencil stuck to his fingers.

“I assume you are here for the same reason I am,” she gave a small gesture, and the servants lowered her throne to the ground.

“We are,” Meloche said.

“And instead of ambushing me from a distance,” Civu-Dari said, “You instead chose to meet me down here.”

“Thought it was more sporting,” Meloche said.

“You'd need it,” Eco said.

Ah, so they were arrogant, then. Civu-Dari smiled. They were like Old Man Oak, so sure in their age and experience and so above it all that they thought themselves to be invincible. The foremost drew his weapon, and as one the other Dari followed his example.

“Die fair, then,” she said. And her servants charged.

***

Becenti had formed an orb of heat around them.

It served two purposes, Joseph realized. The first is it kept the worst of Death Valley's weather away from them – as opposed to sweltering, triple-digit temperatures, it was nice and cool, enough that someone like Oliphant could get away with wearing a full suit of armor and not die of heatstroke an hour into the journey.

The second was that Becenti was forming a shield around them. It wasn't a very large one – only enough to dome them in a ten-foot circumference – but the way the air shimmered and shook meant it was a powerful wall indeed. Becenti's arms were raised up in the air, hands shaking slightly from effort, the red streamers on his arms caught by the wind and reminding Joseph of a robin's wings.

“You're sure you'll be able to keep that up?” Oliphant asked.

“I assure you,” Becenti replied, “I am fine. This is nothing to me.”

“Very well, Shimmer,” Oliphant said.

There it was, that name again. Shimmer. Joseph felt it odd to roll that name in his head, apply it to the man in front of him. It felt like a name out of time, a name of someone far different from Myron Becenti. Younger, perhaps? Definitely more naive, for Becenti simply sneered at the mention of that old name. His name was Shimmer before he met Joseph. Before he joined the guild.

During the war.

“Trouble,” Ever-True said. Joseph snapped to attention at that. The superhero's eyes were glancing towards the distance, and she nodded, “From the north.”

“Who?”

She was taking out a javelin, squinting towards the horizon.

“Three,” she said, “One of them... Oh my god, Shimmer!”

“On it,” Becenti pointed a hand. The bubble of heat coalesced in front of them, facing north in the direction Ever-True was pointing.

A heartbeat.

Two.

Three.

And then something collided with Becenti's shield, a bright, golden beam that made his entire body shudder, his stance suddenly strong and tower-like as he redoubled his efforts to hold the shield together. Whatever had smashed against the shield now dribbled down, a golden gel that splattered to the sand like spent napalm. Becenti's eyes widened at that.

“Shit,” he said, “It's Talrash.”

Oliphant, too, bit back a curse. He motioned for Ever-True, who took aim with her javelin and threw it towards the distance. It thundered away like a rocket, heading towards their targets in the distance.

“Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “You've the best vision here, I need to know who we're dealing with.”

“Right,” Joseph said. His heart was pounding like a war drum as his soul circuited to full strength, the eagle's vision covering his own as he looked out, “I see a woman, in golden robes. Something's dripping from her mouth.”

“That'll be Talrash,” Becenti said, “The Breath of Midas. Anything her flames touch turns to gold.”

He nodded towards his heat wall, much of which had turned aurous, the struggling shield of warmth cast in a cool, gilded statue. Ever-True took aim again, throwing her second javelin. Joseph watched it rocket towards the second figure, a man in High Federation combat gear, a dome-like helmet covering his head. He watched the javelin arc towards him, the bronze spear twisting midair to hammer home. He spun as it made a final dive towards him, hand reaching out to swipe it out of the air. He considered it for a moment, before tossing it to the side and leveling his rifle.

“More heat,” Joseph said, “Second one's taking aim.”

Becenti nodded, the air intensifying in front of the group. There was a distant bang as the bullet rang against the shield, cracking it like glass for a moment before more heat rushed in to fill in the cracks.

“Second one's... a guy, I guess,” Joseph said, “Domed helmet.”

“Odd, but not unusual,” Becenti said.

“That's a sentence,” Joseph said.

“The third?”

Joseph glanced over at the third. His fists clenched and his voice was low when he spoke.

