“Ah, so you are Shimmer's prodigy,” Meloche said.

“I...” Joseph's mind stumbled at those words, “I wouldn't call it quite like that.”

“It's good to see he's still alive,” Meloche said, “We lost contact after Ludaya.”

“He changed his name back,” Joseph said, “Could that be why?”

“Back to...” Meloche thought for a moment, “Back to what he used to be? Well, names come, and names go. It's fluid, with our communities.”

They walked across the salt flats, Joseph and Oliphant rationing their water supply. Meloche, due to his unique power, did not need anything to keep going. He was, by and large, a man completely covered in something akin to tree sap. He got all of his energy from it, and as a byproduct of his power, so long as he was completely armored in the molasses-like gunk, he did not need to eat or drink. But still, he carried a few canteens of water, though the way he handed them out, just hesitating a bit, clued them in that he did not enter Death Valley with them. As though they were mementos to someone lost.

“Still, it's good to see that he's doing well for himself,” Meloche said.

“He never mentioned you,” Joseph said.

“Ah,” Meloche said, “I am... Not surprised, to be honest.”

“Because of Ludaya?” Joseph prodded.

“...Yes,” Meloche said, “Because of that.”

Overhead, vultures circled. They were evidently late arrivals to Death Valley, having finally caught the scent of rot in the air. Joseph could see almost a dozen of them, each of them wheeling through the sky in their own circuits. A few of them were flapping down to one of the ridges that overlooked the basin, and he felt a cold, guilt-ridden relief that he could not see what they were feasting on. When he turned back to his two other traveling companions, he noticed that Oliphant had followed his gaze. The Silver Knight's face was grim, the grip on Durandal tight as a vise.

“Ludaya,” Oliphant said, “I remember hearing about it.”

“Oh, then perhaps the Federation wasn't quite as censor-happy as it normally is,” Meloche said, “You're a Silver Knight, yes?”

“Aye. It means that a few metahumans came back to us from the multiverse,” Oliphant said, “Ignition. But she wasn't around for long.”

“I remember her,” Meloche said, “She was a good friend of mine. I'm not shocked that she survived. And she left?”

“From what records say, about a year after the war ended,” Oliphant said, “No one knows where she went.”

“...I see,” Meloche said.

“What was Ludaya?” Joseph asked.

He knew the weight behind that question. But he voiced it anyway, crossing his arms and giving Meloche a look.

“You keep using these words that I'm supposed to know,” he said, “Becenti had me do a metric shitload of research on metahuman history, on Epochia, all that good stuff. But he's never, ever, mentioned Ludaya.”

“Because Ludaya was his nation,” Meloche said, “Our nation.”

The realization swept over Joseph. He blinked a few times as the pieces fell into place.

“Ludaya was a metahuman nation,” he said, “One he...”

“One that we formed,” Meloche said, “During the war. When the Federation was dealing with the Manticore. They allowed it, as it meant less metahumans joined the other side.”

“And when all was said and done,” Joseph felt a prick of anxiety that bloomed into a hollow understanding, “No, they didn't.”

“They did,” Meloche said.

“They say that Ludaya collapsed in on itself,” Oliphant said, “That it fell to infighting.”

“Typical Federation propaganda,” Meloche said, “We cannot have a state, for we are too barbaric to keep a society together. No, they destroyed Ludaya, and most of the leadership with it. The plane it was on was glassed out of existence.”

He let the words hang in the air, turning and continuing his walk in silence. Joseph stopped, digesting the news.

“I...” he stammered, “That's just...”

Oliphant rested a hand on his shoulder.

“It was a long time ago,” the Silver Knight said.

“Like that makes it fine,” Joseph muttered.

“It doesn't,” Oliphant said, “But it means that we need to keep our eye on the prize here.”

“Is that why everyone's here?” Joseph said, “They're all trying to see their futures, right? You think some of them are seeing if metahumans get another shot?”

“Hey,” Oliphant said, “We're here to apprehend Visionary. Nothing else. Come on, we've got a job to do.”

“...A door,” Meloche said.

