I was slow to wake up. Voices were crashing in my ears.

“What’s happening? Beats?” A first voice said with mild concern.

“I don’t know,” a second, closer voice answered. “Hortens’ Diagnostique only shows hemorrhaging in his ears and mucus membranes and some brain swelling, but not what could cause it. It reminds me of the time Johnson fought the Cairn Wight.”

“I would have felt a psychic attack,” the first voice stated.

“Hence my confusion.”

Something metallic was pushed into my mouth and it tasted like someone mixed concentrated garlic and ginger with electricity.

“Hold him down! He’s stronger than he looks.”

“Roy, take over.”

Big hands grasped my biceps and pinned me to the ground.

“You weren’t kidding,” a strained deep voice said. “He mentioned that he’s stronger than normal, but with how thin he is I didn’t give it much thought. He could give you a run for your money.”

Another deep voice grunted as the pressure on my biceps increased.

“Greg, help me open his mouth. I don’t want him cracking his teeth if he bites down.”

Fingers grasped my face and jaw and pried my mouth open. The metal thing returned and was pushed into the back of my throat. The discomfort lasted only a moment as a pulsing wave of warmth radiated from it.

“Why are we wasting resources on him?” Said a new voice I instantly disliked. “We should just stabilize him and continue with the mission.”

There was a tense silence.

“Aside from the fact that without his help, we would all likely be dead?” Asked the first voice in a tone that was deceptively calm.

The thing in my mouth pulsed again and suddenly pain blossomed in my head. I began to thrash.

“Keep him down and hold his head steady!” The second voice said, her voice more animated. “He’s recovering faster than I anticipated.”

“Look, yes, he helped us out, but he’s sketchy as fuck,” the voice I didn’t like said. “You can all feel it. Look at his hands!”

“It was kind of neat how he grew claws,” another female voice said.

“Body transformations are not illegal,” replied the deep voice.

“That’s not the point—“

“You can file an official complaint later,” the first voice said. “Your objection is noted.”

The thing in my mouth was pulled back long enough for me to gasp several breaths before it went right back in. It pulsed again, which washed away the majority of the pain. I slowly began to think again.

I discovered Roy straddling me, pinning my arms to the ground. Greg had his hands on my face, painfully holding my jaw open for the distressingly phallic object in my mouth. Beats was next to me, hands holding the device, her eyes closed in concentration. My vision was so crowded by the three that I couldn’t see much else.

I patted Roy’s thigh with my hand in the classic “tap out” signal. I saw the eyes in his helm focus on my face. “He’s awake,” he rumbled.

Beats eyes shot open. “Colm, look at me,” she ordered. “You need to stay still while I do this. You’re recovering remarkably fast so I’ll only need to administer another dose or two, okay? I know this sucks.”

Was that a fucking joke? I blinked my eyes twice at her.

The next two pulses came, each time carrying away deep strata of pain and discomfort I didn’t realize I was experiencing. She cast a spell over me, seemed satisfied with what she found, and slowly removed the device from my mouth. I was relieved to find I was mistaken about its phallic shape. It looked more like one of those medicinal caulking guns ranchers use to medicate herd animals, except instead of ending in a tube, it ended in a metal oval that reminded me of a Tesla coil. Greg let go of my head and stepped back.

I blinked tears from my eyes. “What the fuck happened?” I asked.

“We were hoping you would shed some light on that,” Albright said as he entered my vision over Roy’s shoulder.

“You started to convulse and bleed from your orifices,” Beats explained.

I grimaced and as subtly as I could, firmed my mental defenses. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “I—the last thing I remember was sitting down to rest my eyes for a bit. Then I had a pretty fucked up dream about—“ I paused as I decided to lace some truth in with my lies. “About a space of infinite black.”

“Space?” Albright asked with a frown.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Not space,” I clarified. “A—void. Nothingness. I—“ I took a shaking breath. “It was terrifying.”

Albright regarded me silently for a few moments before turning to Beats. “How is he?”

“Probably in better shape than he was when we arrived,” Beats said. “His body reacted very well to Echo of Creation.”

I glanced at Roy and mouthed “Echo of Creation?” at him. He tilted his helmet back in a motion that I was sure was practiced because it allowed me to see him waggle his eyebrows at me. I tapped his thigh again and made it apparent I wanted up. He coughed sheepishly and got off me.

Albright turned back to me. “Are you okay to continue?”

I nodded shakily as I sat up and touched my face, finding it wet with blood. Beats handed me a package of wet wipes. I began to clean myself, my stomach sinking when I noticed my shirt was practically soaked in blood around the collar. How much had I been bleeding? “I, uh, just need a couple minutes.”

Albright nodded and placed a couple of canteens next to me before going over to where Kristy was still keeping watch on the tunnel. I saw her shoot me a concerned look, to which I returned a tired thumbs-up.

While I went about cleaning blood from my ears (which is something I hope I never have to do again), I lightly touched my fire ability that I haven’t utilized since… Jeez, when was the last time I had a cigarette? Why wasn’t I having a craving? I should be shaking with need right now.