“It's Robber Fly.”

“Who?”

“That guy I fought on the space station.”

“Over Ermen III?”

“The very same,” Joseph growled.

“Ah, good,” Becenti said, “I told you he'd still be alive.”

He glanced over to see Joseph dropping his soul back into his body, letting it circuit through him once more. He raised an arm, palm raised up to point towards the three in the distance.

“We'll need your eyes for this, Joseph,” Becenti said.

“I just want to let them know we're giving them more than a couple of toothpicks,” Joseph spat, “I want to let that bastard know I'm right here.”

Lightning flashed, and the world lit up with a deep, guttural bang that shook his insides like jelly. Joseph watched as the three scattered, Talrash to one side, Domehead to the other, Robber Fly leaping into the air over the bolt, his head warping and twisting into his namesake. For a moment his body hung as though decapitated, held in the air by the robber fly, before everything seemed to click together, and he began zooming down.

Far faster than Joseph could have anticipated. He closed the distance quickly.

You, Robber Fly’s voice was loud and droning, YOU!

He was intercepted midair by Oliphant who jumped upwards and drew his blade, the flat of which cracked against Robber Fly's proboscis. The two of them plummeted to the ground, squaring off against one another.

“I'm on it!” Oliphant called back.

Joseph watched as Robber Fly took to the air again. He felt a thrill of fear at the sight of him, the droning sound from his nightmares made real, as he zipped through the air-

“Mr. Zheng,” Becenti put a hand on Joseph's shoulder, “I need you here.”

“...He's mine.”

“Joseph.”

His mentor's voice was firm. Joseph glared back at him.

“I need Robber Fly to know I'm still here,” he said, “I need...”

“I need your eyes, Mr. Zheng. If Talrash hits any one of us, we're out of the game.”

“I don't care,” Joseph said, “Robber Fly's right there-”

“And being handled, Joseph,” Becenti said, “Get your head in the game, and be a team player. That's an order.”

An order! Joseph wanted to laugh at that. Since when did Becenti have to say he was giving an order? Like he was some sort of military bigwig...

He shook Becenti's hand off of his shoulder, eagle coming to life over him once more.

“Fine,” he said, “Let's get this over with.”

***

“It's simple, Pock,” Analyza said as she skipped alongside her partner, “It's not so much the future I want to see. It's Earthmute.”

“Uh-huh,” Pocket said.

“His makeup, Pock! What makes the Earthmute tick? How does he think? What does he dream? What does he sound like?”

“Probably doesn't sound like anything, hence the 'mute' part of his name,” Pocket said.

“I suppose,” Analyza said, “Still, he's a treasure trove of that good shit, y'know?”

“I know,” Pocket said. She glanced upwards towards the sky. They had been walking for hours now, water bottles replenished by an endless spring they had pilfered from Melmaen and hidden in Pocket's third pouch. So far they had not seen hide nor hair of anyone, but it was only a matter of time before-

“Hey, Pocket,” Analyza said, “Don't look now, but a guy's falling from the sky.”

“How far away?”

“Nearly on top of us,” Analyza said, “Hey, I'm going to sit here, and you can push me to the side dramatically when he's about to pulverize me.”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Pocket grabbed Analyza, pulling her away as something slammed into the ground where she had been standing a few moments before. Two figures emerged from the crater. One was Silicon, glass forming his organic form, a look of utmost concentration on his face. The sight of him was enough to make Pocket put herself between him and Ana, though Analyza immediately disregarded him as she saw the one whom Silicon was dragging from the newly-formed crater. A being of stone and magma, gargoyle-like in his appearance, as though he had walked off of the roof of a cathedral that was by an active volcano. But he was one hundred percent metahuman, Analyza could tell. The power of metahumanity warped the form, indeed.

This magmatic being, this Pyroclast, had multiple stab wounds peppering his body, molten blood trickling down from dozens of wounds, glass blades floating in the air around him and Silicon. The knight let go of his foe, taking a deep breath before turning and fixing him with a solid glare that edged almost on regret.

“N-no,” Pyroclast growled, “Damn you, Sil...”

