The National Guard were experienced at crowd control, and though their methods were by no means gentle, they were certainly more gentle than the outright murder that the FATs had resorted to. It was a shame, really. Had the soldiers held out for but another minute, the NG might have ended this standoff more or less bloodlessly. Not that Echo would have ever allowed that.
The armored vehicles trundled across the campus lawn, mowing down bushes and small trees with impunity. They angled themselves towards the remaining soldiers, who had arranged themselves in a circle and had given up entirely on holding back. Guns roared and brass hit the ground. Fire torched the massive, churning crowd of screaming college students, most of whom were dearly regretting their recent life choices.
The mob had fallen into panic. Anger was giving way to fear. Students fought back against the soldiers, hurling projectiles and power in desperate fear, but the FATs were now in their element. Bodies fell, blood was shed. Echo watched the thousands of bodies undulate like a disturbed anthill. If things were allowed to continue, the riot would disperse and fade away.
Well, he couldn't have that.
Echo held up his hand, then gestured sharply downward. Bastion, wherever he was, obeyed the signal. The cage of force surrounding Echo pulsed, as a fraction of the force it had absorbed was directed downwards. The soldier below them, who was still trying his best to claw through the barrier, vanished in a puff of red mist as the terrain around him compacted. The students beside Echo screamed, but he was no longer paying them any mind.
He jabbed his hand towards the approaching line of tanks and APVs. Once again, Bastion responded. The wall of force pulsed and a narrow trench was ripped into the ground in front of it, the line of destruction racing across the plaza towards the approaching NG. The lead tank swerved sharply out of the way of the approaching shockwave, but the vehicle was nothing close to nimble. Bastion's counter struck the tank's rear and continued forward, violently hurling the armored vehicle aside as it slammed into the next one in the convoy. The latter crumpled like tin foil, its front bending sharply inward around a narrow cut. It looked like it had run face first into a plow.
Another flick, this time towards the soldiers. The field around Echo disappeared and a shimmering barrier clapped down between the disoriented mob and the retaliating special forces soldiers. Bullets and powers pinged off of both sides of the wall for ten full seconds before there was any sign of slowing. In the meantime, the NG convoy had rerouted, disregarding the direct approach and choosing instead to form a wide perimeter. Echo watched as they fanned out across the campus.
Echo checked his watch. Gateway should have completed his tasks by now, and it was nearly time for Coldeyes to act. The gangster had a decent shot at removing the head of the snake that was this government task force, though it would depend entirely on whether Echo had read Anastasia properly. If the woman had the foresight to remain behind, Echo suspected Coldeyes would meet a brief and messy end.
As would Echo, if Cannibal waited too long to begin his hunt. But Anastasia hadn't acted yet, too patient by half. She knew there was a trap, but she still thought it was for her. The woman was too self-absorbed by far. Her weakness had always been an inability to empathize with her enemies. She knew Echo hated her every bit as much as she hated him, but Anastasia was no longer capable of realizing that hatred could manifest in very different ways. She was too old, too set in her ways, and far, far too used to being the most dangerous person in the room.
He couldn't change the latter, but all the strength in the world didn't matter if you weren't around to use it.
It was as this thought crossed his mind that Anastasia finally made her move. The first brush of her power made his ears pop and his limbs ache. The air grew heavy and he fell down to one knee. Gravity doubled, then tripled, and his pulse roared in in his ears as she piled on her conceptual bullshit. The ground was vibrating and he was being crushed by the atmosphere around him. His own power reached out, fumbling for the connection that he knew would save his life.
It was hers, the echo he'd taken from her all those years ago. He'd held it in reserve for decades, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He knew it would enrage her, she who thought herself so special. Echo had always hoped to use her own power to end her, somehow, but after years of trial and error he'd realized that it would never happen. Anastasia marched in perfect lock-step with her power. Her mastery of it was unmatched, and she never stopped practicing. It was an impossible gap, especially for one such as he, who constantly needed to learn other things. Echo could never beat Anastasia with her stolen power, but it might suffice to keep him alive. Thus, he struggled to reach it, grasping that distant strand that he'd kept so long concealed.