He pointed at the ground. There was a sandstone door on the ground, runes and all. Joseph recognized High King Coral on the front, carved in sharp relief, his blue cloak and crown of stars faded by the endless planeshifting and the sheer reach of time.

Without a word, Joseph's soul came to life, and he walked over and pried the door off, setting it to the side with a gentle touch. He glanced down at the hole beneath the door. The entire affair felt like he was desecrating a tomb, as though he were crawling into a coffin and into some other world.

Which he had done before. He did not relish doing it a second time. Oliphant jumped into the hole. Meloche followed.

After a few moments, Joseph dove into the black.

***

Much like Becenti and Ever-True, they found themselves in a small clearing that led to a tunnel that stretched downwards. Unlike the other team's hesitation, however, Joseph's soul immediately covered his hand, casting them in its azure glow, and the three of them began to descend. Nothing accosted them.

They walked in silence, listening to the sound of rushing water beneath their feet, a potential warning that not all of Earthmute was man-made. Paintings lined the wall – histories of metahumanity, famous warriors and leaders walking beside them, rendered in ancient dye. Joseph found that he could recognize quite a few of the figures traveling with them. Once more, he could see High King Coral. His partner, Seeks-New-Roads. His sibling, Archaic Mosaic.

“The Brothers and Lover,” he murmured.

“Ah, you know of them,” Meloche said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Kings of... Armagest, I believe.”

“Ah, a metahuman who knows his history,” Meloche said, “A rarity, these days.”

“The fact that there are so many out here says otherwise,” Oliphant commented.

“They're out here because they had the dreams,” Meloche said, “And they remember a fable or two from their childhoods. Not something as academic as 'Brother and Lover.' Only scholars use that term.”

“Becenti made me read a ton of books on metahumanity,” Joseph said, “For an expedition.”

“Oh!” Meloche said, “A dead plane?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And was it a metahuman one?” Meloche asked, a hint of giddiness in his slow voice. The sheer excitement made Joseph, despite the tension in his gut, smile.

“You bet,” he said, “It was Chliofrond.”

“Chliofrond! By all the gods in all of the skies!” Meloche said, “By stars, Eco would have-”

His voice caught in his throat, and he went silent, the joy suffocated and smothered. Oliphant gave him a sad look.

“You lost someone out here, didn't you?” he said.

“I...” Meloche said, “I did.”

“Eco,” Oliphant said, “The name's familiar. He was the one with the nature powers, right?”

“He ingested an ecosystem, and he took on its form,” Meloche said, “He was... a friend.”

He did not say more than that.

“You have my condolences,” Oliphant said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “We've lost people too. Well, they've lost us.”

“I hope you can find them again,” Meloche said.

“What was... What was he like?” Joseph said.

“Hmm?” Meloche said, “Eco?”

“Yeah.”

“I... Well, he was an apprentice of mine, at first. A student in philosophy, who planeshifted from Zarabadroom to attend my lectures. But he soon surpassed me in many ways...”

The maple man's soft, deep voice echoed and rumbled as they went on, as he told them of Eco. Their friendship. Their adventures with their guild, the Disciples of Aether. The way that Eco would laugh at Meloche's cynicism, the way they fought side by side in the endless wars of the multiverse, for the Disciples were often used for that purpose. The way they would, together, look at the stars twinkling high above. The way Eco would, no matter what, get up at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise.

Joseph hung on every word.

***

Removing the shard of glass had proven difficult.

It moved of its own accord as they retreated, slowly slicing down Robber Fly's arm as he let out a haggard scream, to the point that Talrash had torn off a scrap of cloth from her robes and tied it around his mouth to muffle him. He was no longer in Robber Fly form, the cloth clenched in his teeth, sweat beading his brow, his left arm sporting a wicked gash that kept growing.

They ran, and after a while left the range of their assailant, the glass ceasing its painful wriggling and losing its unnatural autonomy. The Domehead laid Robber Fly down gently on the ground, taking out a knife and cutting away the camouflaged sleeves of Robber Fly's uniform. He pulled out a medical kit from one of his packs, and got to work on removing the foreign material from his arm.

