All of Avenger's mercenaries were gathered around as he announced good news. The ship had now pulled away from the small fishing vessel below and taken to the open sea. Their course was back on from this delay with only the small addition of some useful stowaways. "Listen here," Avenger shouted, drawing attention.

All heads turned to the captain. It was a crew of twenty sailors, all in all. Both Powered and Powerless alike. But all were armed to the teeth. Most were stern men marked by dark eyes and five-o'clock shadows, all of a mottled European variety, though there were a few equally rough women among them as well.

Avenger continued in his thick accent. "Ironbolt and his Wards here will be joining our fight. I've known this man for a long time. Bob gave them a look over, so they're no skin-walkers either. They're the real deal. And they'll be a worthy addition to our forces."

There was a short introductory period where all who felt compelled walked by to shake hands with the newbies. To show their respect and their own face. Though, truth be told, Ironbolt didn't know a single other person here besides Avenger.

Back in the day, Avenger had run without a crew. He had only appeared for the rare and exciting team-up event. At least, before such things became too tense... As such, each one of these individuals was a new face.

When the greetings were done, the wards departed to find dry clothes. They did not wave goodbye or announce that they were leaving, they simply seized their opportunity, tired and shaken, to find reprieve.

As the crew returned to their duties this left just Ironbolt and Avenger standing in the bay. The former was well dried already, merely from his ambient body-heat. The latter seemed to have something on his mind. It was about time for them to catch up, anyway. So Ironbolt stayed.

And so, when the coast was clear, Avenger leaned back on one of the lifeboats in the bay and chuckled. His thoughts sounded, "Just like the old days."

Ironbolt let himself relaxed at last. He reminded himself that he was finally in the company of a true friend. This was one of the only people in the world who could understand him when he spoke at full-speed. Of course, this also meant that it was easier to make a faux pas. And so he went straight to the touchiest subject. "Here’s hoping this team-up goes better than our last, right?" Immediately, he regretted saying it. But the feeling was so refreshing that it almost made-up.

"London is still ashes last I checked," Avenger grimaced, still dark and brooding as ever. "But this time it'll be different. We warned those bastards and they didn't listen. Honestly, deep down, I think part of me sees what we're doing here as vengeance. We take the fight to them personally. And they'll be hearin' us loud and clear with a knife to their throats."

Both of the men could remember the events of London like they were yesterday. A flurry of villains started attacking in strange coordination. All at once, London escalated into a warzone. At first, people thought it was some kind of League of Villains scenario. But that wasn't it at all. There was no communication between them. Truth Serum only confirmed it. Each was acting on his own impulse. And so, it only intensified until Seraph decided to send in its big guns. Alpha Team, they were called. The best of any Straight Offense Hero Squad. Yet all along, it'd smelled rotten to the core. Cabals moved in the shadows. Red flags rose everywhere.

And in the end? It had all been a trap, just as Avenger feared and warned. There would be nothing left but a crater.

Ironbolt could only agree, subsequently, and try to harden his resolve. "It will be different this time. I know it in my bones. But I've also got to know who we're working with if I'm supposed to trust them and give my all, here. We're going to need perfect focus and a lot of help to get this done, so the teammates matter. Do you even have a plan?"

"Ah, you insult me..." Avenger reached up and removed his mask, withdrawing it through stringy black hair. The face beneath was scarred almost beyond recognition. Slash after slash puckered in ugly pink lines. Far worse-for-wear than how he was remembered. Yet, he smiled weakly as he revealed himself. "There's no point in keeping it a secret... It's King Solomon that we're working with. You should go ahead and get your complaints out of the way about that."

"No complaints," Ironbolt said, taking a deep breath. He was past his moral horror at this point. They had to take would they could get. "Solomon may be a terrorist and a bastard... A killer of the innocent... But we can deal with him later. After we stop Seraph. But just tell me one thing about him..."

"Maybe."

"If you're working together, then you must have seen his capabilities. Do we have a shot with him? He's known for his impenetrable defense and guerilla tactics. Random retaliatory terrorist strikes. But can he mount an offensive?"

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

"No." Avenger grinned. "Not, at least, against the full might of the Seventh King. But who fucking could? This is why we're not gonna fight them head-on. We're gonna fight dirty against those cunts. We go straight for the throat, divide and conquer. You asked about a plan. Well, it's already in place. After all, we weren't waiting on your ugly mug to arrive and save us. We were already on course when you showed up. And we're not taking you lot back to the Mideast for a dropoff. We're going straight into the pit of hell and you're just along for the ride."

