At some point in time, the cold steel operating table had become a filthy hospital bed, but I didn’t have the frame of mind to know exactly when that happened. Unconsciousness came in relentless crashing waves, the choking kind that would feel like you were being strangled. I didn’t know what Frankie had been doing to me, or how long she’d been trying. I remembered her face, got chills running down my spine every time her blood-splattered surgical mask flashed into view. Hell, she wanted me alive, and I was floating on the edge of consciousness, just about able to keep my mind turning over to at least figure that death was a little bit further away than she used to be.

Frankie had gotten frustrated, that’s all I remembered. Maybe because she was right, maybe because I was dying and there was nothing she could do. I remembered…shouting, throwing, then she had leaned against the table, pulled down her mask, and her eyes had been ringed with dark circles, and her mouth had been moving, her head shaking, but you couldn’t blame me for not being able to follow what was happening. Pain stopped being something I knew—it was just a new thing I was sharing my body with, like some virus. Like some disease killing me, eating up my freaking insides, I thought. My eyes were still shut, and the sound of my own voice was new to me. Almost comforting. I hadn’t had a clear thought in ages. In so long that I nearly forgot about it.

I guess that sounded like I loved the sound of my own voice, but when you got used to hearing the sound of music dialed up to drown out the sound of screaming, you appreciated the small things in life a little bit more. My throat was still raw, I could feel it as I swallowed what little saliva I had left in my mouth. Thirsty. Hungry. A tube in my arm feeding me what little nutrients I needed to just about stay alive until Frankie needed me again. Gods. I didn’t even have the strength to properly push these dirty, foul-smelling sheets off of me. Panic. I should be afraid. I couldn’t muster the energy for that. My heart was loud in my ears, but maybe because I felt so drained.

You’re not gonna just die here, are you? I thought. I dragged my eyes open. Blinked. I turned my head left and right, seeing nothing except rows of empty hospital beds and darkness. Stained mattresses. Torn sheets. Curtains hanging limply off railings, and old tube drips dangling onto a floor littered with nothing except dust. The bed creaked as I shifted, breaking the silence. It was an announcement to whatever was in the dark, whatever was still lingering around these beds. I hadn’t been afraid of the dark since, well, I guessed it didn’t really matter now. I shut my eyes again, not really wanting to entertain any thoughts there were brewing because of the quietness.

It was difficult not to, though. I was frustrated, angry at myself. I wasn’t the kind who’d cry out of anger, but I was the kind to swear and laugh a little because fuck. The air was frigid, my breaths, presumably, were curling out of my mouth and nose. This wasn’t even about not wanting to die in some dark and forgotten, rotting little hospital nobody will ever find me inside. My arms were bound to my sides, even though the bindings were loose. My feet weren’t even locked to the bed frame, but I still couldn’t find it in me to kick the bedsheets off. I was frustrated because there was once a time when being strong meant life or death—not on this planet, though; the humans understood strength, but not the same way the people that raised me understood it. Emotions were a tool we were supposed to use, not get used by, and whatever else those fuckers had to say to the rest of us who couldn’t even look them right in the eye without faltering to our bruised knees.

Being at the bottom of the food chain was a feeling I had forgotten about. An emotion that I had long since left for dead deep in my mind. Some Normals saw the writing on the wall, knew that they weren’t so much as near to the final rung of the food chain let alone on it. Supers thought they were on it, too, and I hated to admit it, but so many of them were on it. But Gods, if only they knew what was at the top, how miserable it would make them feel, because there was no fighting the inevitable. No point fighting the impossible. And I had gotten used to this shit of being at the top, of being the one that people pointed at and said, She’s the one you should worry about.

I was back there now, somewhere crawling around on the bottom rung, helpless, weak, frail and shivering in the dark all because of a supervillain I should have murdered a long time ago.

Stop falling out of the sky, dad had said to me a long, long time ago. Just stay afloat.