“You didn't have to come here,” Silicon said, “I warned you to stay away.”

“Ha... like that... like that would stop me.”

“Leave, Pyroclast,” Silicon said, “Accost me no more.”

There was a moment of silence, Pocket and Analyza watching with bated breath, as Pyroclast lay there, Silicon standing over him.

Then the gargoyle twisted up and snarled, leaping at the knight…

…Who grabbed a blade from the air and brought it down, cutting through rock both solid and molten, cleaving through Pyroclast's neck. The beast's head flew awry from the body, landing with a puff a few meters away. More lava spooled from the headless neck, steaming and sizzling as it pattered and pooled on the sand.

“Sleep well, friend,” Silicon said. His voice was morose.

The glass broke back into its mosaic of shards, glittering around Silicon as he caught his breath.

And then his eyes fell on Pocket and Analyza. At his stare, the slivers all over Pocket's body opened up, firearms poking out of them as she became a veritable armory.

“One move, and I blow you to kingdom come,” she warned.

“Good day to you, too,” Silicon said.

“I mean it!”

“I know,” Silicon said. He didn't move from his spot, “You are... Pocket and Analyza, yes?”

“Oh ho!” Analyza said, “You know of us.”

“Far Travelers. Your reputation precedes you.”

“All good, I hope,” Analyza said.

“Don't talk to him, Ana,” Pocket said.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“But he's talking to me?”

“I don't care,” Pocket said.

“You're afraid of me,” Silicon said.

“We just watched you behead your old pal there,” Pocket said, “And this is a game with only one winner, right?”

“And yet you two are together.”

Pocket's eye twitched.

“We drew straws.”

“Indeed,” Silicon stretched, “Unless you attack me, I've no quarrel with you.”

“Like Pyroclast.”

“He started it. I ended it,” the knight's face moped into a frown, “I... He should have never come here.”

“Oh dearie,” Analyza said, “I'm sorry.”

There was a light that glinted in Silicon's eye.

“Thank you,” he said, “Tell me, what kingdoms do you hail from?”

“I've done the research,” Analyza said, “I trace my lineage back to Omperstellicad, Pock here's from Chliofrond.”

Silicon’s demeanor changed. Pocket noted that he relaxed ever so slightly. He even smiled a sad smile.

“Ah, good,” Silicon said, “It is good when we know our history.”

“That's well and good,” Pocket said, “But that still doesn't-”

“Oh, come off it, Pocky,” Analyza said, “He isn't going to kill us. He would’ve tried already.”

She stepped out from her partner's shadow, approaching Silicon. The knight stood tall as he stared down at her, and she squinted up at him.

“This is a game where there's only one winner,” she said, “But that doesn't mean it's every woman for herself all the way through, right?”

“I wish to see my future,” Silicon said.

“Same,” Analyza said, “Pocket wants to see my future, too. We drew straws.”

Amusement danced in Silicon’s eyes.

“So when we get to the Visionary...” he began.

“We draw straws?” Analyza asked.

“It will be considerably more violent,” Silicon said, though there was an odd pang to his voice that made his statement ring hollow.

“Agree to disagree,” Analyza said, “Besides, I don't think you've traveled with others for a while, right?”

“I have been traveling the multiverse alone for a long time,” Silicon said, “I could... I could use the company.”

“Well, welcome to the team!”

“Ana!”

Analyza turned. Pocket was glaring at her.

“I assure you,” Silicon said, “Until we get to the Visionary, I will not harm you.”

“And when we get to her?” Pocket said, “What then, Silicon?”

“We cross that bridge when it comes,” Analyza said, “Come on, love, we're going to get into a few scraps before we get to the end of this, might as well make friends before all that, right?”

Pocket gave Analyza a mutinous look. Then, the rifles, pistols, and cannons slowly retreated back into her body.

“One wrong move,” she warned, “And I blow you to hell.”

“Accost me, betray me, attack me, and I will kill you both,” Silicon said.

“See? We're all in the same boat!” Analyza said, “Now let's go, daylight's a-wasting.”