“We're wasting time,” Talrash said, “Leave him.”

The Domehead stopped, turning his head slightly towards her. Considered her order for a moment.

Then turned back, and continued treating Robber Fly.

“I said, leave him!” Talrash snarled.

“...No,” the Domehead said.

That made her see red, as she stomped over, her breath filling with gold. The Domehead turned to face her.

“He's useless to us,” Talrash said, “That arm's good as gone.”

“I... I've got another arm,” Robber Fly grimaced.

“Move aside,” Talrash said to the Domehead.

“No,” the Domehead said, “He is injured.”

“That means he's a liability,” Talrash said, “We don't have time for pointless debates.”

“I know,” the Domehead said, “So let me treat him. Or you lose me on this, too.”

Talrash blinked.

“You... I'll tell the higher-ups about your insubordination, here, you damn fool.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“My orders come from Doctor Matergabia,” the Domehead said, “I don't care about who you're working with. So either you let me treat this man, or you're on your own.”

“I'll kill you,” Talrash threatened.

“Then you're still on your own.”

The statement cowed Talrash, who simply glared at the Domehead. With the argument finished, the mercenary turned back and continued working on Robber Fly's arm.

“Heh,” Robber Fly chuckled, “You aren't bad, kid.”

The Domehead did not respond. He applied a few gel-like salves to Robber Fly's arm, closing the wound and stemming the bleeding. He wrapped the entire affair in bandages, then helped him up. Robber Fly hid his pain behind a smarmy smile, but kept his arm to his side.

“Right,” Talrash said, “Now, the door into Earthmute should be around here. Let's go.”

She swished off. Robber Fly slapped the Domehead on the back, giving him another pained, but winning smile, and moved off after her. The Domehead, after a few moments, followed them.

He wondered if he'd done the right thing.

***

Pocket, Silicon, and Analyza went down the dark halls, all of them feeling just the right amount of tension mixed with excitement. There was real history here, what with the authentic carvings and paintings and runes that decorated the place. Practically every wall, floor, and ceiling had some piece of art attached to it. It were as though the people who had lived within Earthmute had wanted to chronicle every single day of their lives in stone, record everything they did and all that they saw.

All of it, in stone that no one cared for. Art that they watched with, at best, fleeting interest. For Visionary was at the pit of this place, waiting for them.

And that was all that mattered.

They opened a door to the side, which led to a large chamber. A round table was in the chamber's center, old stone chairs docked around it. There was a man sitting at the table, his brow slicked with dried red. His head shot up as he saw the three of them rush in. Blades began growing out of his back like quills, and he grabbed them and flung them at the group. One. Then two.

He did not get a third, as a wave of glass overtook him and shredded him to bits. His aim was nearly true, however, as both Pocket and Ana had hit the deck, the blades sticking cleanly out of the wall where Pocket’s head had been a moment before. Silicon stepped forward, glass storming around him, checking every nook and cranny for any other interlopers. But the man had been alone. Resting.

“Unprepared,” Silicon said.

Pocket wrinkled her nose at the sight of the gore.

“That's the third one already,” she said, “We came to a busy part of the place.”

“More metahumans than I would have anticipated,” Silicon said.

“Well, shit,” Pocket said. She took the opportunity to begin pulling out rifle parts out of her pockets, laying them on the table, getting a feeling for the menagerie of weaponry stored within her, “Ana, what do you want?”

“I'm not sure,” Analyza said. She was staring at the wall, getting a gauge, “Wow, they actually used anthithium for the blue here, that stuff's pretty damn rare nowadays...”

“Ana.”

Analyza turned to face her partner.

“I know that you don't like using these,” Pocket said, “But it would make me feel better if you had something.”

“Don't give me one of those,” Analyza said, “Get me... Get me a hammer. You know I can't shoot for shit, and we'll be close quarters most of the time anyways.”

Pocket nodded, pulling out an etnosteel hammerhead and clicking it onto a handle. She presented it to Analyza, who took it and tested its weight.

“We should move on,” Silicon said.