And I wish it was that simple, dad, but (and yeah, I was starting to see the bitter irony in this) it was easy for someone like him, someone so powerful to not even bother understanding what it was like to just not be able. It wasn’t a mental barrier, or some internal struggle. It was just how it was sometimes, and sometimes you’re just going to be slower, weaker, more vulnerable than them, and there was little you could do than just train a little more, push yourself a little more, and hurt yourself that little bit more to be just about as good as the person they were months ago.

And now all of that had been taken away from me, and I was just as helpless as any human. No amount of training could have helped, because at the end of the day, strength was king.

Period.

“Gods, you suck,” I said. My words fell flat into the dark. “The Grand Admiral was right.”

If these are the thoughts of all the girls around your age, then it is a blessing that I am rarely around them. I stayed still, laid out flat on my back, wondering if I had conjured up those words. My heart was starting to race. The embers of misplaced joy were sparking in my chest. I figured this was probably as bad as my spring break was going to get, being happy about hearing a villain’s voice echoing around my head, but I couldn’t help but smile weakly and laugh dryly, making my stomach tense with pain as bitter blood sprang into my mouth. She lives, and yet, you feel as if you’re already wandering into a plain of existence where many are waiting for you.

Witch, is that you? I thought. I prayed that I wasn’t starting to lose my mind in this place. Where the hell have you been all this time? Where the hell are you right now, ‘cause I need—

Help, yes, I know, but not yet.

I balked, going blank for a short beat, then my eyebrows furrowed with a little bit of anger. What do you mean not yet? Frankie’s been picking her way through my guts for the past hour.

And yet you’ve survived to tell me about it as you think of these…things, these people who I assume are just like you, she replied. All I need is for you to simply push forward that bit more.

I snorted bitterly. Easy for you to say. You haven’t had gallons of blood drained out of you.

All I can say for now is that I believe in you, and when the time is right, I will be there. Silence, a poignant silence that brought panic briefly back to me. A mother knows what’s best.

Not when leaving me alone with shadows that were beginning to stir was what’s best.

Wraith was a pale flicker as he oozed out of the shadows, walking in his awkward, stilted gate toward me. Cherry lumbered behind him, a mass of flesh that made my dry mouth even more sour. Wraith was oddly silent, his dark eyes darting from one side of the shadows around us to the next, as if it wasn’t him making them so restless. They were lashing out at bed frames, shoving away old curtains and crawling up the filthy, moss-stained walls like broken fingers grasping for the exposed beams above me. Frankie, meanwhile, walking ahead of him, looked frustrated again. Her lab coat hung off her shoulders, almost like some bloodied cape billowing in her own striding walk. She was carrying something in one hand, something large and thick, and the other was toying with a scalpel, flicking it around her knuckles like some silver coin with a knife’s edge.

“Well, you’re awake, so that’s at least a little bit of good news,” she muttered. Frankie stopped beside my bed, making Cherry and Wraith halt a few steps behind her. Both remained mute, distant, as if they didn’t want anything to do with her. I angled my head and spat on her lab coat, but that didn’t do anything except add to the stains already coating it. She smiled flatly, then dropped the thing she was carrying—a book, a very, very fucking heavy book—onto my gut.

The wind was blown out of my lungs, and my vision exploded into flickering sparks. She flipped the tome open as I tried to catch my breath. The pages were thick, almost leathery the way they sounded as they brushed against each other. I couldn’t tell much about how it looked—too dark, too little air in my lungs allowing me to focus. Frankie was looking for something, mumbling something, too, as she finally reached the tiny pink bookmark poking out from the top of the book.

“If it’s one thing I hate, it’s pseudo science,” she said quietly, maybe just to me. “I took an oath, and this”—she waved her hand at the book, fingernails still wet with my blood—“isn’t that.”

“I’m sure whoever trained you would be proud that you’re standing up for what you believe in,” I said, coughing weakly, wincing, and trying to watch for the scalpel in her free hand.