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Bastion beat him to the punch, familiar walls of force slamming back into place around him, and the pressure ceased. Echo wheezed, still collapsed on his hands and knees, even as his own version of Anastasia's power slotted into place. He glanced around himself, noting the students that had stood beside him were unconscious, bleeding from their noses and eyes. He held in an absurd laugh. It had been too long since he'd faced her. He'd all but forgotten the truth: This was Anastasia Summers, the strongest Natural in North America, and quite possibly the world.
There was a reason why the People stuck to the shadows. But for all her power, not even Anastasia could bypass Bastion's defenses. Echo glared upwards, searching the sky. Several helicopters circled the campus, and he knew one of them held the dangerous old bitch. His own range wasn't nearly so long, but he could feel the fluctuations of Bastion's shield as force battered against it. He could see kinetic ripples dancing across its surface, the shield holding strong as it absorbed the ludicrous amount of violence being directed at it.
With the same abruptness that it had appeared, it ended. The pressure stopped and the walls of force settled into smooth glass. Echo glanced skywards once more, but his eyes saw nothing of use. He did not know how Anastasia saw the world—she'd expanded her concept further than anyone he'd ever heard of—but to him pressure existed as splashes of brilliant colors. It was like a thermal image, everything from vibrant green to deep red to black. It was the latter that he saw out of the corner of his eye, motes of dark pitch gathering around a distant dormitory.
Echo shot to his feet, slicing a hand across his throat in a kill gesture, praying that Bastion would understand his meaning. With his other hand, he thrust out a palm towards the dormitory, grasping at the motes of pressure. His echoed power strained across the distance, seizing hold of a single bead. He pulled at it, fighting for control—
The dormitory crumpled into itself like a sheet of tin foil! There was a clap of displaced air and a violent gust nearly took Echo off his feet! He stumbled, dragged along towards the broken remnants of the dormitory. Wood, plaster, and concrete had all folded in on itself. The building, once thousands of square feet, had been crushed into the size of a studio apartment. The walls and debris were compacted into the shape of a square, and Echo felt himself relax a fraction.
He'd seen Anastasia compress a car down to a marble. If any part of the building was still standing, it was because Bastion had managed to protect himself. Echo watched the black splotches vanish from the building, only to reappear immediately around himself. He thrust out both arms, willing the air to stabilize. He felt a foreign will slam against him, and nearly collapsed at the pressure. He was instantly overwhelmed. The ground trembled around him, and the walls of darkness slowly closed in.
He could practically feel Anastasia's amusement. "This is your trump card?" he imagined her whispering. "This poor copy? This cheap fake? How could you even conceive of it withstanding me?"
Her power crept ever closer, and he grit his teeth and pushed against it. He could see nothing now, his vision had gone black from the pressure and the power and the stress. Bones creaked and his skull felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. His eyes bulged against their sockets and his eardrums screamed in agony. It was all he could do to stay conscious. The world faded away. Time became an irrelevant concept; he only needed to hold out. Soon, he thought. Soon. Make your move, Cannibal, and draw her away.
The sounds of battle trickled in from beyond his little corner of existence. Gunfire, screams, a rioting crowd. The clap of thunder and the grinding of broken rocks. Echo ignored it. He braced against eternity as it weighed down on him. He was the ant fighting the boot, but so long as he survived, he held Anastasia's full attention. Unlike the soldiers, she had no sense of restraint, no image to maintain, and nothing resembling moral fiber. Given time to think about it, she might grow irritated with the rioting crowd and flatten them like one might a cockroach. He needed those people if he were to stand any chance against the National Guard and what remained of the Federal Assault Teams.
How amusing that Echo found himself in a position that protected those he'd brought as fodder.
He stumbled as the pressure suddenly ceased. Air ripped away from him in a wave of force that cracked concrete. He gasped, suddenly able to breathe easy, and he frantically glanced around, then up. One of the helicopters had peeled away. It blitzed north, towards the nearest airfield, at almost full tilt. In the opposite direction, something massive caught the last light of the dying sun. In the far distance, peeking out between the skyscrapers of downtown Austin, a towering mountain of ice.
Echo smiled through bloody teeth.
What use was power if you weren't around to wield it?
None at all.