She set off once more. Silicon glared at Pocket. Pocket glared at Silicon. Then they followed her. Pocket put herself between the knight and Ana. Silicon walked, and did not break into glass, instead keeping a wary distance.

Thus was this strange trio formed, as they walked across the valley.

***

There was a moment, as Meloche's mass swallowed a Dari whole, where he wondered the meaning of all of this.

A chance to see the future. Your future. Visionary's metapower was no joke, no lie, no falsehood. She could see your future, could see what was to pass, the next chapters in the story, if one's life was a novel.

But what kind of future? Could this future change? Was it a prediction of things that would happen, or a window to one's life ten, fifteen, twenty years from now? And, by knowing this future, could one change it? Or was the act of attempting to change the future merely locking it into place? Was this future one where one had acted to change the vision, and thus fulfilled the Visionary's prophecy? If one did nothing, would that avert the future?

Or, by doing nothing, was one acting, and thus securing the vision?

And what of the death involved in all of this? The Dari squirmed beneath Meloche's mass as he rose up, throwing a globule of sap at another of Civu-Dari's slaves, covering his head in molasses like a helmet. It was a bitter death, as the Dari fell to his knees and pulled at the sap, hands catching in its sticky mass, the whole time unable to breathe due to his entire head being covered.

Was the future worth so much death? Yes, death was a normal part of life. It was a cycle. Inevitable. Some things live, everything dies. But to take a life, to kill, that was a sin in many cultures. And killing scarred the soul. It harmed the self, turned one into a hollow rendition of who they once were.

And yet, here Meloche was, killing.

The shock of how simple it was, and the numbness he felt at that fact, had faded away years ago. It was just an action, like breathing or eating. He moved in response to the Dari around him, avoiding harsh ax strokes, absorbed sword strikes as they sliced through his mass. Pain was almost alien to Meloche. His core, the nerves that governed agony, were far from the sap that armored his body like a second skin. The feeling he felt when the maple was harmed was a mere tingling sensation.

Perhaps that was it, as he danced and weaved with a few of the Dari. There was no pain to his actions. He did not feel the life bleed from their bodies, the pain that came with delivering a punch, or the way the fingers cried out when they squeezed hard against a neck. They simply... died.

There was no conflict. All of the difficulty of killing came from the soul.

And the soul was scarred, to the point that he felt nothing.

Meloche wondered if Eco felt the same. He was moving closer to Civu-Dari, sand weaving through his body. He swiped Dari away, pushed them back, twisted out of the way of the witch's spells of warping and transformation. She was going for the kill, Meloche knew. She needed to end this quickly.

Eco reached into his satchel, producing a small piece of purple. A slice of Endrocia, which he popped into his mouth and swallowed like a pill. The effect was immediate, as a lake of shadow pooled around his throat and spread out, overtaking his form as he took on the nature of Endrocia's unique ecosystem. Civu-Dari snarled, opening up her mouth, releasing out a bolt from her tongue. It struck true, sinking deep into Eco, his chest rippling as though it were a surface of water. There should have been magic – a warping of space, a transportation of half of Eco's form to elsewhere in Death Valley.

But Endrocia was a unique plane. Much of it was formed of anti-magic made physical. The air choked magic and broke down spellwork. The atmosphere denied witchcraft.

And thus, nothing happened, as Eco's left hand molded itself into one of the native dark crystals, swinging it at Civu-Dari, aiming for her head-

As her foremost leaped in between, blades brought up in an 'X' to clash against the metahuman's mace. The two began to skirmish, blade clashing against crystal. Meloche grunted as still more soldiers emerged from Civu-Dari's maw. They were wielding spears and shields. Half of them charged towards Eco. The others went for Meloche, who rushed forward to meet their charge head on. Spears drilled into his chest, though not deep enough to reach his core as he swallowed them down.

***

To his credit, Robber Fly was able to avoid the slashes and swipes of Oliphant with relative ease. He swung back up into the air, spinning around, producing a machine pistol and opening fire on the leader of the Silver Knights. Oliphant hunkered down, blade covering his head, bullets plinking off of his form, the scale armor sparking as it deflected each shot, and then he was back upright again, leaping into the air at Robber Fly, gritting his teeth through the phantom pain in his ribs, slashing downwards at the metahuman...

