What Happened in Portland

[Edgedancer]

Nighthound wasn´t sure if he could call his search successful. The house was stuffed mostly with rather useless stuff to waste the day away, a good chunk even from pre-Calamity times. Even her bedroom and the like were devoid of things that could give him any useful information. There was only one think that might turn out to help him.

 

Down in the basement stuffed behind a couple of chests he found what seemed to be a very old diary. A quick glance at the last entry showed that it has almost been a decade since the last entry, assuming he deciphered the horrible handwriting correctly. It was bound to hold more information than the entire rest of the house but given its age there was no guarantee. After searching for a couple of things to alter the books cover he decided to take it with him.

 

By the time he returned to the bath, there was no real reason form him to hurry anymore. No matter what he told her, there was no reason that she would still be taking her bath at this point. Anyway, Nighthound threw open the door. In there he found Ray simply sitting on the ground. As she noticed him entering she put up her adorable death-stare and stood up.

 

He beckoned her over; when she stood next to him he took a sniff of her still slightly wet hair. Luckily, whatever shampoo she found it was smell neutral, so nothing interfered with hers. “You smell lovely,” Nighthound said as he breathed into her hear. An uppercut and an energy spear through his brain was Ray´s response.  

 

Sadly, the hounds already did a very good job of decimating the neighborhood he left them in, leaving little to do for him. In case that the diary holds any useful information it would probably make more sense to take it to the museum before doing anything else. After taking a bit of time to kill the people he turned into his hounds, they made way for the museum.

 

Approaching the museum Nighthound noticed a thin something stretching up to it, thin enough that he wouldn´t have noticed at first, if it wasn´t waving around. His interest picked he went to investigate the bottom of the tendril, before heading up to the museum. As he got closer he could tell that it was indeed a tendril of liquid blood. At the origin of the blood surrounded by a pool of the stuff kneeled a woman head bowed before a goblet filled with blood, probably her own. The blood sticking in her hair and the fitting black and red clothing made it quite clear that she was the Epic responsible for this, even if she wasn´t kneeling in front of the tendril. He had a knack for attracting this type, didn´t he?

Nighthound casually called out to her as he approached her further, “And who do we have her? Let me guess, you were lead here by your almost fanatical admiration for my greatness.”

[the winter system]

 

Red heard the Epic's pulse before she saw him. Steady. Confident. Arrogant. It was infuriating and so delicious. She lipped her lips in anticipation of someone in need of her. 

The Epic that was standing behind her had a voice that tasted like barbed wire. He didn't change in beat as he grew closer. 

"And who do we have here? Let me guess, you were lead here by your almost fanatical admiration for my greatness." He was obviously a High Epic, no mere human or minor Epic like Red would approach anyone like her without any sort of respect. Red turned her head slightly, letting her facial features wash over the wolflike form. The man's posture, face, and clothing confirmed everything Red needed to know about him. He was strong, he liked it that way, and he was willing to use that power.
 

"Yes, Lord Divinity," she responded. Red turned completely and kneeled, head towards the ground. "Whatever you wish, Lord Divinity." She offered a sphere of blood as it floated up out of her palm. The hissing of the other girl behind him indicated she was not alone in following this Epic, although Red suspected that the girl had a bit less choice in what she was doing than Red. That was fine. 

Edited August 13, 2018 by winter devotion
embarassment for old writing overcome by love for her Problematic natuure

[Edgedancer]

The woman responded to Nighthound´s question with a pleasant amount of obedience, going as far as to prostrate herself before him. Lord Divinity was a bit stiff for his taste but they could work on that. The blood she stretched out before gathered in a small sphere floating in front of her. With her astonishing devotion his experience told him that it was meant as an offering. She could count herself lucky that he has a thing for dominating and eating up the submissive blood-epic type.

 

A quick glance at Ray showed that she stared at the other Epic with utter disgust, not all that surprising given the difference in their willingness. “No need to grow jealous darling, I can take care of the two of you at once.” Ray´s response was simple, her attack ripped straight through Nighthound´s chest.

 

Brushing the wound off he walked over to the woman on the ground, paying no mind to the sphere of blood she was offering him, he crouched down in front of her. Nighthound grabbed her chin and lifted her head up from the ground, until she was looking him in the eyes, the last wisps of black mist rising from the wound caused by Ray. Her face was pretty enough, the brown of her eyes going well with her tan skin, although they were lacking a bit of a spark. “I adore women that know their place, so let us start this a bit more personal,” Nighthound softly stroked her jugular vein, “and as with all beautiful women your throat looks delicious. Would you mind letting me take a drink from there.” Let´s see if she´s worth anything as a pet.

[the winter system]

The Epic's reply to her request was positively delightful. If he wouldn't have perceived it as rude, she would've laughed out loud. Arrogance tasted sweeter than candy, but it would rot anyone's core if they indulged in too much. Red could've told him that, but she'd doubted he'd listen. They never did. His body practically stunk of it and it was perfect. She'd hardly seen an Epic as gullible for her act like this since Florida. Of course, she was an excellent liar, letting submission run through her veins until she was practically shivering in response to his words.

"No need to grow jealous darling, I can take care of the two of you at once." The other girl's face grew dark at that comment, raising her arm to throw a bolt of pure energy through the Epic's chest. She was an Epic, obviously. No good High Epic would be without good minor Epic slaves, voluntary and not. Her new owner shrugged off the injury as black mist rose to heal the wound. Red's initial assumption had been right, he had a healing factor of some sort. Of course Red was right-- all of the obvious signs were there. Red observed the pet Epic's collar and speculated briefly on what shade of red she'd prefer hers in. 

The Epic walked closer and crouched down in front of her, grabbing her chin and lifting her head to face his. She dulled the sadism down in her eyes into a pathetic pet's fear and delight. She bit down on her lip and let blood run down her chin without even controlling it. His eyes were cruel and hardened like hers could be sometimes. What was the term she'd written down in her notebook in that biology class, merely seconds before she'd started trying to drown everyone in a bubble of her own blood? Right. It was apex predator and it meant the top of the food chain. Red was a scavenger-- a vulture to this dog. She knew her job in the ecosystem just as the prey known as humanity did.

"I adore women that know their place so let us start this a bit more personal," he said. Pre-Calamity Red probably would've found that disgusting and wanted to slap him in the face. Post-Calamity Red still found it disgusting, but she was much better at playing the long game now. "and as with all beautiful women, your throat looks delicious. Would you mind letting me take a drink from there?" The other Epic's snort indicated he'd probably bite her even if she said, haha, just kidding! Luckily for Red, she was quite happy allowing any Epic a bite if it let her get close enough to bite back later. She took out a knife from her bag, offering it to him.


"Of course, Lord Divinity. I am Red. If I am permitted to ask, what is your name?" The scam was always way overdone, but they usually bought it. His fingers ran down her nick pulling her forward with a 'gentle' grip hard enough to bruise. She smiled in a way that would've been seen as pleasure to him, but was a joke to herself.

Edited June 24, 2018 by winter devotion
embarrassment

[Edgedancer]

She offered a ceramic knife to him, eager to please and have her own throat slit open.  "Of course, Lord Divinity. I am Red. If I am permitted to ask, what is your name?" She introduced herself, a hint of pleasure sounding in her voice. “I´m Nighthound and Lord is a bit stiff for me, just call me master,” said Nighthound as he grabbed the knife.

