“The damage to your leg is troubling,” says the doctor in his white coat. At least, Beacon reflects, what used to be a white coat. Dark splotches of dried blood and viscera cover the garment. The doctor’s coat should be pristine. Ideally, while the doctor did his work it would remain safe under surgical scrubs. But the field hospital ran out of scrubs on day one. Now, in day five, he knows how lucky he is to have even a bed.

The doctor himself did not escape the wear and tear of the fighting. His new and uneven beard has bits of blood dried into it. His hands, however, tell the story of the war. Fluids have crusted over digging under his fingernails and caking onto his fingers. Lines of dried blood run up his arms and onto his coat where they meet dried sweat stains and the grease of unwashed clothing.

Sweeping his eyes down, Beacon gazes at the rest of the man. Ashes and soot cover the bottom of his coat and run up one pant leg. The other leg of the coat is simply gone below the knee, in it’s place a dirty bandage that covers the doctor’s lower calf. Glancing back up, Beacon studies the doctor’s eyes. They are the worst part of his appearance. His eyes have no emotion, expression, or compassion left in them.

The stench is worse than the pain, Beacon idly reflects. Initially, he thought nothing would compare to the agony he felt as they rushed him through the blasted streets to the field tent. Now, however, he aches to be out of the canvas hell and back in the dying grounds. Struggling not to inhale through his nose, he focuses on the doctor’s words.

“If we had access to a real hospital I might be able to do more, but I doubt it. I have no idea what happened,” the man says without looking down at the bed. “I’d say your bone has microscopic holes in it.”

The doctor’s tone is dispassionate. His patient knows the voice. It’s come out of his own mouth more than he cares to admit, especially in the past two weeks. Planning the war forced him to clamp down on his emotions. But knowing isn’t the same as hearing. The doctor sounds hollow. He is defeated, but in demand. As such, he cannot give in. How long, Beacon wonders, until he is the same. After the Temple, after this war, all he has left is Napp, who can barely function between his grief and his new daughter. But the doctor, he must have someone. After this ends, he can go home and be a hero.

What is it worth, wonders Beacon, to be a hero? A little encouragement from the appropriate powers and his injuries healed, but so many of his wounds cut too deep for even Triage to fix. Outside, the war continues. If he could stand, he could fight. If he could fight, he could save lives. Then he looks at the doctor again.

Will he become that? Dead inside? If he did, would he save more lives, or less? Can he afford to find out? The questions play around in Beacon’s head as his gazes traces down until he is staring at his leg. Then he asks the only question that really matters, “If I stand up, will it shatter?”

Nodding, the doctor replies in an offhand tone, “Yes. Even if I’m wrong about the cause, the structural integrity of your bone is gone. You’ll need two months of treatment before you start walking again.”

Beacon resigns himself and swings his legs off the side of the bed saying, “They need to see me standing, leading, or this war will go on for another month.” He expects the doctor to stop him, to protest, to do anything. Instead, he looks up from the chart and meets Beacon’s gaze for the first time since he walked into the tent. Then he smiles. “The damage will be permanent,” he adds, uncaring.

“So are the deaths from this war,” replies Beacon as he stands. A moment later he is on his knees, howling in agony as his hip falls to pieces. The doctor makes no move to help him. Shuddering, he reaches for the light. His reserve is dangerously low after Ascherus’ last attack depleted it. With what little power he has, he slams his bone back into place, using the light to fill in the places where he doesn’t have enough bone. Wobbling, Beacon stands. His leg burns, but he will endure the pain.

With the doctor watching, he takes his first hesitating step. Seeing him fall, the doctor shakes his head and says, “Your right leg is shorter than your left now. You need to compensate when you step.”

Gritting his teeth, Beacon forces himself to rise. Wielding his power with the grace of a sledgehammer, he hammers his bones back into place, shifting his leg into the proper length. Clutching at the headboard of the bed, he runs a glowing line of energy through his bones. Realizing it won’t be enough he expands it, threading impossibly small lines through the muscles and tendons. When he finishes fixing his leg, Beacon takes a step forward leaning on his power to walk properly.

The doctor then points to his foot, the only exposed piece of his leg. Glancing down, Beacon spots the telltale glow of his ability shining through. Slowly, he dims the light as much as he can until the only sign of his weakness is a slight glow underneath his toes. Fixing his face into a smile, he places a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and steps out of the tent to face the reporters lurking on the edges of the camp. He needs to be seen, hale and confident of the coming victory.

As he walks out of the tent, leaving the doctor behind, he murmurs to himself, “You win round one Ash. But not round two.”

The sound of a gunshot startles Beacon to attention and out of his memories. Shaken, he glances down at the casket. Looking back up at the crowd of black-clad mourners he says, “Doctor Wagner von Kolnburg was a hero. He helped save my life in Berlin, after the Battle at the Temple. He endured…” Beacon swallows, trying to find the right words before saying, “He endured. And nothing else matters.”

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Then he turns back to face the honor guard as they raise their guns for another salvo. After they fire, Beacon steps down and allows a crying young woman who bears a familial resemblance to the doctor to take his place. She stammers out a few short sentences and turns to face the guns as they fire once more and the procession of speakers continues.

The sound of the gunshot reverberates throughout the room. At the front of the classroom is Vicious with one hand on a throwing dagger halfway through the throwing motion and the other reaching for one of his guns. At his feet lies Ginger Snap, her metal suit impaled by a black blade. In the back of the room are the captive members of the Eldritch Fan Club, terrified and screaming.