She stared at me, her face so hollow, so pale, that those dark locs of hair surrounding it made it seem as if her head was severed from her shoulders. Frankie leaned in close, hands on her knees, then said, “I always hated the plucky little superhero bit. If I could I’d cut out that tongue of yours and serve it up to Cherry. I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut this time. All of that screaming nearly blew out my eardrums, and listening to music really, really screws with your concentration, and unless you want to end up dissolving into viscera, you’ll listen to me this time.”

“Hey,” I said quietly to her. Her eyebrows knitted as she glared. “Come close for a sec.”

“If you have something quippy to say, save it for—”

“It’s about the people who want to get me out of here,” I whispered to her. Cherry stirred, taking one step forward. Frankie lifted her hand, not looking at the monster just over her shoulder.

She was skeptical for several seconds, her eyes narrowing as she watched my face. Then she leaned in a little closer, still holding that scalpel ever tighter. When she was close enough, I bit down hard on her ear, spitting blood into my mouth as she reared back and swore. Frankie clasped the side of her head, pulled back her fingers and saw the sheen of blood on her fingertips. I spat out the tiny chunk of flesh I’d gotten off her, then smiled. It didn’t last long—she hit me across the face, bare knuckles smacking against my temple. I laughed dryly, choking on saliva and coughing as my eye felt like it was going to swell. She flexed her hand, shaking it out as she glared at me.

“Did your grandma teach you how to throw a punch?” I asked. “What the hell was that?”

She placed her hand on my gut, on the wettest part of the bandages, then leaned on it. Blood seeped into the linen sheets and the cloth around my stomach. Agony blossomed in my torso. I bit back a cry and tensed, trying to swallow back the pain, but all she did was push more.

“Sister,” Wraith said, his voice like nails against a chalkboard. “Caesar made it clear—”

“Don’t quote that man to me,” she snapped quietly, pulling her hand away and wiping her fingers on the bed sheets. She took a deep breath, counted to three, then said, “You’re dying, O.”

I wheezed out a response, steadied myself, then whispered, “Not down here I’m not.”

“And,” she said, grabbing the book, “I don’t have much of a choice left but to use this.”

Am I supposed to know what that is?

“Great,” I said, finding at least enough strength to sound a little like my old self. “She’s gonna read me into an early grave. My mom stopped reading me stories when I was five, dipshit.”

It barely took a second for Frankie to pull the scalpel out from her breast pocket and bury it into my thigh. I screamed out in a short burst as she wedged it deeper into the meat, all whilst her eyes scanned the pages she was reading, barely lending me so much as a glance. “See,” she said, “I was never the kid who cheered when the hero came on screen, and nor did I really give a shit about the supervillains. It’s just so intriguing to me that we two probably grew up around the same time, watching the same shows, reading not quite the same books, and look at us now!” Frankie grabbed hold of the scalpel with her fist. I breathed hard, fast, as sweat stung my eyes. “Friends who seemingly just cannot stop from bumping into each other. I think we should have nicknames.”

Frankie twisted the scalpel. I tried not to scream, tried clenching my teeth harder together, but I couldn’t stop as she dragged it an inch down my leg, but fuck, fuck! It felt like an eternity.

“Oh, what’s that?” she asked. “Not feeling like a nickname? Maybe you’re just not that kinda gal. How’s about I carve my fucking name into your thigh so you don’t ever forget it?”

I was breathing too fast to reply to her. The bed was drenched in sweat. My hair was glued to my face and neck, slipping into my mouth the faster my lungs expanded over and over again.

Frankie slowly pulled the scalpel out of my thigh, so slowly that all I could do was groan until the frigid piece of metal was finally out. She wiped it on her fingertips, looking closely at it as it began turning a deeper shade of scarlet, crimson, and finally black. “Won’t you look at that?” she said, finally meeting my eyes. “Making jokes at times like these isn’t actually all that funny, is it?”