 

Pulling her head back he used the knife to cut open her throat, her liquid namesake dripping out of the wound. Nighthound pulled her over until she was close enough and started to drink her blood, first only licking it up and ultimately greedily pressing his mouth on her neck to suck up her blood. There was no resistance from Red, if anything the woman was taking an perverse pleasure from this all. A piece of meat made to be dominated.

 

It took a long time until he was satisfied with his meal, which wasn´t surprising given that he didn´t have a one like this in a year, although she doesn´t quite measure up in that regard. Finally, he let go of her wound and instead pressed her body to his chest, “Here´s how things will work from now. You´ll live as my pet and don´t get a say in the matter, neither now nor in the future.” Nighthound again grabbed the chin of his new toy and forced her to look at Ray, who was divided between hatred for the two of them and considering if she should try to run away, a sentiment that apparently died just this moment. “That is pet number one, Ray. She gets to stick around she´s very attractive, has some fairly useful powers and I enjoy slowly breaking her.” He made Red look at him again. “Anything you can bring to the table to make this last in the long run?” The question was accompanied by Nighthound´s characteristic smile. 

[the winter system]

     "I'm Nighthound and Lord is a bit stiff for me, just call me master," he told her. Nighthound. Red had been with a lot of Epics who had terrible names. Nighthound was a lot better of a name than the others. It was a good name. A strong name. Red smiled. He took the knife and cut Red's throat. Red let the blood drip out, although none of the blood was ever inside her body. Nighthound pulled Red towards him so he could suck the blood. Red let out a moan. It had been so long since she had a true master. Red smiled. She loved every second of this, it brought her pleasure even if she didn't know why.

     Eventually he pulled away, though it was a while. Nighthound pulled her closer. "Here's how things work from now. You'll live as my pet and don't get a say in the matter, neither now nor in the future." Red felt an eager feeling surge up and down her, from the head to the toe. More of this in the future? Yes! Nighthound grabbed her chin and made her look at the other girl. "This is pet number one, Ray. She gets to stick aruond and she's very attractive, has some fairly useful powers and I enjoy slowly breaking her." That explained the hate that was pouring from the Epic. She wasn't here by choice. Some other Epics were strange. Maybe this Ray had powers that deserved a higher position? That made sense. Nighthound made her look back at him. "Anything you can bring to the table to make this last in the long run?" He smiled at her. Red smiled back, lightheaded. 

     "As you could see, I have complete control over my own blood and can create it, master. I can make it solid, although it is weak. I am strong enough, master. I can fight with a knife and can shoot a gun. I can learn new skills fast, master. Also, if they stay still enough I can drown people with blood. I'm good at making people scared. Lots of blood is good for intimidation, master. I can read peoples' emotions through their pulse." Red listed. "I'm sure I can be of use."  

Edited December 23, 2014 by Winter Cloud

[Edgedancer]

The world is plain wrong. Few doubted that anymore but no one saw worse proof than Ray did right now. Nighthound monster that he was had avoided the painful death he deserves and now even got rewarded for it, in the form of an insane Epic woman that offered herself up to him. She had two watch the two sickos and their disturbing make-out session. Red, as the doormat called herself, just let Nighthound toy with her as he wanted. Worse yet, it made her moan in pleasure.

 

Should I run away? He was busy with his new… it should be victim if Red were a proper human. With some luck he was enamored enough with her to not bother hunting her down. Ray´s ear throbbed. And worst case it´s what sets him of to killing me, now that he has a replacement. Just in that moment Nighthound called attention to her, by introducing Ray as pet number one. It´s hard to decide what´s more disgusting, the way he talked about her or that for a short moment she was relieved that Nighthound hadn´t decided to kill her yet.

 

However, it was enough to make it clear he wouldn´t let her get away. After the short introduction the attention was back on the willing slave, as the monster essentially told her that he would kill her, if she can´t serve him properly and she just smiled at him like a lovesick schoolgirl eager to please. Sickening.

 

Once her resume was finished Nighthound began stroking her cheek, “Alright, I´ll use you but first a welcome present seems in place.” His smile alone was enough to make Ray shiver and she could guess what would happen next. As soon as he finished he jumped back to his feet and walked over to Ray. Before she had a chance to get away he grabbed her in a way that forced her to look at Red.

 

“Look here sweetheart,” the creep addressed Red as he caressed the area around Ray´s collar, “we´ll get you one of these, just to clear up our relationship.” Ray´s head crushed into his face, hard. Shrugging of the attack he again pressed his nose into her hair and smelled her. Immediately she pulled head away again. “Ray, you’re smart enough that I probably don´t have to tell you but only I get to hurt my pets, so be careful how you treat your new sister.” Not waiting for responses Nighthound lead the way to the pet shop he got her collar for in the first place, waving for them to follow. Happy thoughts and then Nighthound died. Sadly he didn´t

Edited December 24, 2014 by Edgedancer

[the winter system]

Nighthound started to stroke Red's cheek. Red let blood run into her cheeks, giving a blush to the High Epic she'd chosen. "Alright, I'll use you but first a welcome present seems in place." Red wasn't sure what he meant by that, but she was curious to find out. Every epic has their own theme and this one sure wasn't disappointing. Based on the name and the fact Ray was wearing a dog collar, she guessed he got his kicks with some sort of canine motif. Figures. So cliche. She giggled in what would be a flirty way if she had completely lost her marbles. 

He walked towards Ray grabbed her. Nighthound yanked her face towards Red. A look of complete disgust was plain on her face. Red didn't particularly care about Ray, not unless it would matter to her duties, whatever they would be. Different Epics had played to diffrent strengths. "Look here sweetheart," Nighthound told Red, caressing the dog collar that Red had noticed on Ray earlier. "we'll get you one of these to clear up our relationship." On Ray, it seemed like she thought it a punishment, but Red considered accepting things like these as investments. If she didn't fight things like these, she would be useful. Useful things were used. Red liked being used. Ray headbutted Nighthound's face and Nighthound ignored it. He pressed his nose into her hair. He told Ray something that Red couldn't overhear.

     Nighthound started walking one way, so Red followed. He stopped in front of what appeared to be a pet shop. Red went and opened the door for him. She smiled at Nighthound. Red held the door open for him.

     "You first, Master." Red nodded. She felt the pulse of some vanillas inside. They were scared. Of course they were scared. If Nighthound had been here before when getting a collar for Ray, then he had probably terrified them. Red kept her awe in check, but she let herself congratulate herself on her genius of coming to Portland. It was always a smart move, binding herself to a strong Epic, and Nighthound was strong. He had powers to control a minor Epic with ease, shrugging off many blows. Red smiled again. Portland had plenty of promise for her. She would let herself enjoy it.

Edited July 18, 2017 by winter devotion

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles]

 

Timeport didn’t like to hide.

 

There were some Epics, like Mundivore, who hid their emotions. They stuffed fear and sorrow down so deep they were nearly forgotten, shoved compassion out of the way until it quit its stupid yammering. Even good, strong emotions, like anger, were hidden and brought out only for special occasions. Quota had heard Steelheart was like that, storing up rage and hatred, packing them down until he had no choice but to unleash them on some slontze who deserved it. 

 

Calamity. Quota wasn’t one to pay for things, but he would give his right arm to see Steelheart in his glory.

 

The second Timeport teleported in, Quota knew he wasn’t another pathetic Steelheart wannabe.

 

Anger was splotched all over the time-bending Epic's face, wafting off of him like steam. Quota felt it, saw it, and it made him smile. Timeport had a nice, boiling temper, nothing like the impotent rage of the vanillas in town. No, Timeport was an Epic who could make good on his anger.