Lying in the doorway is Eldritch with her suit melted away and her hands holding a thin piece of the shattered door in front of her face. On her lips is Belinda’s name as she makes one final entreaty to the unresponsive spirit. One of her shoulders is bleeding from a bullet hole. A matching wound lies on her upper thigh, both marks of the weapon pointing straight at her.

The gun quivers in the hands of Dr. Doubt. His gleeful expression seems almost out of place compared to the rest of the room. But it matches the determination in his grip and the finger wrapped around the trigger of the gun. As he begins to depress the trigger, over a thousand miles away, another salvo fires into the sky as Beacon mourns his doctor on the outskirts of Berlin. In the classroom, the sound of a similar gunshot echoes.

Standing opposite Dr. Doubt in the hallway, behind Eldritch, is Detective Anderson. He can barely stand, his body ravaged by blood loss and exhaustion. Adrenaline brought him this far, and with the sight of the classroom the toll of the night collapses down in on him. Doubtless, had he retired earlier in the night he would be fine now. But Anderson endures. So he made his way onto campus, chasing after Dr. Doubt after the events at the gun store. And now, in his hand, is a smoking gun.

Across from him, Dr. Doubt’s gleeful expression does not change. Not even as blood runs down his forehead. Not even as he begins to falls. Not even as his body hits the ground and he drops the pistol in his hands.

The room seems to shudder with relief. But such relief is short lived as Vicious snaps into action once more, leaping towards Eldritch before she has the chance to realize Dr. Doubt is down. Behind her, Detective Anderson stumbles a few steps closer to the room. Then Vicious walks around the corner, hurling the hilt of his dagger into his stomach and forcing him to hit the ground. Winded and exhausted, the detective has no chance to shoot at the mercenary.

Seeing Eldritch has no protections, Vicious backhands her and steps over her form to move towards the sputtering detective. As he arrives, he steps on the gun just as Anderson crawls close enough to reach it. Then he takes the detective’s handcuffs and locks the man to a nearby exposed pipe. Kicking away the gun, he turns back to Eldritch, who has her cowl back but no other spells to shield her.

Incant as she might, Eldritch cannot move fast enough to stop Vicious as he pulls out his gun and points it at her. She has time to place but one barrier as he begins to shoot. The first bullet smashes her shield. But behind the first, Eldritch has another winking into existence. The second layer falls fast as the first when the second bullet collides. Closing her eyes reflexively, Eldritch braces herself for the bullets as she hears the bark of Vicious’ weapon continue. Curiously, however, there is no pain.

Opening her eyes, she realizes that Vicious unloaded the entire clip next to her head. Closing in on her, he draws a sword and slashes her newest barrier, destroying it. Then he places it at her throat and says, “Stop casting or die.”

Knowing she has no room left to maneuver, Eldritch complies. After a moment, she asks, “Wh-why aren’t you killing me?”

Glancing to the side, where Ginger is almost free of the black metal blade and cables, Vicious declines to reply as he unloops a mesh net of cable and hurls it over the struggling girl. Then he turns back to Eldritch and answers her in a cold voice, “Killing wasn’t in my contract. This is.”

With that, he takes an audio recorder from inside his suit and presses the play button. The sound that fills the room is surprising, even to Vicious, although his body language remains stoic.

“Eldritch Maiden, if you’re hearing me now then it means you lost,” says a melodious female voice. “And that is simply unacceptable. The day of the Wizard’s Return is nigh. It is not long now before he will surface from the lake of the dead and again walk the shores of the living. With his return comes the specter of the worst transgression of Atlantis’ sordid history.” The tone turns contemptuous as the voice continues, “Distasteful as it is you are the one poised to protect her. You bear the dagger, and so it falls to you to keep Belinda safe. But be warned! I shall not see her fall under his sway because of your weakness. Get stronger Eldritch or I, Melinda Athow, will take the dagger to protect it myself!”

Melinda Athow! Reeling from the revelation Eldritch hardly notices as Vicious drops the recorder and crushes it underfoot before vanishing. Indeed, she is still in a haze until Ginger escapes the net and shakes her, saying, “Hey Elly, let’s go already! The cops are just around the corner and I’ve got somewhere to be tonight.”

A mechanical voice only she can hear answers her entreaties with, “Your friend appears to be in mild shock, Ms. Napp. I suggest carrying her out of the building. It is highly likely that movement will jumpstart her faculties.”

Sighing, Ginger transforms into a giant suit of armor with broad hands. Then she scoops up the small girl and walks out of the room leaving behind the devastation of the fight. As she passes the detective, she checks, and is relieved to find, a strong pulse. Apologizing internally for the slight, she leaves him handcuffed and comatose as she escapes the building.

The two girls do not speak until on the opposite rooftop. There, Eldritch murmurs, “Thanks,” before hastily scrawling out a set of digits using magic. “If you need to call me, tell Erika. She’ll tell me,” Eldritch explains in a distracted voice before melting away into the night. For two heartbeats, Ginny considers giving chase to ascertain the other girl’s condition.

Then the suit’s voice breaks into her thoughts as it says, “Halftime will occur in six minutes according to the game clock. We must return to the stadium if we are to make it in time.”

Nodding, Ginger transforms into the shape of a giant bird and wings off towards St. Cecilia’s High. But as she goes, the mystery of the nights events weighs on her.

They weigh on another girl as well, for Hailey had no knowledge of this Melinda Athow. And the lack of a response even now from Belinda eats at her, the fear that her mentor truly has abandoned her. But in the Starry Realm, the revelations haunt Belinda as well, a fact we shall see next week in… “Second Take!”