Remain focused, Witchling said, her voice lost in the molassis of my mind. Two minutes.

Frankie slipped the bloody scalpel back into her pocket, then held the book in both her hands again. Her eyes scanned the black pages, her eyebrows coming together as she read. More sweat dampened the pillow and my face. If you lose consciousness, we won’t be able to find you, Witchling said. Stay focused. Two minutes. I couldn’t tell what she was planning, barely had it in me to think, so I blinked the sweat out of my eyes, tried to slow my breathing, and watched Frankie begin to trace her finger along a page I couldn’t see. She was muttering something silent, something that was making Cherry shift and groan, his patches of flesh roughly brushing against one another as he moved toward her, one step, then backed off as if repelled by something.

“A mixture of languages,” she muttered. “Hebrew. Latin. Tamil and even Sanskrit. It’s jumbled together, like some mess of body parts, except the sentences are broken. I suppose it’s not really meant to make sense to the likes of us. But what good are instructions without testing the limits first?” She smiled at me. “I hope you’re excited to experience something brand new to you.”

“What…this…time?”—One more minute. Stay awake, she said—“I…pain….used to it.”

“Oh, not this kind,” she said, sticking her finger into the gouge she made on my thigh, working it around and making the muscle spasm and my body jerk in agony. Frankie raised her finger above the book, flipping to another page I couldn’t see through my hair and sweat (and it was just sweat). Droplets tapped against it, and I caught a glimpse of Wraith dragging his forearm across his lips. The shadows were lapping at his legs, grabbing at his large baggy pants. “This is the kind of something that you think doesn’t even exist until you see it happening in front of you.”

Frankie tilted her head. “But, on the one hand, I suppose I don’t quite believe in magic.”

“I-I do,” Wraith whispered hoarsely. “It c-calls. Sings. You can hear it too, right, Frankie?”

Her lips thinned as she ignored him. “Whatever the case, happy soul selling season.”

Close your eyes, I heard Witchling say, don’t be alarmed, and do not die, child.

I did as she asked, too confused, too wracked with pain to even questions either of them.

Then the air started smelling strange, started feeling hot and heavy against my skin. The few loose stones on the floor skittered, their echoes sonorous. Oh, shit, I thought, bracing myself, hearing Frankie swear and ask Wraith what the hell was going on. She grabbed my arm, nails digging into my skin, but even through my eyelids I saw the bright flashes of light go off one after another in the dark—bang, bang, bang—-like ferocious little gunshots. I heard Frankie yelp, then something whined through the air after a particularly violent bang. Coldness washed over me. Her fingernails stopped gripping me. The explosions halted suddenly, and I opened my eyes, finding bed frames blown to shrapnel, tiles broken and splintered, as if a series of grenades had gone off.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Frankie, Wraith, and Cherry had vanished, probably because of Wraith’s powers. I blinked again, getting grit out of my eyes, looking around me and finding nothing, nobody, until a figure came out of the dark, her gun drawn, her empty eyes tracking her surroundings. She was covered in smears of blood. Her gear was torn in places, exposing the taught muscle underneath. And I had never in my life been so happy to see Knuckles before the moment she holstered her pistol and worked off my binds. She looked unsure of what to do with the drip, shrugged, then decided to keep it in after she scanned my body. Typically, she didn’t speak, but she was working quickly, tensely, as if there was something that was making her angry deep, deep in her gut right now.

“Lean against me,” she said. I didn’t have much of a choice. It was either I kissed the floor or she dragged my limp body. I held onto both her and the drip, taking it with me. “Come on…O.”

If I wasn’t in so much pain I would have smiled. We walked-limped through the dark at a painfully slow pace. My right leg was shot. My entire body was out of this. Every footstep brought me a little closer to passing out, and holding onto the IV drip bags was starting to become harder and harder as they slipped through my fingers. Knuckles had one arm around my lower back as the other gripped hard onto her pistol. I didn’t know where I was going. All I knew was that her gun was smoking, and that she had shot at something, maybe someone, but I couldn’t tell right now.