 

As if to prove it, he swung his battleaxe at a pile of wooden crates, like a baseball player going for a home run. With a great crash, the top crate went flying amid a small spray of splinters; it struck the wall with an even louder crash and the hollow clatter of wood on concrete as splinters and shards fell to the floor. Timeport stood beside the remaining crates, shoulders heaving, axe still hefted over his shoulder.

 

Where did he get that thing, anyway?

 

“Good thing those were empty, huh?” Quota asked before Timeport could take another swing. Anger was mottled red across his face when his attention snapped in Quota’s direction.

 

Anger that should’ve been vented on an enemy.

 

Anger that shouldn’t be wasted on a few shipping crates.

 

“Ah, don’t get mad at me. CorpseMaker’d kill you if you’d wrecked any weapons.”

 

Smiling, Quota stepped away from the mech he’d been given. Beautiful thing, it was, but not as beautiful as Timport’s rage. He strode across the concrete floor, unable to keep from smiling.

 

“Whattya say we go out and have some fun? No plans, no nothing. Just you, me, some weapons, and those vanillas.” He shrugged in mock nonchalance, nodding at the current target of Timport’s wrath. “I mean, if you don’t want to, there’s always those crates.”

 

He wouldn’t refuse. Timeport was an angry Epic, and an angry Epic was a fun Epic. 

Edited December 25, 2014 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles

[mail-mi]

Timeport had the entire walk back to HQ to contemplate just what a failure he was. 

 

He'd managed to kill, what, 3 of Chimera's creatures? He'd also failed to get the Epic to join up with Corpsemaker. And that wasn't even counting the fact that he'd almost gotten instantly killed by Corpsemaker upon entrance to the armory, and the fact that he'd utterly failed at capturing the Reckoners and keeping them hostage....

 

Timeport's anger grew as he reached the armory. Not bothering to use the door, he teleported right into the building. It wasn't his fault that he was a failure--it was everyone else's! Everyone else who bested him, who thought they were better than him, when really Timeport was just biding his time. Soon, he'd show them. Soon, they'd all realize that Timeport was the top of the pecking order--that no one could mess with him! Why couldn't they see that now? Why did they insist on shoving him around like--like he was some old vanilla?! He was no vanilla, he was better! God had chosen him!! They had no right to push him around, kill him just to show them who they think is boss! 

 

Screaming in rage, Timeport swung his axe at one of the shipping crates he'd landed next to. The top crate flew across the room, exploding against the wall when it hit. 

 

"Good thing those were empty, huh?" a familiar voice said. Timeport turned and saw Quota walking towards him. Timeport had half a mind to swing the axe at him, thinking that he was better than Timeport with that condescending tone in his voice. 

 

"Ah, don't get mad at me," he said with a slight smile. "Corpsemaker'd kill you if you'd wrecked any weapons." 

 

I don't fear death, not anymore, he thought. 

 

Quota stepped away from his mech. It wasn't nearly as awesome as Timeport's, but it was still pretty sweet-looking. "Whattya say we go out and have some fun? No plans, no nothing. Just you, me, some weapons, and those vanillas." 

 

Pithy vanillas, Timeport thought with a scowl. They probably think they're better than me too. I'll show them. 

 

Quota shrugged and gestured to the rest of the crates that Timeport hadn't smashed. "I mean, if you don't want to, there's always those crates." 

 

Timeport glanced at the crates. They wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as crushing a vanilla. Crushing bones and crushing wood may sound and feel the same, but only one came with the satisfying screams of vanillas. And, Timeport realized, he needed to feel powerful. For too long, he'd been pushed around by those who thought they were his betters. He needed to feel in power, needed to feel like he was the one in control. 

 

Timeport blinked over to Quota, dropping back into time 5 seconds later, smiling at the slight flinch that shook Quota when he reappeared. "I'm in," he said, hefting his axe over his shoulders.

 

"Where do we start?" 

[Edgedancer]

Nighthound did not expect to return to the pet shop so soon but here he was. Cute adorable puppy that she was Red held the door open for him and smiled eagerly. "You first, Master." This woman was made to wear a dog collar. While entering the building he caressed her chin like you would a dog´s.

 

Different from last time people actually were visiting. All of the customers were trying to hide in the back of the shop; his little parade was showing proper effect. The only one standing in the open was a girl that looked just short of her twenties behind the counter. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a nicely grown body and visibly so afraid that she only didn´t run away because refusing to serve him could end even worse, someone knew how to pick employees.

 

Her nametag revealed her to be Kia. “Now Kia, I want a collar,” Nighthound gestured at Red, “Be so kind and fetch some that suit her. Otherwise, I would have to kill you and that would be a shame.” She flinched at his treat hurried of to a couple of shelves.

 

Nighthound sat down on a stool and waited a moment for the girl to bring over a small selection, ranging from blacks to dark red ones, few of them had ornaments with the exception of one with a couple of spikes. Just letting Kia stand there, unsure what she was allowed to do, Nighthound gestured Red to sit down in his lap and pick one she liked.

[the winter system]

      Red followed after Nighthound. He caressed her chin. Some people were there and were hiding. Red wondered if Nighthound was going to kill them. It wouldn't particularly matter if he did or not. Red had gotten distracted and snapped back to attention. "Now Kia, I want a collar," Nighthound was saying to one of the employees. Red observed the woman, distastefully. She was pretty. Red let a disgruntled sigh loose. "Be so kind and fetch some that suit her. Otherwise, I would have to kill you and that would be a shame." Red sighed again, this time in relief. The employee, Kia, ran off. Nighthound sat down on a stool. Red waited and the girl came back, carrying some collars. Red observed a couple. A black collar with a bell appealed to her, but if she dyed it, the color wouldn't show. Red twisted some blood out of a cut on her arm to reach for all of the collars and throw them across the room. It involved a lot more blood than it should, moving things with blood was always annoyingly difficult. Nighthound gestured for Red to sit in his lap. Red sat down. She felt the pulse of the vanillas. Loud and fast. They were panicked. Of course they were. They were vanillas. 

     Red noticed a white collar that had been covered up by the others. It had a bell in it. Red examined it. She could dye white. Red gestured at the collar. A faint coat of blood settled on it, drying immediately. Red picked it up.

     "I like this one."

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles]

 

Quota stepped out onto the darkened street. Behind him sat the armory; before him sat Portland, a series of hard-edged silhouettes against a fading sky. The city, their part of it, was quiet, the vanillas intelligent enough to have survived this long having retreated to their homes at the first sign of nightfall.

 

But Quota could change that. 

 

Fear hung in the air like a cold, crisp fragrance. In a city like Portland, fear led to self-preservation. Fear kept them inside, safe from Epics who couldn't walk through walls or tear them down. Fear was life. 

 

Quota had never dampened fear. The thought of doing so had never struck him as repugnant, but it had struck him as boring. Fear was always the most fun when it flared in their eyes, and tamping it down meant it couldn't flare. Not then, maybe not ever, depending on the sort of vanilla he was dealing with. And then they're telling their stupid little friends that there's nothing to be afraid of, and then what'll you do when you want some fun? Frightening them on purpose was always an option, but it was always more amusing to watch the terror flare at the sight of a cloak. 

 

Tonight, however, was different. Timeport wanted some fun, and for that to happen, they needed some vanillas.

 

Quota inhaled the cold air and fear together, drew his pistol, and darted for the nearest house. Nothing fancy, just a standard vinyl-sided home painted in a tasteful blue-grey. The red door, though—that was interesting. He'd had a neighbor who painted her door red, saying it invited travelers and good luck alike. 