“Right,” Pocket said. She clicked together a heavy-duty assault rifle, clicking a last underbarrel into place. Lines carved along the rifle's barrel began beating with a harsh, red light. A heavy rifle from Kaleidos, one with enough power to punch through an elephant's skull. Analyza pretended to be fine at the sight of it.

***

“Here we are,” Robber Fly said, “Behold! A door on the ground.”

This particular door did not have as many decorations and runes marring its surface. Rather, the only thing on its front was a stylized depiction of a woman with pale skin and golden eyes, her moon-colored hair splashing around her like a lion's mane, a serene expression on her face. She was wearing sheer robes, and in her cupped hands was a single symbol, that of a Vitruvian Man, his head replaced by a riverstone.

The symbol of the Sons of Darwin.

“Visionary,” Talrash whispered, “Interesting, interesting indeed.”

“What, did the Earthmute folk see the future?” Robber Fly said.

“Perhaps,” Talrash said, “But Earthmute is alive, remember. He's a metahuman, like us. A good chance he drew this himself.”

“Aww, he's got a crush,” Robber Fly said.

“You, Domehead,” Talrash said, and she found herself a bit surprised she was calling the mercenary this, as well, “Open the door.”

The Domehead walked forward, wrenching it off with one hand, tossing it away. It splintered on the ground as he did so. Talrash glanced down into the pit below.

“You, Robber Fly,” the Breath of Midas said, “Check below.”

“Right on,” Robber Fly's molted into an insect once more, and with a buzz he slipped down.

“Only a few feet down,” he said, “Come on!”

Talrash leaped down into the tunnel. The Domehead followed her, the air rippling behind him as he pulled in heat from the outside air in with him. For a moment, the entire tunnel was filled with the overbearing, ambient temperature of the basin above, before he pulled into a ball that floated in his hand.

“You're getting better at that,” Robber Fly said.

The Domehead nodded.

“How long until the power wears off?” Talrash said.

“Another day,” the Domehead said.

“Good, plenty of time then,” Talrash said, “If we encounter Shimmer again, go right for him. I'll be right behind you.”

“What about the others?” Robber Fly said, “There's still Oliphant to deal with, as well as good ol' Joseph. And that other girl.”

“I'm concerned more about Shimmer than any of them,” Talrash said.

“I wouldn't be too concerned,” Robber Fly said, “It's cold down here. And dank. Hehe, dank.”

Talrash glared at him. Robber Fly shut up, clutching his bad arm.

***

“...So you pull in heat and use it,” Ever-True said.

“Correct,” Becenti said, “Any amount of heat is mine to control. At first, I could only push and pull it. Then, as time went on, I learned to intensify it. Form it into objects.”

“Which seems impossible,” Ever-True said.

In answer, Becenti pulled out his heatstone, clicking it on and pulling out a string of ripples, which he formed into a ball. He gave it a few experimental bounces, before tossing it to Ever-True. It was warm in her hands, as though she were holding a cup of coffee.

“The impossible is what the multiverse thrives on,” Becenti said, “If you expand your horizons a bit, you'll find that things are much more magnificent than you could have imagined. Besides, we’re metahumans. Who are we to decide what is impossible?”

He released his influence on the ball, which dissipated into a patch of warm air, one that dissolved entirely in the relative coolness of the tunnel. Becenti had let go of her hand long ago, and even though the darkness crept around them, he kept her talking, kept pushing conversation, perhaps to set her mind at ease. Occasionally they would stop, listening for sounds of danger. Then, they would move on.

She appreciated how casual he was trying to make things, even after everything that happened.

“Can I...” she cleared her throat, “Your heat. It can come from anywhere.”

“Yes,” Becenti said.

“Even the body?”

He gave a nod, though she noticed a hint of reluctance as he said, “Yes.”

“I see,” Ever-True said.

“I don't like to do it,” Becenti said, “I used the body against itself, during the war. It's a line I don't like crossing.”

He turned to regard her with an empty smile.

“You can make any object fly true, yes?”

“Yeah,” Ever-True said.

“Why javelins?”