I doubled over and puked, collapsing onto my hands and knees. I tasted bile and blood.

And something so sour it made me puke all over again.

I shuddered, glad I couldn’t see the vomit on the floor in front of me. With a shaking hand, I wiped my mouth, and flinched at how cold my fingers, my knuckles, my entire arm felt on me.

“Did she poison you?” Knuckles asked, pulling me back up, putting away her gun so she could hold me up a little more. “No, it doesn’t smell like it.” She did the unthinkable and put my puke to her lips after unclasping her mask. Knuckles spat, then fit it back into place, the shadows obscuring most of her face. “Nothing I can taste, either. But I taste stomach acid. Intestines, too.”

“Should…Should I be concerned that you know how that tastes?” We were staggering along again. The shadows were frothing again. I heard Cherry’s bellowing shriek explode down the hallway of forgotten hospital beds. Knuckles yanked me away from a wall, where a shard of black erupted seconds later. I collapsed onto the floor, my jaw slamming against the tiles. My head rang. Weak. My limbs worked, flopped, tried to get myself up and away. Where? To where? Knuckles dragging me along the floor, shooting, shouting, the gunfire glinting off her black mask. The shadows were lashing out, grabbing at beds, throwing them at us. A hailstorm of metal and mattresses, broken tiles and shattered mirrors and—a scream, a limp hand, then a dash of blood.

Knuckles dropped to the ground, groaning, then grabbed me by the armpit and hauled me onto my feet as we staggered forward. Through my hazy vision and strands of hair I saw beds clattering against something invisible. Saw them bend and bounce off into the dark and slam against the walls. Some kind of barrier. A shield. Knuckles was half-dragging-half-pulling me along, my feet lost underneath me, not able to keep up, stumbling over tiles and sheets, each other and her boots. The drips had been yanked out of me. Pain was beginning to swallow me whole. I had puked again. Didn’t know when. Voices. Voices screaming, calling. Knuckles stumbled and fell, and this time she didn’t get up. The barrier faltered. A bed shot over my head as I fell beside her, biting into the tiles again, whacking my temples against the floor. The shadows blossomed.

Bubbled.

Frothed.

They crept over my skin, feeling like it was burning, chewing, eating at my flesh.

A tiny hand clamped onto my fingers, only big enough for three in its fist. I was dragged forward, my hair wild in the shadow’s lashing waves, my ears deaf to the sound of metal slamming against the walls and the floor and the shouting of people—no, children—coming from the dark.

A tug on my leg. Something pulling me back. I bit down, tried not to feel the pain that shot down my spine as I was yanked in both directions. The shadows were livid, alive, raging and rioting around me, around us, clamping onto my legs, climbing up to my waist, not letting go—

Something rose behind me, something large enough that I could feel it.

Cherry mewled his hellish scream, making the ground shudder as he ran.

I would like to tell you what happened, but all I saw a moment later was a terribly bright blinding light above us, so harsh and cold it singed the hair right off my arms, then a silent pop.

The darkness vanished, replaced by a blazing white light, then it all came rushing back.

I came to with a sudden start, and was immediately pressed back onto the ground by a slender hand. I breathed quickly, gasping for air, which only dried my throat even more. I looked around myself, saw the bodies standing stiffly all around me. They were featureless and slim, too perfect, lacking everything that a normal person looked like. Mannequins, I thought. The real bodies were sitting around me, huddled together, some with their backs against the wall, others a little hunched over with their knees against their chests. Sam was staring at me from the back of the group, his face flat, his pincer clicking continuously as he pulled at his medical gown and short cropped hair.