 

It hadn't worked out so well. 

 

Chuckling at the irony, Quota darted for the back porch and pressed his back against the house, motioning Timeport to do the same. He rested his head against the cool siding and reached out toward the family within. Their lights were already off, though he heard the hum of a generator heating the interior. The darkness, though it tempered their fear of running out of fuel, heightened their fear of whatever lurked in the darkness outside. He felt for their fear and tamped it down. 

 

A new kind of fear, a sharper kind, rose up in its place. 

 

Sparks! They'd dealt with empaths before. Knew their touch when they felt it. Quota withdrew, then reached out again, more gently this time. He shot Timeport a grin to cover his irritation, focused again, and pushed the fear down. It rose up ten time stronger. 

 

Sparking sparking sparks!

 

Before Quota could bang his foot against the porch in an attempt at a distraction, he heard voices. Muffled and indistinct, but voices. Following close behind was...

 

No. Quota grinned. Can't be. 

 

But it was. 

 

Footsteps. 

 

They grew louder as they approached the back porch. Quota heard the faint click of metal on metal, then a series of louder clicks as a series of locks and latches were undone. He stifled a laugh. This was just too good. Too good. 

 

Quota elbowed Timeport in the ribs, though a grin had already spread across the teleporter's face, a manic glint in his eyes stronger than any light Quota had seen. His hands clutched his battle-axe. "He's got a gun. I'll head for the bushes." 

 

Timeport nodded in assent as Quota dashed for the hedge, burying himself in the branches as the door opened. 

Edited December 27, 2014 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles

[Edgedancer]

Almost like a child not satisfied with the toys offered to her Red tossed away a couple of the collars with her blood. Kia visibly flinched as she did do. Then Red finally sat down in his lap. After some more searching she found a collar she liked, a white one with a bell, and covered it in her own blood. Nighthound took the collar from her and lifted Red´s hair, using the chance to plant a kiss on the nape of her neck, and put the collar on her.

 

“Ray, make sure no one leaves the store.” She acknowledged Nighthound´s order with a disgruntled noise and positioned herself next to the door. With one arm holding Red to himself he stretched out another hand to Kia. The woman stiffened up as Nighthound stroked along her side. Then he poured his power into her, making her a hound.

 

Dark mist formed around her into the familiar canine features and obscured her face. The hound jumped one of the customers, throwing him to the ground and started to choke him. Nighthound watched the show and further entertained himself by caressing Red´s tender body, her bell ringing slightly as her body shacked.  

  

A couple of people tried to flee the shop but gave up after Ray shot the first one in the foot. For a brief but sweet moment his painful sobs mixed with the sounds of breathless struggle made by the customer the hound assaulted. It ended when the hound managed to kill the man. It stood up and faced Nighthound, who leaned in to whisper into Red´s ear. “Consider this your welcoming celebration; you may decide what we do with the other Vanillas.” He nibbled on her earlobe.

[the winter system]

     Red smiled as Nighthound put the collar on and kissed her neck.

     "Ray, make sure no one leaves the store." Nighthound ordered. Ray seemed to not like that order. She stood next to the door. Nighthound touched the vanilla and she stiffened up. Red started to feel a little bit annoyed, but then the vanilla changed. Dark mist distorted the vanilla's features into almost canine. Nighthound. Red got it. The canine-vanilla leaped at another vanilla, choking him. Nighthound caressed Red. The pulse of the canine-vanilla was slow. No adrenaline. Almost dead, that was how slow the pulse was. The vanilla the canine-vanilla was strangling, however, his pulse was fast. Furious. A different vanilla ran for the door, but a blast of kinetic energy shot through his foot. Screams and sobs. 

     Then the vanilla died. The canine-vanilla stood up. Nighthound whispered to Red. "Consider this your welcoming celebration; you may decide what we do with the other vanillas." Nighthound started nibbling on Red's earlobe, which Red thought was strange, but she didn't say anything. Red pulled out her knife and cut open a long gash on her leg. It cut deep, into her arteries. That would be the fastest way to gain the amount of blood she needed for what she wanted to do. Red twisted as much blood as she could out of all currently open wounds. They streamed towards the edges of the room. After five minutes or so of the blood pouring out, Red twisted the blood to come crashing down onto the vanillas. She twisted it so that Nighthound, Ray, and her weren't drowned, but kept the blood flowing until the rest of the room was full of blood. The vanillas tried to breath but the blood stuck fast. They would drown. Red heard their panic. She wondered if the loud pulsing could be heard by everyone in the room, it was so loud. The vanillas' panic, their terror. This was all because of her. Red smiled and twisted the blood away so they wouldn't die. Yet. As they breathed enough they wouldn't die, Red let it crash down again and repeat. Then, ten times later, she finally let them die.

Edited June 24, 2018 by winter devotion

[mail-mi]

Quota took the lead.

 

Timeport didn't say anything about it on the way through town. He couldn't show the Epic that he was weak. Instead, he spun his axe around in his hands, trying his best not to lob off Quota's smug head. 

 

They reached their destination. Timeport stopped paying attention to where he was or what was going on, only focusing on his excitement about the upcoming massacre. He followed Quota to the back porch, then pressed his body against the wall while the empath did whatever empaths did. Timeport eagerly watched the door, not paying attention to Quota at all, only awaiting the battle.

 

After several excruciating seconds of waiting, Timeport heard footsteps. He grinned and licked his lips, and lifted his axe so it was in front of him, the pointed side of the head facing outwards. "He's got a gun," Timeport heard Quota say faintly. "I'll head to the bushes." 

 

Timeport nodded, not caring what the empath did or didn't do. As long as he stayed out of Timeport's way, Timeport was happy. The last lock clicked, the door opened, creaking softly as it swung outward. The barrel of a gun pointed out of the door, a rifle by the looks of it. 

 

Timeport teleported two minutes into the future. 

 

He landed inside the teenage boy. With a scream, the boy's body exploded, not able to take an entire body's worth of extra matter. Blood sprayed against everything; Timeport was covered in it. With a grin, he turned towards the rest of the family. 

 

The mother's face had contorted into a scream, but no sound had come out, like she couldn't even muster a word to say at her son's death. Shame, Timeport thought. I wanted to hear that scream. The mom stood behind the dad, who was pointing a gun at Timeport, and protectively in front of her daughter, who looked to be about nine or ten years old. 

 

Timeport heard a BANG! as the gun fired, and he teleported right next to the dad. He wasn't dying again, not this time. 

 

When he appeared, the father looked at him in shock. Timeport cocked his head and grinned maniacally. "Miss me?" The father's face contorted into a look of pure rage as he tried to angle the gun at Timeport to fire at him, point-blank. 

 

Timeport shook his head and grabbed the barrel with his free hand, then teleported away with it. The father gasped as the rifle disappeared from his hands, reappearing three feet away in Timeport's. "I didn't say you could keep this," he said, angling the gun at the father's head. But he didn't shoot.

 

He teleported. 

 

He reappeared right in front of the father, so that instead of a bullet landing between his eyes, the whole gun transported into his head. The man was dead instantly, but just for effect Timeport lobbed off his head with his axe. It rolled off the dead father's shoulders and smacked into the ground, the rifle firing out the back of it when it landed. 

 

Finally, the mother found voice to scream, as did the daughter. Timeport closed his eyes and soaked it all in, reveling in the sounds of it. This is what he needed, this is what he had been waiting for. 

 

This is why he'd become an Epic. 