Joseph tried to ignore the skirmish as he and Becenti zero'd in on their other two assailants. Talrash and Domehead had separated from one another, both of them keeping their distance and firing from two different positions. Joseph noted Becenti sweating as he concentrated, keeping the beams of gold and bursts of gunfire at bay with his heat shields, the air rippling and un-rippling.

It fell to Joseph to provide recon. The distance between them and their rivals was so vast, that Becenti would have trouble pinpointing when one took aim. Especially Talrash, as she merely opened her mouth to unleash her metapower.

Thus, Joseph's soul covered over his eyes. The fact that the eagle was out meant he could not return fire – lest they fire at the same time, and Becenti was unprepared, and...

He didn't want to think about that. Not with the way the gold froze the heat walls Becenti created, or how they just barely seemed to hold from the Domehead's potshots.

“Ms. Ever-True,” Becenti said, “How many javelins do you have?”

“I've got three more,” Ever-True said, “Don't know how much good they'll do, though.”

“You only use javelins?” Joseph asked, “Not, like, a gun? Or something?”

Ever-True shot him a glare.

“No,” she said, “I don't use them.”

“She's a superhero, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “They tend to be more... colorful, with their methods.”

“I'm in a guild with a fish and a guy with a TV for a head,” Joseph said, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“You can't fire off a bolt of lightning?” Ever-True said.

“Not when my soul's out,” Joseph replied, “Not when- On your left, Talrash.”

“Right,” Becenti began forming a wall.

“On your right, too! The Domehead!”

“Hell,” the older man raised up his arms, his entire body shaking as twin lines cut across the desert and slammed into his defenses. Each one caused a physical shiver to ripple up and down his body.

“We can't-” he took a deep breath, “We can't hold out like this.”

Robber Fly, in apparent communication with his peers, was retreating. He was sporting a ghastly wound on his side, drips of red peppering the desert sand as he made his way to Talrash's side. Oliphant's blade glinted scarlet in the midday sun as he rejoined the group.

“We need to get in close, Shimmer,” he said.

“They're separated,” Becenti said, “Domehead on the right, Talrash and Robber Fly on our left.”

“Domehead...?” Oliphant said.

“Mr. Zheng's name,” Becenti said, “He's alone. We can make a break for him, if we're careful.”

“Right,” Oliphant considered the situation, “Right. Okay. Joseph, right?”

“That's my name.”

“Your... bird. Can you have it out and also fire off those bolts of yours?”

“No,” Joseph grumbled, “It's one or the other.”

“I'll take the other,” Oliphant said, “Lay down covering fire. Don't let Talrash or Robber Fly breathe. Shimmer, place a shield in front of us in case Domehead over there gets any ideas. Ever-True, when he reacts, pin him with a javelin.”

“He'll catch them,” Ever-True warned.

“Can he catch all three? At once?” Oliphant nodded, “I'll be tip of the spear, get in close. We move now.”

There was no debate. Despite himself, despite these orders coming from a veritable stranger, Joseph found himself moving. Becenti, too, seemed to agree with the orders, jogging just behind Oliphant, a heat wall shimmering in front of him.

“Fire, Mr. Zheng!” he called back.

Right. His job. Joseph spun, dropping the soul back into his body, his mind reeling a bit at the sudden loss of such sharp vision. But he still could make out Robber Fly and Talrash, two blips on the sea of sand. Pointing his palm out, he began firing off bolts of lightning. They lashed out weaker than he expected, without the usual build-up he was used to, lancing off in jagged lines. They sparked up smoke in the distance, mere puffs of blackened sand. But it was enough to make Talrash and Robber Fly take evasive actions.

“Concentrate on Talrash!” Oliphant called out, “She's the more dangerous of the two!”

Joseph nodded, taking aim and firing. Talrash spun in the distance, flipping away from each bolt. For a moment she seemed to be overwhelmed by his assault. Dark satisfaction pooled in his stomach as one of his bolts struck her head-on, pushing her back, the world thundering with a ravenous echo like a war drum.