“Because they're cool,” Ever-True said.

“What's to stop you from taking a machine gun and making it so every shot drives home?”

She had heard this question before. She always had the same answer.

“Because it's not right. Same with your powers, there are lines I don't cross. I'm a superhero, not a mercenary.”

“Hmm,” Becenti nodded in apparent satisfaction, turning to walk, “You'll learn that being a superhero and being a mercenary are sometimes one and the same. You’re just in spandex when you're on the job.”

Eve was quiet at that. She gave no answer as she followed behind.

***

Inevitably, the rushing water that hinted at Earthmute's more natural origins became louder and louder. One final door, and they found themselves in a dark cave, the water rushing in a river across ancient stone. Stalagmites rose from the cave's floor, miniature towers of tapered rock. Stalactites grew down like an old man's beard, dripping water to the ground. The entire cave's ceiling was studded with lights, like miniature stars, glowing geodes from a distant place, each one a different color, each one a unique hue. Ever-True stepped out in front of Becenti, her eyes wide as she stared up. Becenti could only smile-

Then shoved Eve to the ground, as an acid arrow sailed overhead. Bits of the arrow dripped down, steaming against the stone as it splashed. A metahuman was stepping out of the shadows, another arrow streaming out of her hand, a sickly green liquid that barely held together as she strung it to her bow. Becenti's heatstone clicked on, and he pointed it, ripples traveling from the stone to directly in front of them, not enough to form a full wall, only just barely holding together as the arrow slammed against the small barrier, acid splashing over the top and staining the ground directly in front of them.

Becenti and Ever-True scrambled back to their feet, Ever-True taking aim, getting into a stance, her last javelin gleaming in the cavern’s rainbow dusk.

She pivoted, at the last moment, as a second assailant melted into view, a massive man with six arms, his skin like a crocodile's hide. She let loose the javelin, which sailed into a chink in the man's natural armor, between two scutes on the leg. He let out a growling gasp as he fell to the ground.

Becenti, meanwhile, was pulling more heat out of the stone, forming more and more of a barrier between him and the acid archer. She nocked a few more arrows, letting them loose, testing Becenti's shield. Already, however, the older man was giving answer, heat forming into a few arrows of his own, which he launched at his assailant, who dove to the side.

There was a moment of tense preparation, as one prepared more acid, the other more heat. An odd elemental duel, one that was splitting away from Ever-True and the six-armed man. Eve was taking a few steps back, reaching into a hidden pouch located on the small of her back, retrieving a few iron balls that she flung as hard as she could at the large man. Each one thundered at his skull, a series of five harsh cracks that made him stumble backwards, javelin still awkwardly jutting from his leg. It would have been enough to kill a lesser man, one whose skin was not tough and knotted and green. As it was, the six-armed metahuman could only fall on his back, clutching his skull, a dull moan escaping his lips.

Movement to her left. Ever-True spun, right as Becenti and the acidic metahuman lobbed another series of volleys at each other, as a figure came out of the door. This one was wrapped in silks and purple sashes, their entire body covered in cloth, all of it beautiful. All of it, embroidered. They took a moment to consider the battle before them.

Then, their eyes began to burn red.

“Duck!” Ever-True shouted. She hit the deck, practically slipping on herself as twin beams of light erupted from the silkhewn metahuman's eyes. She watched as Becenti leaped out of the way, just in time, the acidic metahuman grimacing as she, too, dove, the beams just grazing her side.

Becenti scrambled to his feet, heat bracing around his hand as a club. He rushed towards the acid-bearing metahuman, who rose and streamed another arrow, the only shape she seemed to be able to craft. He spun out of the way as she fired it off, bringing the club down. Once. Twice-

And then he felt arms wrap around him, pulling him back, lifting him up completely, the crocodile-skinned, six-armed metahuman roaring as he slammed Becenti into the ground. Becenti gasped, feeling the air rush out of his system. He brought up a hand, a ball of heat fashioning into a stake. The six-armed man knocked the hand away, two of his own curling into wrecking-ball like fists, two of them thundering into Becenti's stomach. Becenti choked, gasping as he doubled over in agony. The crocodile brought up his six arms again-

And the world behind them exploded in a BANG that deafened them all. Becenti was aware of a flash of blue, of the stink of ozone in the air, the crocodile man flying past him and into the opposite wall, laying still with a horrid, burning welt on his back that webbed to the floor. The acidic metahuman, her eyes wide, began scrambling back.