 

Finally, Timeport reopened his eyes. The mother was holding the daughter back from running to the fallen body of the father, and staring up at Timeport with pure terror in her tear-stained eyes. Timeport breathed in the fear, and smiled. This is how Quota must feel, Timeport thought, feeling the ecstasy of fear. For a brief moment he wished he had Quota's powers, but shoved that thought aside. I am immortal, he told himself. Why would I wish for anything else? 

 

Having had enough of the fear, Timeport raised his axe and let it fall into the mother's head. The body gave out one final scream and slumped to the ground, lifeless. 

 

The daughter sobbed louder and clutched her mother's body. Timeport crouched down and grabbed her by the hair, lifting her head up and forcing her to stare into his eyes. He held her there for a moment, enjoying the terror that was there, then threw her to the ground and said one word. 

 

"Run." 

Edited February 6, 2015 by mail-mi

[Edgedancer]

Upon his offer Red slowly flooded the room with her blood, showing of a nice bit of leg while cutting herself. She had enough sense to leave space for Nighthound and Ray to breathe. It was amusing to watch the blood crush down on the people but afterwards it became somewhat boring, with everything obscured by the blood.

 

Still, his pet seemed almost ecstatic, probably thanks to the blood sense she mentioned. Women that gleefully torture others to death have a certain appeal. Plus with her blood powers she´s essentially a copy of Mary, an inferior one but this one he could own.

   

Once the Vanillas died, Nighthound couldn´t quite control himself anymore. He took Red´s knife from her and again cut open her neck to drink from it. The blood filled his mouth, quenching some of his desire, ripping her body apart wasn´t an option, she´s too fragile for that, sparking minor Epics.

 

After he calmed down enough to make sure he wouldn´t kill Red he let go of her neck. “Anything you want to say before I introduce you to the dinosaurs?”

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles]

 

A little girl ran, trailing fear as her oversized nightshirt snagged on a branch, falling to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and didn’t bother dusting herself off, barely noticed the blood splattered across her face and arms and clothes. Her fear was less like a cloud of smoke and more like a miniature dust storm that carried her from the bloodstained porch through the neighboring yard, sobbing all the way.

 

And then Timeport appeared. Blood covered him from hair to shoes. His battleaxe glistened with it in the starlight. His clothes dripped it. A massive grin split his face as he laughed, his eyes wild and gleaming.

 

It was just too funny.

 

Quota laughed. At some point he thought it wise to try and muffle it, but it didn’t do much good. He laughed so hard he lost his balance and had to lean against a tree to stay upright.

 

“Calamity.” It was barely a wheeze when he got his wind back. “That was awesome. You landed inside—and then the dad—with the gun—“ Another fit took hold, and he sank to the ground, wiping tears. “Calamity. You’ve got to top that. Think you can?”

 

Timeport nodded. The manic glint hadn’t left his eyes for a second.

 

“Awesome.” Quota hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he’d cracked a few. He reached out toward the surrounding houses and felt little; many residents had vacated their homes at some point in the past, and the little girl was long gone. Bummer. And it would’ve been so much fun to watch Timeport finish her off.

 

Then again, killing a small, unarmed girl wasn’t much of a challenge.

 

Quota grinned, an idea taking shape.

 

“There’s another Epic just outside our territory. Minor guy. Calls himself Mister Meh ‘cause he can make anybody feel—you know—meh. Uses his powers to make his slaves feel so meh they don’t care about running away or not. What do you say we make him feel a little something more?”

 

 

Mister Meh felt meh.

 

There had been a time, back before Calamity, when meh was not a word. Then someone somewhere had decided it had to be, and into the Oxford Dictionary it went. He didn’t know when, because at that moment, he didn’t care.

 

He took a sliced carrot from a silver tray. He seemed to recall asking for mashed potatoes, but suspected his slave had seen the carrots and thought Close enough. Mister Meh chewed it, wondering if he really would have preferred mashed potatoes.

 

By his second bite, he didn’t care. The carrots were fine. Crunchy, like carrots ought to be, and orange. Except for that one near the corner that was…

 

Purple?

 

“Blake?”

 

The slave, who wore a tweed jacket over a pink blouse and a pair of torn jeans, sighed. “My name is Ricardo.”

 

“Whatever. Why is that carrot purple?”

 

Ricardo shrugged. “Dunno. ‘Cause it is.”

 

“I didn’t ask for a purple carrot.”

 

“Since when do you care?’

 

The question gave Mister Meh pause. Since when did he care? He had once eaten a bowl of pasta from a spittoon and hadn’t asked whether or not the spittoon was washed. It had seemed washed, but asking hadn’t seemed important at the time. “Since when do you care whether or not I get your name right?” Mister Meh sat up, looking Ricardo in the eye. “And since when do you care about anything enough to sass me?”

 

Ricardo blinked. “I….”

 

A sensation worked its way through Mister Meh’s chest. Cold and tight, it rose up inside him. He didn’t identify it immediately. It had been so long since he had felt it. So long since he had allowed himself to feel it. His powers had allowed him to push it down, cloaking all of those nasty emotions in a layer of carefully constructed apathy. Contentment married to hostility, that was what his apathy was. 

 

“Ricardo, do you feel something?”

 

“Like what?” But the look in Ricardo’s eyes made it clear he felt the same thing as his master.

 

Dread.

 

As if on cue, Mister Meh and Ricardo both turned to the doorway. A young man wearing a green-grey cloak gave them a smile.

 

“Hi. I’m Quota. Say hello to my little friend.”

 

His friend had a battleaxe. 

Edited December 31, 2014 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles

[mail-mi]

Mister Meh looked, well, meh. 

 

A drabby yet not dirty white shirt covered his slightly flabby yet not fat torso, and a short yet shaggy beard hid an unattractive yet not ugly face. Let's add some color to that shirt, Timeport thought with a manic grin. 

 

He began. 

 

Sadly, this time there were only two victims--Mister Meh and his slave. It wouldn't be quite as fun as the excursion at the house, but he could still top it. 

 

He teleported. 

 

First, the slave. He landed next to him, thirty seconds into the future. The slave jumped back when Timeport appeared next to him. "Don't worry," Timeport said, "tenderly" grabbing his shoulder. "I'm not going to hurt you." He teleported away, taking the man's shirt with him. 

 

"Ooh," Timeport said after he'd dropped the shirt on the floor, taking his first step in hours. "Nice abs. Do you work out?" 

 

The pants went next. The slave was left standing in his underwear, and his entire body turned a shade of red when he realized it. Timeport heard Quota chuckle, and he did too. "Yes," he said, studying the slave, "I think you look much better like this." After a moment's thought, Timeport got an idea. You wanted better, Quota? he thought. I'll give you better. 

 

"No," Timeport said, scanning the room for what he needed. "I think it needs a little...adjustment." Finding it, he teleported over to the counter. He opened a recipe book and grabbed two pages, setting his battleaxe against the counter, then teleported back to his spot. He held the papers out in front of himself, about shoulder length apart, then teleported to the slave and back. 

 

The slave screamed.

 

His arms flopped to the floor. 

 

Timeport dropped the now-bloody sheets of paper and grabbed two more. Next went the legs, cut off by transporting the sheets of paper between them and the torso. Timeport grabbed one last sheet of paper and teleported it into his neck. 

 

"Better," he said, grinning as the head rolled to the floor. 

 

Next was Mister Meh. Timeport turned to him and cocked his head, teleporting slowly closer to him. The layer of carefully-constructed meh that Mister Meh had laid over his emotions was beginning to break; Timeport saw it in his eyes. Mister Meh was finally feeling, and he was feeling something wonderful. 