But she was still on her feet, taking the shot-

“Duck!” he yelled out.

The beam of gold knifed through the air, a globule of gilded flame that made the group scatter. Ever-True leaped out of the way just in time, bits of ember floating out from the beam. Flecks of her uniformed burnished gold. Becenti dropped down, gritting his teeth and crawling on his stomach, the shield still up. The Domehead was taking advantage of this, firing off more shots that railed against Becenti's shield. The shield continued rippling forward as Becenti struggled to keep up with Oliphant, who was running just behind it, ignoring the chaos behind him. He held his blade in both hands.

Almost there...

“Eve, now!” he yelled out.

“Mr. Zheng!” Becenti snarled.

The two moved at the same moment, Joseph building up and launching another spear of lightning towards Talrash, Ever-True throwing her javelins, one after the other, at the Domehead. Joseph's bolt struck true, sending the Breath of Midas wheeling back, another gout of flame erupting from her maw, though this was sent upwards as her face jolted towards the sky, cutting off as she landed on the ground in a heap.

The Domehead tossed his rifle to the ground, hand reaching out, grabbing one javelin. Two. The third he deflected, swiping it away with one of its captured brethren, right as Oliphant reached him. Blade clashed against spearhead as the two danced, the mercenary on the defensive, blocking and parrying each of Oliphant's wide, sweeping blows. With one stroke, he cut through one of Ever-True's javelins, the two pieces of it knifing through the air and landing in the dust.

Becenti caught up to the pair, dropping his shield, heat forming into a hammer that fell towards the Domehead-

Who leaped to the side, wings molting out of his back. Big, leathery ones like a bat's, or a Dragon's. He was quick, this mercenary, as he flew like an arrow towards Becenti. Joseph's eyes widened as Becenti pulled in heat around him, trying to intercept the Domehead, who stuck out a hand and-

And tapped Becenti's chest. A moment later, like twin waves, heat came crashing down on him on either side. Becenti jumped back, stumbling for a bit, twisting his leg as he landed. With a grunt, he fell to the ground, glaring at the Domehead.

But, as opposed to being crushed between two walls of heat, being burned as though invisible lava flows had swallowed him whole, the Domehead remained standing, his arms shaking as he held them out to either side. The heat, Becenti noticed, was not shimmering through him.

It was shimmering around him. And, at the Domehead's order, began forming and withering away.

“Oh God,” Becenti muttered.

The mercenary, now in control of the greatest of Death Valley's dangers, sent a surge of Becenti's own power at him.

***

There was a certain sort of dance to combats like these. The magician and the anti-magician. Meloche had seen such duels many times in his life, on worlds where magic was common. For every thesis, an antithesis. An opposite reaction. A dance partner, different from the other in every way. As above, so below.

Such was the battle between magic and anti-magic. In many cases, the magician could do little to affect her enemy, who swallowed her witchcraft like candy. Intense gouts of flames, freezing bolts of ice and lightning, death made manifest in clouds of green, all was devoured by the anti-magic of her oppressor. It was all-encompassing. It warped the rules magic had twisted. And, most unfairly, it fell to the magician to adapt to the situation. Some, Meloche had seen, were used to anti-magic. They wielded blades, becoming more like battlemages in their technique, able to move flawlessly between spell and sword like the flowing of a river. Others had friends, great oafs with axes or clubs or some other blunt object, slamming them against the anti-magician until they stopped moving.

Some, too, had bazookas, and shot their enemy to kingdom come.

Civu-Dari was the second of those three. Small cuts now laced across her arms, near-misses from Eco’s crystallized mace. And from these wounds were streaming more of her slaves. Dari leaped out of the blood pooling on the sand, far enough away from Eco that the growth spell allowed them to leap into action.

There were enough of them to keep Meloche back, to keep him blocking spears and axes. They were adapting, more and more of them now wielding axes that easily cut through sap, arcing through it like jelly. Eco was alone, now.

A duel, between magic and anti-magic.

He was winning, too, as Civu-Dari became more and more frantic. Spellwork failed. Dari leaped from her body, only to be cut down by Eco's maces, battered aside as though they were nothing. He was a soldier, Meloche knew. A veteran of some war or other. A survivor.