"There's only one place you could mean..." Ironbolt trailed off. The implications were worrisome. He dared not call it a suicide mission, but it damn well sounded like it. "You'd need an army," was all he could think to say. And that was putting it mildly.

"Aye," the scarred man nodded. "But you couldn't get it past the Lich's Great Storm. Miles high. Miles wide... Anyone inside gets bombarded with hurricane winds, acid rain, and unrelenting lightning strikes until they're well and nicely fried. At least, they would..."

"No one can shut down a Power like that at a distance. And no one can create a force-field strong enough and large enough to march an army through a barrier like that..." Ironbolt shook his head. "So how are you going to do it?"

"We go around, obviously. But there's only one Teleporter in the world who can open a stable and permanent gate between points A and B."

"Mhmm, and he's working for the enemy," Ironbolt said.

"It's almost funny," Avenger explained, his gaze growing distant. "What happened in London was the key to all this, almost. When the fires engulfed the city, Rift had no choice but to shut down the connecting end's Portal. Used to be London to DC, if you recall. But they could only shut down one end. That left a door with nowhere to go at the other..."

Ironbolt's eyes widened. "You've got the portal's heart," he realized.

"We're using a Technicist who works off others' Powers. With him, we've been able to reroute the London gate's entrance back to the East. Now, all we have to do is get a small team through to open the other side beyond the Storm in Moscow's old gate. Then, we march straight in. Another puny King dies."

"That... might just work," Ironbolt thought. It was crazy, but it was a strong shot.

"Exactly. So we single out one of theirs, get in, put him down, and then get out before the cavalry arrives. They'll lose one of their strongest fighters, then, and the odds will be just a merciful shred fairer."

Just as Ironbolt was about to speak, one of the darkly uniformed men came back into the room. He had with him a tablet that he was intent on showing Avenger. His face was noticeably grim.

When the important news had been relayed, there was a long moment of silence. While Avenger took in the information, Ironbolt had not gotten a glimpse of the screen. He was left in suspense for what felt like an eternity before, at last, the truth was relayed.

"It's your monster," Avenger said. "Apparently, it survived the first strike, because they've just done a second."

Ironbolt swore under his breath. "Jesus. They tried to Glass him again?"

"My intel said you were involved with him. Is that right?"

"His Powers manifested late. We tried to pick him up and I tried to set him on the right course. So yes, I knew him before he was... that."

"Judging by the satellite photos, there's not a shred of whoever you knew left in that thing. If I had to guess, I'd say the Powers has gone fucking rampant. It's overwhelmed the user. So don't blame yourself. Because there was nothing you or anyone could have done."

"I just wonder if Maximal was right." Ironbolt hated to say it. The words were bitter on his tongue. "He was the Station Master at the time. He advocated killing the kid on the night the abilities manifested. Just, right then and there."

Avenger just grumbled. He was too cynical for this angsting about principles. What was done was done. He didn't like to think backward except to illuminate what might be a problem later on. And so he analyzed the psychology. "It's different mindsets," he started. "Yours is one for peacetime. You act with integrity and faith. But your mate, Maximal; his is a mind of war. When you know everything can go to shit with zero silver lining, then you'd rather be prepared for conflict rather than make friends. You doubt peace entirely because you know the next fight is just around the bend. So you'd rather be prepared," he emphasized. "You count your own coin and you never think charitably. Because an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of rehabilitation."

"I'm sure I can guess who you agree with," Ironbolt commented. He tried not to be too acerbic, but the whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth.

Avenger was unbothered, either way. "This is good news for us. The more problems the Creep causes for Seraph, the better off we'll be. And you can bet that if it survived once, it'll survive again."

"You say that, but you may regret those words. He's a threat unto himself..."

"It is just one thing. No worse than that flesh-eating Kizmet about six years back. You remember that? It's versatile, but it won't be able to do much damage. Worst case scenario, the bastard will end up like a recurring cold. "

Ironbolt brooded on the thought. Naturally, he'd had a great deal of time to think about the problem. And, whichever direction his thoughts turned, it was still like a far off thundercloud. Unlike Seraph, which posed a known and tangible threat, what bothered him so deeply about Creep was the lack of limits. As he understood the monster's Power, he saw no obvious downsides. There was no clear end to his growth in sight. Perhaps it would be discovered, but what if it wasn't?

What if every bit of their grand struggle against Seraph paled in comparison to a fight against one being?

In the end, Ironbolt shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

For now, he needed to catch back up with his Wards and make sure they were well-rested. There would be no breaks going forward. They were already in the frying pan.

Now, into the fire.