 

Fear. 

 

He scrambled backward as Timeport got closer, his chair making screeching sounds against the floorboards. "Don't be scared," Timeport crooned. He held out his arm toward Mister Meh's chest, his fingers open as if he was holding a small ball. 

 

"You'll only die a little bit." 

 

Timeport teleported so his hand was inside Mister Meh's rib cage. He felt around until he found the beating heart, and wrapped his fingers around it. He ripped it out of Mister Meh's chest, and squeezed it in his blood-covered hand. He barely paid attention to the body hitting the ground as he turned around to proudly show Quota the heart. 

 

He teleported right next to Quota and held the heart up to his face. "Did I top it, empath?" 

[TwiLyghtSansSparkles]

 

A piece of paper. Timeport sparking killed him with a sparking piece of paper.

 

Timeport’s fingers were soaked in it, his shirt crusted in it from when he’d landed inside that teenager. His hair was slicked back with drying blood, his fingers wrapped around Mister Meh’s still heart.

 

“Did I top it, empath?”

 

Quota nodded, managing to swallow his laughter long enough for a few words: “Yes. Holy hell, yes.”

 

Timeport’s grin widened, if that was possible. Anyone else might call those pearly whites against the drying blood ghastly. Quota thought it made him look like an Epic. A real Epic.

 

“All right,” Quota said, nudging the heart away. “My turn.”

 

-----------------------

 

Luther Harris knew he shouldn’t be out this late. Though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, many Epics preferred to sneak about under cover of darkness. The more powerful ones liked to flaunt their powers in broad daylight, killing with a glance and walking away from the damage, promising protection for the brightest and leaving the riffraff to the wolves. 

 

Or, in Mocha Maxima’s case, killing the riffraff whose lattes weren’t up to standard. 

 

Stop that. She’s fine. She just got caught up cleaning, that’s all. They always spend a little extra time cleaning after an inspection.

 

Mocha Maxima usually dumped the bodies back behind the—

 

No! She’s fine. She’s never been cut. She got the top score last time. 

 

Luther nervously clutched his pistol, casting a few quick glances in all directions. His ears stung from the cold, but he didn’t dare pull up his hood. Granted, it wouldn’t impair his visibility much, but if one of CorpseMaker’s Epics ambushed him from behind, that small bit of impairment could spell his death.

 

Then again, if Julie was gone….

 

Stop that! She’s not gone. She’s fine. She’s never been cut during an inspection.

 

Her shop was just ahead, a squat brick building in a chain of squat brick buildings. A faint light glowed in the window. Luther relaxed slightly. Maxima always demanded each and every light remain on throughout her inspection and well after. If only the counter lights were lit, she had already left. Julie was fine.

 

You don’t know that.

 

Luther pushed open the door, jingling the small, pleasant-sounding bell above the door. He left his pistol in a locked box by the door and wiped his palms on his jeans, remembering at the last minute to announce his presence.

 

“Mistress Maxima? I—I’m here for Julie—if she made it.”

 

“Come and see her!”

 

Luther’s heart jumped into his throat, then pounded at triple its normal speed. That voice, that male voice punched up a whole octave in an imitation of a female one, did not belong to Mocha Maxima.

 

“In—in the back?”

 

“Where else?” the voice sang. The note petered out on a laugh.

 

Luther took small steps through the darkened shop. The air stank of stale coffee and burned sugar. It floated into his lungs in little sips. He passed the counter, reached out a hand, and steadied himself on it. He had to keep going. Had to find Julie.

 

The light was stronger at the kitchen door, a grey plastic thing with a badly scratched and smeared window. There were figures through it, but Luther couldn’t make them out, didn’t want to match them to the laughter and the whimpers laced through it.

 

He didn’t want to open the door.

 

“What are you waiting for?” The voice sang it again, and this time a second voice joined his.

 

“Please, just let him—“ The words cut off with a small cry. 

 

Julie.

 

Luther pushed the door open and, before he could change his mind, stepped into the kitchen.

 

Mocha Maxima sat slumped in a chair brought in from the main shop. Her legs ended in two bloodied stumps, her arms draped across the metal counter as though she had decided to pause for a moment’s relaxation. A bullet hole in her chest trailed blood all the way down her front as her sightless brown eyes watched nothing at all.

 

Julie knelt on the floor. Small cuts marred her skin, blood soaking through the green shirt of her uniform. She drew small, quick breaths, all of them thick with tears; her eyes flicked to Luther and then back to the floor. A young man in a green-grey cloak covered her hand with a booted foot.

 

“Hi there.” He gave Luther a wicked grin. “Don’t worry about old Maxima there. She promised this shop’d stay running…even without her.”

 

Luther stared. He should run over. Grab Julie. 

 

“Did you know,” the Epic continued, shifting the paring knife from his left hand to his right so it fell within view, “that she wasn't the only one growing the coffee? Couple others have a greenhouse, but they all sold to her. Ran this whole ring of coffee shops, and no one thought to ask if she had any help behind the scenes." He chuckled. “Well, until me, anyway. It’s amazing what a little fear can do. That, and her weakness. Expired coupons. How lame is that?" 

 

What do you want? The question was there in Luther’s mind, but he couldn’t force it through his lips. Julie was there on the floor, bleeding through her shredded sleeves, and he couldn't move toward her. His legs shook and he couldn't make them move. 

 

The Epic took a step back and flicked the knife toward Julie, causing her to flinch. “She hasn’t even tried to run since I started. Well, she tried at the beginning, but everything after that? It’s like she wanted it. Or…”

 

His knife drew a long gash down her cheek, drawing a whimper but little more. He couldn't move. It was like one of those nightmares where the monster was there, ready to devour him, and he couldn't move. 

 

“…like she was too scared to run.”

 

There was something in his words, but Luther couldn’t force his brain to puzzle it out.

 

“I’ve kept her here a while now,” the Epic continued. He still hadn’t raised his voice. “And she’ll last a while longer. But since she’s been so much fun…I’ll give you a choice.”

 

A pistol slid across the linoleum floor with a scratching sound, bumping against his foot where it came to a stop.

 

“Go on,” the Epic said. “Pick it up.”

 

No. There was only one thing he’d be forced to do with that gun, and he wasn’t going to do it.

 

“I’m not going to make you shoot your sister, you slontze. Pick it up already.”

 

Luther did as he was told. He could drop it. He could still drop it and take whatever punishment that entailed.

 

“There’s one bullet. You can use it, or you can watch me finish with your sister before I start on you. Pick.”

 

He looked at Julie, who gave a small shake of her head and flicked her eyes toward the Epic with the knife. He looked at Mocha Maxima, who stared at nothing, and then at the walk-in fridge. Was someone in there? Or was it just the one?

 

His heart pounded. There was one bullet.

 

Maybe one Epic.

 

Could he die?

 

Sweat soaked his palms. He had to do it now. Now, before he could talk himself out of it.

 

"Come on." The Epic's smile was expectant. Gloating. "Pick already." 

 

Luther lifted the gun, aimed it at the Epic, and pulled the trigger.

 

Click.

 

A cold feeling settled in his stomach. He tried again.

 

Click.

 

Click. Click click.

 

The Epic laughed. “I thought you’d try that." 

 

Another Epic stepped from the walk-in fridge. Dried blood crusted his clothes, his face, his hair, and an enormous grin split his face. He had a battle-axe hefted over one shoulder. 

 

"All yours, Timeport." 