What metahuman wasn't?

Civu-Dari was not finished. Not by a long shot, as she opened up her mouth once more.

There must have been a catapult within her, loaded by Dari and set ablaze. Not magic, but bone covered in oil. There was a moment where she found the opportunity to fire it, Meloche's eyes widening, Eco trying to twist out of the way as Civu-Dari extended a bloody arm, a flaming pebble bursting from her skin, growing in size into a fireball that collided with Eco's chest, holding fast to his chest and setting the shadows aflame, reminding Meloche of a beating heart.

Eco collapsed as Meloche threw himself past the Dari, ignoring the wounds as a few of them intercepted him, stabbing deep past his outer skin and into the core of his being. Pain lanced through Meloche.

And now, with fear for his friend gripping his soul, Meloche remembered what it felt like to be alive. He was on Civu-Dari in an instant, bringing up a great arm and hammering it down. It did not so much slam into her head as it did cover it. With a grunt that bordered on a roar, the great mass of sap forced her to the ground. He was aware of Dari screaming at him, screaming for their goddess, spears and axes falling down on him, a mob that could do nothing as he drowned Civu-Dari, who was struggling beneath him, writhing like a fish out of water, fingernails clawing hopelessly against his arm...

No.

He had to be better. But he did not know why.

But what he was doing was wrong.

He removed his grip from her, rising up and stepping back. The Dari stopped hacking at him, instead swarming around their goddess, checking her over. She was moaning softly, an agonized drone that just barely eked over the sobs and cries of the Dari. That, too, went silent after a while, as she faded into unconsciousness. Meloche hung back as they lifted her, as one, towards the sky, her body crumpled and broken. The foremost glared at him, daring Meloche to make any move at all.

Then, as a group, they moved off. Away from the center of Death Valley. Away from this game of metahumanity. Meloche watched them for a moment, before walking over to attend to Eco. His friend was bent over, clutching his chest, the boulder having fallen away – and taken a good chunk of shadow with it, the wound now bleeding darkness.

“N-Not bad,” Eco wheezed, “By the gods, one of the worst parts of Endrocia. 'Tis a brittle place...”

“Can you walk?” Meloche asked.

“I... Yes,” Eco replied. He was gasping as he rose to his full height, “Sand. I need sand.”

Meloche scrambled, mitten-like hands gathering a pocketful of dirt and gravel. With a shrug, he stuffed it into Eco's mouth. Eco choked for a second, chewed, swallowed, pinking tears of light brimming in his eyes, though that was replaced by shards of salt as he aligned with Death Valley's ecosystem. Sand overtook shade, and he seemed a bit steadier as he walked.

“Gods,” Eco said again, “Gods, she was something.”

“She nearly killed you,” Meloche said.

“She had the upper hand,” Eco coughed, “See? Just a flesh wound.”

He took an unsteady step, one that could not support his weight as his leg broke into a pile of sand. Meloche reached to support his friend as he stumbled, pulling him back up, Eco's leg reforming.

“I'm glad I have you, Mel,” Eco said.

“We should turn back,” Meloche said, “You're hurt. Injured-”

“'If we turned back at every wall in our way, we would only find ourselves standing still,’” Eco said.

Meloche glared.

“Don't quote me.”

“Don't make me quote you,” Eco said, “Come on, I'll be fine. We can afford a few injuries.”

Together, the two walked, Meloche supporting Eco, back into the wastes.

***

With a twist of his arm, Becenti brought a wave of heat between him and the mercenary. The Domehead did the same, the two roils crashing against one another in a miasma of heat and motion. Becenti felt himself slide back, bit by bit, as the Domehead’s intensified his attack. Gritting his teeth, Becenti pushed back, moving the cacophony of ripples away from the rest of his team. Oliphant, at that moment, took the opportunity to swing his blade at the Domehead. Blade clashed against javelin once more, and heat began to rumble in the mercenary's fist as he began drawing it in around him-

Only for Becenti to reach out, forming a barrier between the Silver Knight and the Domehead at the last moment as the mercenary unleashed a full torrent. Oliphant could only watch as the Domehead took to the sky, the only indication of his using Shimmer's power the slight rippling in the air, followed by a deluge hotter than a volcano.