When I looked up, I saw Witchling’s empty black eyes staring down at me as she smiled. She looked clean, fresh, and smelt of lavender washing soap. My head was on her lap, and she had been sliding her fingers through my hair, continuing even as I tried pushing her hand away from me. Knuckles, though, was unconscious a few feet away, with a heavy blanket both under her head and spread over her body. She was breathing, and the mask was still on her face, but loosely. She had a gash along her ribs just as wide as mine felt. Someone—Kanz, I guessed, as I watched him check her temperature and dab a cloth against her forehead—had tried to patch up her side.

The darkness wasn’t so heavy around us. Orbs of light floated just above our heads, mellow enough not to be painful to the eyes, but bright enough to banish any lingering shadows.

I am not a healer, Witchling said to me as I shut my eyes again, not because I was comfortable on her lap—Gods, ew—but because my body still felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. So I can’t be sure that she’s going to be okay, but the winged boy seems to care a lot.

“The kids,” I whispered. “Are they all okay? None of them got hurt, right?”

Yes, they are all safe, some with scrapes, but fine, even though they are…a handful.

You mean a distraction, I thought, just so the kids wouldn’t hear. I know what you are, Witch, and what you’re capable of, so don’t fool me with this caring mother bullshit, got it?

Witchling stopped running her fingers through my hair and seemed to tense. I get it.

“But…thanks,” I muttered, “for saving me back there, even though you put me in here.”

Teleportation was never my strongest extra curricular, she replied. I sometimes struggle with it, unlike Damsel. My plan was originally supposed to be one of silence and clean efficiency.

Yeah, and how’s that going for you so far?

I apologize, she said softly. A pause before she spoke, one that lasted so long that I could hear the children whispering amongst each other. It is not the first time that my better judgment has been clouded by ambition. Her voice, for once, wasn’t smooth, but rigid, rough, about to break.

“Whose idea was it to get the kids?” I asked. “And how did you find ‘em, anyway?”

I followed the link I have with you, she explained, which led us to them, but, admittedly, Ruslana was the one who you should thank, because she was uncompromising in letting them go.

I opened my eyes and glanced at Knuckles. She didn’t look at peace being asleep, she looked troubled, annoyed, like she was running. “Knuckles didn’t want to leave them behind?”

“She didn’t,” Kanz said, folding his legs and sitting beside her. “She shot this woman.”

“Well, she tried to, anyway,” Sam muttered, picking lint off his gown. “It didn’t work.”

I smiled and laughed quietly. “Fuckin’ A, Ru. That’s what I love to hear.”

Kit, if I remembered correctly, shuffled closer and asked, “What does that mean?”

It was then that I noticed the tiny cat ears sprouting from either side of her head, twitching almost eagerly, her eyes glimmering just the same too. “It means she did the superhero thing.”

“What superhero thing?” Sam asked.

“The saving people thing, even if certain people want to stand in your way.”

“Fuckin’ A!” Kit said, making Kanz flinch. “Two superheroes.”

“So what does that make her?” Sam said, looking at Witchling.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She put me here, so she’s not in my good books right now.”

Kanz put his hand on Sam’s shoulder before the boy could say something. The kids were still keeping their distance from Witchling, and I would, too. Her eyes were far worse to look at during the day, never mind surrounded by rotting mannequins trapped in an abandoned hospital. “We might not see eye to eye, but she ensured our safety, so for that, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides, without her bringing you here, what are the chances we would have been freed?”

“I think your reasoning is a little wonky, birdie,” I said. “No offense, by the way.”

“None taken,” he said, smiling. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard someone talk about my wings, let alone the likes of you. We used to watch you on the news late at night back home.”

“So,” Sam said, sitting back down, “you really aren’t lying, you actually are a superhero?”

I coughed, reminding me of how much pain was still brewing inside of me. The ground I coughed on was littered with blackened saliva. Kit’s ears flickered as her small nose scrunched up. “Yep,” I said weakly. “Daughter of Zeus in the flesh and blood. A little more blood than I would like, though.” I forced myself to sit upright, then put a hand to my mouth to stop myself from barfing on one of the kids or myself. I swallowed, grimaced, then said, “We need to leave soon.”