Edited January 3, 2015 by TwiLyghtSansSparkles

[A Joe in the Bush]

"So, now that we're all close friends," Max said, "Should we get going into Attica? These two only have a little while."

 

Gordon nodded, and looked over his shoulder. Moses and Luke were moving the last box into the bunker. He turned back to Max and the newcomers. “Right then. We’re finished unloading, so if you’ll follow me, we’ll start setting up.” He turned and walked towards the grave of Atticus O’Sullivan. He followed Luke and Moses down the stairs. The bunker was sparsely lit, and undecorated. There were several rooms, one was private, presumably for a higher up and his family, another was more like a barracks, lots of bunks and dressers between.

 

Sierra was talking to somebody on her mobile, and waved Rachel over as soon as she came in. Gordon turned to address the rest of the Reckoners and the three newcomers. “Right, this is Attica, our new Headquarters. The small room belongs to Rachel and Sierra as well as Alice if she so wishes. The rest of us get to bunk in the barracks. So claim a bed and a dresser, and lets get stuff unloaded.” The Reckoners started off, doing as they were told. Gordon turned to find Rachel waiting behind him.

 

“Hey, we’re getting another recruit soon.” Rachel gestured over her shoulder. “Another Reckoner just called. Her entire cell was killed in a failed operation. We were the only cell she knew about, so she contact us after fleeing. I told her where we were, so she’ll be arriving sometime soon.”

 

Gordon mused over that. They could use a Sniper. “That’s good, does she know where to go or do we have to pick her up?

 

“I told her to come to the Cemetery and look for Luke sitting on one of the benches by the entrance. He’ll bring her.”

 

“Good, alright, you heard about the room situation?”

 

“Yes, I’ll go set up.”

 

Gordon turned, looking for Remington. He found rather quickly, leaning against a wall. He didn’t have any stuff, so Gordon didn’t even know if he’d entered the Barracks or not. “Hey, welcome to the rebellion. When do you need to leave?”

[the winter system]

 

     Amber stood cemetery, fingering her necklace. What would the new cell be like? She had heard it was a lot bigger than her old one. Amber hoped there wouldn't be an arrogant slontze in charge here. Amber knew she shouldn't speak badly of the dead, but it was his fault that the entire cell got slaughtered. Amber watched it happen, too. 

      That was over. Amber opened the creaky door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man sitting on a bench. 

      "Hey." She said, tucking her necklace into her shirt. 

      "You the sniper I'm waiting for?"

      "Unless there's some how two of me, then yes. From the cell in Northern California."

      "I heard about that. I'm sorry."

      "I'm fine." Amber turned away to hide the tear dripping down her face. Her sister... 

      "You sure about that?"

      "Yes!" Amber snapped. "Never been better, actually."

      "Right, any questions?" He didn't believe her. That didn't matter. Amber was here to do what she had joined the Reckoners in the first place to do. Kill Epics. 

      "What's the cell working on now?"

      "A rebellion."

      "Oh. Sounds... interesting." Amber felt herself deflate. Really? A rebellion? What were these people thinking? An open rebellion would get them all killed. Amber wasn't exactly interesting in having an entire cell slaughtered again. Maybe they'd be okay, though. As long as an arrogant slontze didn't hijack the protocols and mess everything up. Amber looked around. "Is this the best security you have?"

      "It works. Mostly."

      "Mostly?" Amber raised an eyebrow.

      "Well, there was Seth/Timeport. But none of us expected that."

      "What is that, exactly?"

      "He turned into an Epic."

      "Oh." Amber had never had that problem, but it must have made quite a few disasters. "What's your job in the cell?" 

      "Information specialist. And other stuff." He shrugs. "What about you?"

      "I'm a sniper. I said it already, I believe." Amber kept walking, her footsteps quietly clinking on the floor. If it had gone right, then Amber would have killed her worst enemy. But it had gone wrong. Amber had thought nothing could have compared to losing her sister. Losing her cell was worse. She had thought she had buried her grief deep inside and Amber had. But their deaths had brought it all to her surface. Lost and alone. Hiding in a corner. No! That was years ago. The screams were almost gone. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Amber crawled deeper into the tunnel. Amber wasn't the same weak girl than she was back then. She was a Reckoner. The Epic that killed her parents was dead now. Only the Epic that killed her sister remained. Amber followed the Reckoner into a bunker. 

Edited January 4, 2015 by Winter Cloud

[Kobold King]

 

Sam scribbled at first.

 

At first, nothing legible. Just spirals and sharp lines and little black holes that ate up part of the page. It was surprising how stress-relieving it was proving to be. Ignoring the drone of Lightwards' and Altermind's conversation; ignoring the friend turned zombie looming nearby; ignoring the rainbow-dressed psychopath that brought all this into her life in the first place.

 

Just lead meeting paper, while forcing the water back into her eyes.

 

Soon she moved past the scribbling stage and moved on to basic rude observations; the villainous goatee Intervention sported, the slightly dim-witted way Flashpoint kept watch over the table, and so on. She was considering writing the outline for a Lightwards and Altermind romance novel when it happened.

 

The pen rebelled.

 

It was a subtle rebellion. Sam tried to dot an 'i' and the pen wouldn't move. It hung stiffly in her hand, not budging an inch. She stiffened in her seat, letting go of the wayward instrument. 

 

What did that glittering creep give me? she thought fearfully. A weapon? A bomb? A--

 

Her train of thought trailed off in alarm as the pen moved suddenly, sliding across the page in a series of deft movements. In smooth strokes, it scribbled out a sentence in clean, almost immaculate handwriting.

 

Hello, Miss Trattner, the pen wrote, Yes, I remember you. Excited to see me? 

 

Sam stared at the paper, heart pounding in her chest. Was it... it couldn't... he couldn't...

 

The pen was limp and uncontrolled once again. Clearly its master intended for her to write with it. Whoever that master was.

 

Her eyes drifted towards the tall man across the table from her. Altermind, seated with a stoic expression across his face. Staring motionlessly across the table as his lieutenant described enemy Epics.

 

She looked down again at the paper, thinking of what to say. Not much came to mind. How were you supposed to greet a dictator? Scratch that. Saying what she was supposed to say wouldn't work at all. 

 

So instead, she pressed a pen to the paper and began to scrawl.

 

Hello, Altermind. Didn't think you'd recognize me. And yeah! I've wanted to meet you for a long time.

 

Of course, I kind of hoped you'd be tied up and I'd have a crowbar. But I guess this will do.

 

For the first time in the meeting a small smile twitched at her face. Satisfied, Sam inconspicuously lifted the clipboard and held it over her shoulder, pointing it at where she was pretty sure Altermind was hiding.

 

She didn't know what the blonde slontze wanted.

 

But he was sparking sure not getting it. And if Sam had her way, he'd regret starting this conversation at all.

 

 

 

 

 

The building shook as Doctor Funtimes showcased her might. Lightwards sat stiffly as the house around him shook, mentally ordering Pamela to stand up again when the shaking caused her to fall over.

 

He mentally ran through the list of Epics Flashpoint had described. None of them sounded particularly threatening. Toymaker's creations had proven more useful to the Empire than to CorpseMaker himself. The chief threat of Streetwise was easily neutralized. Leech from the sound of it was barely an Epic at all, and Quota's sole power amounted to little more than making people sad. Even Electro was little more than human artillery.

 

The minions would fall readily, Lightwards was sure. It was their master, the immortal basilisk, who would prove the challenge.

 

Fortunately, he had the faint beginnings of a plan concerning him.