I shelved that concern for later as I rolled the power around in my metaphorical hands, getting a feel for it again. During the final moments of my island adventure, when the ability had been strongest, it had felt like the comforting weight of power. I merely had to aim it and all the fire I could ever want would rush to appear in any amount I needed.

Now it felt much more—more real. Like the fire would behave like fire. The more I fed it, the more it would grow. The more it grew, the more I needed to feed it. What that meant in terms of actually using it remains to be seen.

And what did other me mean by combining my fire and magic? How? Can they even be combined? The copy of a being who claimed to be me from another dimension that ascended to a god-like state seemed to think so—and Jesus was that a concept to wrap my head around.

“Here,” Beats said, interrupting my thoughts. She was holding out her hand. “I’ll burn them.”

It took a moment for me to realize what she was talking about. The blood-covered wipes. Right. Don’t want to leave fresh blood lying around for someone to use against me.

“I—“ I paused to cough up a red wad of phlegm. Beats didn’t bat an eye as I spat it to the side. “Hold on, there’s something I want to try.”

I dropped the dirty wipes onto the floor where the majority of my spilled blood lay. I focused on the rags, bringing up my fire—and realizing it was my fire now. It was no longer an ability on loan from Trix. Whatever other-me had done, it had completely cemented the power into my being. With growing confidence, I pushed the power out and watched with delight as the wipes began to curl and blacken, before bursting into fire.

It was a strain. The fire was only a few feet away and yet I struggled to control it. Still experimenting, I stepped closer until my feet were mere inches away, the fire becoming stronger and easier to control almost geometrically as it got closer to my body. Interesting.

I whipped the fire back and forth over the blood (and bloody phlegm), making sure to char it all before cutting the fire off. Just that light use of the ability had my heart rate elevated, and I could feel a sheen of sweat forming on my recently cleaned skin.

“I thought you only had one spell,” Beats said, giving me a measuring look.

“Only one spell I can use safely,” I replied, meeting her eyes. “And that wasn’t a spell.”

Some or all of them already suspected me of holding things back. They likely suspected me of being a warlock. I’m not even sure that being a warlock is explicitly illegal. I can assume it is, because the things that one needs to do to become a warlock are universally reprehensible—even if I found a loophole that makes the task more palatable to my conscience.

But they had just saved my life—or at least, got me back to fighting fit—and were helping me save Conner. I’ll worry about whatever magical trial may or may not being awaiting me after my brother was safe (assuming they don’t try to Judge Dredd my ass once I cross some invisible line).

I turned and found Walt making a “see?!” gesture at Albright, who ignored him to study me with cool eyes. I met his gaze for a moment before stooping to pick up the canteens and began to drink, but choked out a spluttering laugh at Kristy’s comment:

“This is awkward as fuck.”

I coughed for several seconds before turning my watery eyes towards the short goth. “You’re going to undo all of Beats' hard work,” I said once I had calmed down.

Kristy wasn’t looking at me anymore as she was keeping her eyes on the tunnel, but she shrugged in a “what can ya do?” motion.

I turned back towards Albright and resumed drinking from the canteen in small sips. Though I felt much better, I also felt wrung out. Which made sense with how much I’ve bled over the last several days. I have a feeling whatever is fueling the spread of black across my body is masking anything uncomfortable. It’s the only thing I can think of for why I’m not starving, craving a smoke or feeling weak from losing weight. Hell, I’m not even that thirsty—but with every sip of water I feel a small relief.

“Roy, take the front until Greg has fully recovered,” Albright said without taking his eyes off me. “We move out in two minutes.”

I watched as the shorter man approached me, regarding him over the canteen I was still sipping from. “I’m concerned,” he began when he was within arms reach, his voice low enough that if I didn’t have enhanced hearing it’d be difficult to hear him. “I’m concerned that you keep pulling new capabilities out of thin air. It makes my job more difficult, makes it harder to plan.”

I lowered the canteen with a nod. “If it’s any comfort,” I replied with the same reserved tone. “I wasn’t intending to deceive you when I forgot to mention my little fire ability. It had been all but useless in combat until recently.” I grimaced ruefully. “Life-threatening situations tend to make me stretch my capabilities in new and unexpected directions.” I lifted my other hand and nodded toward it, by way of example.

“I’m acting in good faith,” I continued after I dropped my hand. “I’m not holding back my abilities because I need to keep an ace up my sleeve in case I need to betray you all like a mustache-twirling villain. I’m self-trained and self-educated on resources that are suspect at best and dangerous at worst. That means that I haven’t pushed my abilities because I learned early on that can have unintended consequences. In your line of work, I can imagine you know what I’m talking about.”

Albright conceded the point with a nod.

“I made an enemy of the Doorman,” I continued. “I grabbed every tool I could to defend myself for the day he came for me. And even with eight years to prepare I barely survived. Hell, it was largely due to sheer dumb luck. I’m telling you this so you have context for why I am the way I am and so that you’ll have a frame of reference when I say I will do anything to save my brother.”

Albright’s expression hardened. “Including sacrificing us?”

I didn’t like the stress he put on the word “sacrifice.” I had to assume the telepath knew or suspected the origins of my power. I debated many responses before giving a tired shrug. “Hopefully, neither of us will find out.”

Albright was not pleased with my response.