Through ringing ears, Becenti could hear his voice.

“'Sup, dipshit,” Joseph said.

Behind them, Oliphant had burst out of seemingly nowhere, his blade dancing alongside Ever-True against the sash-covered metahuman. Eve was throwing more iron balls, a few of them skipping and bouncing off stone to strike at her target, connecting with their vague form, causing them to collapse. Beams of hard, red light scattered across stone, burning through the floor and walls as Oliphant deflected them with his blade. He stepped closer and closer. Until he was right on the metahuman.

One slash. Two.

The metahuman crumpled.

The last metahuman, the acid archer, was already running. Joseph gave her a hard look as he saw her leave, opening up a door that led to the outside world, slamming it behind her. He extended out a hand to Becenti.

Who took it.

Who then, trembling, wrapped Joseph in an embrace, one so hard Joseph was sure his back would snap.

Releasing him, Becenti looked him over, then patted him on the shoulder.

“If you,” Becenti's voice was cracked and quiet, “If you call me 'dipshit' again, I'll have you feeding the goats for a month.”

“Good to see you too, man,” Joseph said.

Ever-True approached Oliphant, who was standing over the body of the silk-hidden metahuman. He turned, giving her a sad smile as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Glad you're alright,” he said.

She nodded, “Glad you are too.”

She cast a dour look at the corpse.

“You killed them.”

“No choice,” Oliphant said, “It was one of those situations. Besides, we don't have time to lug a prisoner out of here, not when we're close to the real target.”

The casual disregard of the act made Ever-True's face tighten. But Oliphant did not notice as he went to inspect the other metahuman, the one with the six arms and the reptilian skin. Joseph, meanwhile, was talking to Becenti.

“Yeah, we were trapped in some weird limbo world,” he said, “Oliphant and I. It was crazy, like a dark mirror. Thought we'd be trapped forever, until Meloche came along.”

“Meloche...?” Becenti said, and then stopped in his tracks as the great, sapformed philosopher stepped out into the cavern. The two of them stared at each other, both unsure of what to say to the other.

“...Shimmer,” Meloche started.

“It's Becenti, now.”

“Becenti, then,” Meloche said, “You look well.”

“Carrying on as well as can be,” Becenti said, “And you?”

“The same,” Meloche said.

Behind them, Oliphant nodded in satisfaction as he finished checking over the six-armed metahuman.

“Big guy's going to be out for a while,” he said, “Good job with that, Joseph.”

“Been charging up for a while,” Joseph replied, “Thought I'd need to, you know?”

“Right,” Oliphant said, “We should keep moving. Eyes on the prize, people.”

He turned, considering the cavern for a few moments. Then, he turned to Becenti.

“Shimmer,” he said, “Where to?”

“Where else?” Becenti said, “None of the doors here seem to lead downwards. We should follow the river, I think, down into the more natural parts of Earthmute.”

“Right, then,” Oliphant said, “We're in an active combat zone, people. Eyes set, and be ready for anything. Joseph, you and I take point. Eve, get your javelin out of Crocs over there, you'll need it. Shim, you and Meloche take up the rear.”

They took up positions, and moved as a unit down the river. All but Ever-True, who lagged for a few moments to stare at the bodies.

“Eve!” Oliphant called, “Come on!”

She turned, bit down her emotions, swallowed them, tried to settle them in her stomach. Becenti's words came back to her as she rejoined the squad.

“You'll learn that being a superhero and being a mercenary are sometimes one and the same.”

But there was work to be done, and neither darkness nor this subtle, quiet disillusionment would stay her step. Above, the mosaic geodes glittered, thousands of eyes watching their passage through the corridors of stone.

Watching.

And waiting.