“You smell bad,” Kit said, inching away from me, her ears now flat. “Like Jake did.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I’m about to go hang out with him if we don’t leave, like, now.”

Our escape won’t be simple, she said in my mind. These children will only make it harder.

“You’re starting to piss me off, you know that?” I muttered. “They’re kids. Leaving this place is going to happen with them going out first no matter what. End of story, all right?”

The children, Witchling said. They are kept here for a reason, and taking them away from here could mean dire consequences for both them and us. You will not always be there to protect them, and the ones using them for their bodies will hunt you down. Unlike regular superhumans, Kaiju children tend to have a greater healing ability than most. That girl must be using them for—

“Say it so they can all hear it,” I said, glancing at her, meeting her black eyes. “They need to hear about what exactly you think is going on in here, since this is mostly your fault, Witch.”

They looked at her, but few held her gaze. Witchling, not quite sitting on the floor but hovering an inch off it, sighed, closed her eyes, and continued. From what I know, Kaiju possess a common factor, no matter the intensity of their Evolution. Some fully evolved Kaiju, much like the monsters Olympia has fought in the past, are animals in being but human in mind, but still, their bodies regenerate incredibly quickly. Even now, most of you will Evolve past what you are right now, and yes…I understand the fear in that, and it is a gamble that many of you will not be able to be successful in, and be rest assured, Frankie will want to use you as much as she can before anything like that takes place. Your healing ability is what she’s after, though I don’t know why.

Silence washed over the children, as if they had all been gagged. I hadn’t ever thought about why some Kaiju were more animal than human, and looking at them now, at faces still fat with childhood, hell, I couldn’t imagine myself having to try to kill them one day. I shook away the thought as something crossed my mind. Something that was starting to click into place for me.

“She has an experiment going on,” I said. “Something about reanimation, but, and I’m just guessing here, she wants to make something live. Cherry, that monster thing, isn’t actually alive. It’s a monster, plain and simple, and she took gallons worth of my blood out of me for whatever reason, maybe for Caesar, maybe because he figured that’s the only way he can kill me, maybe by trying to put it in himself, maybe because he’s some nutjob who wants me dead for no freakin’ reason. She wants something. Something that she can only get organically from people like us.”

The Triumvirate wants your blood and these children, Witchling said. Her eyes remained closed, her brow still knitted. The orbs of light flickered momentarily as something crashed against a wall far, far from where we were. At least, I hoped it was far away—I wasn’t in fighting shape, and neither was Knuckles, and I didn’t trust Witchling to save the kids when the time came. But I can assume…Kanz, was your name? That there used to be more of you, but that isn’t the case now.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “There used to be five, maybe six coming in at any given time.”

“Nobody new now,” Sam added. “Nobody since the superhero girl.”

I hated saying his name, so I whispered it instead: “It’s because of Cedric.”

“I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell,” Kanz said quietly.

I coughed again, nearly doubled over, but Kit hadn’t said a word for a handful of minutes. She was staring at me, her brown eyes wide, almost glossy in the soft light. I almost felt guilty for looking this way in front of her. “It’s just a guess, but he’s a jackass who traffics kids like you.”

Kanz’s wings heaved off his shoulders. “You mean that you kil…got rid of him?”

If I wasn’t already cold, I would have been now. “No,” I muttered. “I didn’t.”

“What happened to him?” Kit whispered.

I jerked my chin at Witchling. “She knows. Her boss now has him in her ranks.”