 

Lightwards cleared his throat irritably. "Now that we're out of Streewise's hearing, shall we decide upon a course of action? The Epics at my disposal should prove more than enough to handle his servants. CorpseMaker himself will prove more of a challenge. Now I ask: have you or have you not developed a plan for disposing of him?"

[Mailliw73]

On the way back to the armory, Electro saw Quota and Timeport heading out on a different street. Timeport seemed to be in a particularly angry mood. Electro decided to ignore them for now. An uneven piece of concrete tripped Electro just before he reached the armory. Electro swore as he fell. The anger he had thought subdued after his "relaxation techniques" surfaced again. Someone would pay for it and they would pay now.

Electro Scrambled everyone nearby, stopping the foot traffic immediately. Everyone looked around at each other confused. Electro grinned. "Good evening, children, ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, with a strong coat of sarcasm. "Tonight you have the special privilege of being part of an experiment." Electro shot two beams of electricity, severing the heads of the couple who had tried to run.

"I'm giving you a choice. As a group, you have five minutes to decide which of you will be sacrificed to me. The others will be let go immediately after. If you don't choose, I'll kill all of you. Anyone who tries to run will be killed instantly. Anyone who pulls out a weapon will be treated likewise. Five minutes begins now," Electro said. He watched as the people panicked. Another brave soul tried to escape, but like the others, was cut down immediately. Resistance petered out then. A few of the people, mainly senior citizen men and some people just into their twenties, stood off to the side, refusing to participate. One wore black gloves and held his fists in the air. Electro laughed at the sight and cut him down.

"Two minutes left." The group of people had begun chattering more rapidly. Some were quiet and sadly choosing the ones most suited to death. There were a couple loudly advocating for the oldest person among them to be the sacrifice. A few nominated themselves.

"Time's up," Electro said. An old woman, one of the ones who had nominated herself, hobbled forward on her cane. Many of the others looked at their feet, ashamed at their choice. A few stared at Electro with hate. A few cried. Others mumbled various prayers.

"Take me," the elderly woman said. "These people have their lives still. I already lived mine."

"Such a noble sacrifice we have here. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, letting this poor old lady be killed," Electro said. More of the people looked away. They were ashamed. Good. They should be. One of them might have been the dirty crook who had killed his father.

Electro looked the old woman in the eyes. He strode over to her and lifted her chin. "So brave for someone so old," he said. "Pity you'll be dead soon. But not yet." Electro reached his hand out and cut through the spinal cord of the youngest girl he saw. She was probably nine or ten, that would serve his purposes well enough. The girl's legs crumbled and her torso fell to the ground, her corpse looking like some magician's saw act gone wrong. The people yelled angrily. Electro cut off the hands of the several people who dared to raise a gun. He was furious, which only enhanced his electromagnetic field. The two shots that had managed to be fired at him only veered away into the wall of the building behind Electro.

"People, calm down. Your chosen lamb will be slaughtered, but since she was chosen as the sacrifice, she must endure the most. You may all leave now." A few began running, but bursts of electricity cut a leg off here and a foot off there, causing them to trip over themselves. The others were still in shock. "I said: leave. Now!" Electro bellowed. He hated when people were slow to listen. Finally, they seemed to get the message. They began walking down various alleys and side streets. Electro Scrambled them all again. They all stopped what they were doing.

They had all started leaving except the father of the girl Electro had killed. He stood over the body of his daughter, hands trembling, eyes flaming, as he looked at Electro. Too easy, Electro thought. He cut the man's hair off and then his fingernails. Next, he sliced off the man's ears and big toes. The water of fear had replaced the fire of hate in the man's eyes. Electro kept the people in the streets Scrambled. He would deal with them in a minute. First this man.

After the man fell to his knees, hardly recognizable, Electro turned to the people who had begun leaving. "You would really let this old woman die for you? Cowards. Get out of here." Electro gave them their bits of hope every time he spoke. He knew that each of them was secretly glad that they weren't the ones chosen to die. It was so easy to lead them on. They were like sheep. They fed right out of his hand. As people left, Electro killed or wounded each one. Arms, legs, fingers, noses, they all found their way to the concrete below. The old woman next to him that he had kept a grip on was sobbing.

"I was supposed to be the sacrifice, not them. Let them go," she bawled. Just like a baby. Electro smiled.

"Oh, you are the sacrifice, you endured the worst of it. Now leave me." He shoved her away and she fell to the ground. She pulled herself back up, slowly, with her cane, clutching her knee. It was probably broken. The others' bodies had clogged up the street corners and Electro watched as the woman picked her way over them, crying. He sent one last burst of power out, burning a lightning bolt into her neck. "Don't forget me."

Electro wandered back in the direction he had seen Quota and Timeport go. He wondered if he could catch up to them.

After Timeport left, Chi knew that Portland was in trouble. If people like that were only serving more powerful Epics, Portland was in bad shape. Chimera would do what he could to help. He spent the next hour or two first utilizing the gorillas, donkeys, rhinos, and guards to gather the materials they could to reinforce the wall.

After the slaughter Timeport had committed against Chi's children, their numbers were less than would be desirable. Chi used some of the zoo's original creatures to create more Chimerans, these ones with even quicker reproductive systems. He called his contacts across the country and arranged for some new animals to be brought to him.

Now, to help Portland's citizens, Chi gathered up the canines he had available. He combined the cuteness of puppies from different breeds: pugs, Pomeranians, labradors, beagles, and a few others. He gave them the speed of Great Danes, their claws became as sharp as a falcon's talons, the ferocity of wolves, and the loyalty of labs. He gave the few dozen new dogs the mental command to spread throughout the city and for each to find someone, especially children, who were very sad or needed help and to comfort and protect them. The pack of pups scrambled out the gates, eager to do their new duty. Chi smiled at the sight of the little puppies running out to help. Portland needed them.

For his final creation of the day, Chi sketched exactly what he wanted in his sketchpad reserved for his most important creations. His tears fueled his art, as well as did his anger. Argo stood as a silent sentinel behind him. Chi knew Argo was grieving at least as much as he was. The sketch finally done, Chi used his powers. First, the hawk was combined to give its wings and talons replaced claws. Next, the fur was strengthened by the armadillo's shell underneath. Porcupine quills grew from the back.

Chimera looked upon his newest creation with tears in his eyes. Kyreen looked so much like her mother. Only this time, Chi had added more safety precautions. Kyreen wouldn't be so brutally murdered. Argo let loose a loud roar of approval as he saw Kyrie's daughter become the fierce warrior who would replace her mother. She would never fill her mother's hole in Chimera's heart, but she would distract him from it. Chi smiled.

[the winter system]

Red felt Nighthound shift position and rip open her neck. She felt that same rush of euphoria that always came. It had been way too long. After a few minutes of letting infinite blood pour out, Nighthound pulled away and said, “Anything you want to say before I introduce you to the dinosaurs?” Dinosaurs! Didn't that vanilla boy say something about dinosaurs? Maybe there was another layer to the already interesting floating museum. Red didn't want to appear too interested, though. 

       "I will be ready to go whenever you wish me to." Red started to hear the loud screams outside. They'd noticed, then. Red flicked some blood out under the door. The pulses of the vanillas were rapid. They were terrified. Red smiled. They were terrified of her. Red. A minor Epic. That was what came from being with a High Epic. She twisted the blood that was outside into a set of letters: Don't run. Red smiled. This was the true meaning of being Epic. Being powerful was secondary if you couldn't use it to make people fear you. Obey you.But of course, she wasn't in charge. That was Nighthound. Red nodded to him. What did he want her to do?