“Get back!” Shimmer snarled, “All of you!”

It was all he could do to keep the mercenary at bay, torrents of heat pouring out around him. Becenti was unused to this. Not used to having his own powers turned against him. He had heard of mimics like these before. Power copiers, strands of ancient technologies from the Federation to ape metahuman abilities.

Or perhaps this one was a metahuman. A power-copying wanderer. Becenti, in a rare moment, doubted this to be true. Something about this particular combatant rang differently. The mercenary was… artificial, in a way. Good at his job, too, for he was adapting Becenti’s powers quickly. Becenti’s mind raced as he struggled to keep the Domehead at bay. Theirs was an invisible duel, one where the temperature rose and dropped, where the air shimmered like a mirage, heat crashed against heat, pure force that was without form or thought. It was all Becenti could do to keep from collapsing.

Joseph, at least, was keeping Talrash occupied, his bolts sailing towards the middle distance. The Breath of Midas was retreating, pulling back from the combat, slowly becoming more and more of a blip on the horizon. Robber Fly was joining her...

Until, at last, right as Becenti was about to give in, when his arms were crying out and his body ached all over from effort, the Domehead, too, broke away. With an alighting of his wings, he took after his compatriots, wearing heat like a cloak as he rippled away. Becenti sank to his knees, his breathing heavy. Joseph ran over and knelt down by him.

“You... you alright?” he asked.

A good man, Joseph was. He was quick on the upkeep, his eyes continually darting to the horizon for any danger, then back to Becenti for an answer.

“F-fine, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “Give me a moment...”

Oliphant ran to catch up to the two.

“Couldn't even get close to all of that,” he said, “What the hell was happening?”

“Heat,” Becenti said. He took a deep breath, a final exhale to right himself with the world, “He copied my powers. He could control heat.”

A silence. Oliphant watched them retreating.

“That's probably all they were after,” Becenti said, “Eliminating any one of us was just gravy.”

“Who were they?” Joseph asked.

“Talrash, the Breath of Midas,” Becenti said.

“No,” Ever-True said, “Don't say...”

“It's true,” Becenti said, “A former Son of Darwin.”

Joseph blinked.

“She's a girl, though.”

“Not the point, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said. He stood up, “This game is no mere game.”

“No, I'd suppose not,” Oliphant said, “Acero told me you were about, Shimmer. That you were... going to the other prisons.”

“Checking them,” Becenti said, “Making sure everything was alright.”

“And this is one of those check-ups,” Oliphant said.

“Yes,” Becenti replied, “And if a Son of Darwin is after them...”

“Then we'd best hurry,” Oliphant said, “That Domehead has your powers. He's become much more dangerous out here. The sooner we get to either them, or Visionary, the sooner we can nip this whole thing in the bud.”

He began stalking off.

“Come on,” he ordered, “We don't have time.”

“We just went through the ringer,” Joseph said, “You really think-”

“I said, go!” Oliphant yelled, “We don't have time!”

Joseph glared at Oliphant. Becenti put a hand on his guildmate’s shoulder.

“He's right, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “I'll be fine.”

Joseph gave Becenti a look, one the older man couldn't quite place. A storm was roiling in the young metahuman, one that, for a moment, seemed about to unleash itself. But Joseph was used to keeping his mouth shut, despite the indignation within him. He stood up, offering a hand to Becenti, who gladly took it. They went off after the two Silver Knights.

“The Sons of Darwin?” Joseph said.

“A guild,” Becenti said, “But later, Mr. Zheng.”

Exhaustion now replaced adrenaline. Despite the heat of the day, Becenti felt cold. It had been long since he had seen Talrash. Since he had shielded himself from her power. She was supposed to be in hiding. She was supposed to have joined some other guild, far away from the known multiverse, a self-imposed exile.

But she was here now. Serving her old master.

None of this felt right. None of it at all.

“I'm tired, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti whispered.

“No shit,” Joseph said, “You... you really take me on the worst jobs.”