Kanz was the first on his feet, and soon the rest of the kids were, too. I remained seated beside Witchling, not strong enough to stand, but not really caring, anyway. Witchling was the most powerful person in this room. If she wanted to, these kids would be puffs of red vapor in the next few seconds. The realization that my guess was right sat in my stomach, brewing, simmering, as Witchling remained with her eyes closed, still as the mannequins surrounding us. Had Ava done a good thing by forcing him into her ranks? Heck, it meant fewer kids in this godforsaken place were being experimented on by a supervillain, right? Yeah, ‘cause two fucking wrongs, Rylee. Two fucking wrongs don’t make a right. Supervillains were shitty people, that wasn’t news anymore.

It was the fact that they were playing who could be the worst villain right in front of me.

I associate myself with that girl purely for my own personal reasons, Witchling said. I refused to join the raid as soon as I learnt about it because of what it entailed. More was at play, I knew, and this is where it led me. The powers that be are beyond your understanding, and the man who crafted this labyrinth is a man who poses a greater threat than most villains the Olympians fought against decades ago. I came here to seize an opportunity, not because of a child and her dreams. Witchling opened her eyes, just as the sound of crashing metal got a little bit louder.

“It’s difficult to trust you with eyes like that,” Kanz said, his wings spread to shield the kids. “The only way I can believe anything coming out of your mouth is if Olympia decides—”

“I trust her,” I muttered, massaging my eyes. He looked at me, frowning.

“But..surely you don’t mean that.”

I shrugged. “Listen, dude, I’m dying right now. I feel like shit. If Cherry comes knocking on that door behind you, there’s only one person who can stop him, and she’s right beside me.” I coughed again. My lungs felt as if they punched against my ribcage. Dazed. Catching my breath. Keep it together, superhero. “We need her help to escape from this place before it’s too late.”

Witchling turned to me, her red hair spilling over her shoulder. Thank you.

“Fuck off,” I said to her. “I’m making a decision just for now. As soon as we get out of here, me and you are going to have a very long talk before I rip every one of your teeth out.”

“She’s scary,” Kit whispered, tugging at Kanz’s arm. “I like her.”

I owe you more than my gratitude, and for that, I can offer a way out for all of you. Olympia is key to my goals, and you are dear to her, so…I will help you escape. Then it happened in a blink of an eye—the orb closest to Knuckles shattered as a whip of darkness striked it. Witchling snapped her fingers, casting another orb that eviscerated it. I watched as blood leaked from her nose, quickly wiped away on the back of her hand. This Alternate Realm was crafted to keep me out, to seize my abilities and those who might come across it in hopes to tamper with the goings on hidden inside of it, but Bloodforge must not have anticipated that we aren’t younglings anymore. We have minutes before Wraith is able to find us. Minutes before our chances of escaping become slim to none. But to do so, I require something from you—the book that girl was holding.

I had about a dozen questions right now, but I had to focus on the urgent, like trying not to puke up what felt like my stomach lining. “Are you sure that we need to grab that book from her?”

How else does one open a door without a key?

“By forcing your way through it.”

Witchling smiled, almost reached for me until she thought otherwise. Youthfulness and its consequences will catch up to you one day, Olympia, but for now, understand that will not work.

Kanz’s soft brown face was a mess of emotions and thoughts. I knew what kind of person he was, knew from the start that he was a protector. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when he said, “And how, if possible, can I be of help? Though I will only do so if you protect the children.”

Your duty will be to just protect them, she explained. It’s Olympia who I need most.

I glanced at her. “I’m not in fighting shape. Without my powers, I—”

There is a way to get your powers back in this place, she said to me. Another orb shattered. Another tongue of darkness. She was forced to keep her hand spread to light two more orbs, both not as bright as the one that was broken. Blood poured down from her nose again, dripping onto the back of her hand. But I will need you to barter something in return. I am sure a hero such as yourself wouldn’t falter. After all, it is what heroes do, is it not? More blood. More orbs. The ground shuddered, then Cherry shrieked, the sound carrying a lot closer toward our group.

“What do you want?” I said quietly.

Your soul, how do you feel about selling it?