ASTTH! 46 (Patreon)

Chapter 46:

– Skidmark –

The air in the Merchants’ makeshift command center—a water-stained, mold-eating basement of a condemned building deep within the armpit of Brockton Bay’s railyards—smelled like battery acid, stale piss, and motor oil. 

But to Skidmark, it smelled like victory!

He sat slumped in a leather executive chair that he’d scavenged from a dumpster behind a Brandish’s law firm, the upholstery slashed and bleeding yellow stuffing. On the scarred mahogany desk in front of him lay his breakfast, lunch, and dinner—a mountain of white powder that sparkled under the flickering, buzzing fluorescent bulb overhead.

With a practiced, jittery hand, Skidmark used a rusted razor blade to chop the pile, carving out a line thick enough to choke a horse. He didn’t bother with a straw. He leaned down, pressing a nostril against the wood, and inhaled with the force of a vacuum cleaner.

Ffffffffft!

The burn was instantaneous, a chemical fire searing through his sinuses and lighting up the back of his eyes. He threw his head back, his grimy hoodie sliding against the leather, and let out a wet, rattling gasp of pure ecstasy. 

The drip hit the back of his throat—bitter, numbing, and beautiful.

"Fuck... yeah," he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes watering as the dopamine flooded his brain, turning the dreary basement into a golden palace in his mind. A wide, manic grin split his face, revealing teeth that were yellowing and slightly crooked. "This is the fucking life!" he roared, his voice cracking with the intensity of the rush. "Look at me! Look at this!" He gestured wildly at the trash-filled room as if it were a grand throne room. "It’s good to be the fucking King of Brockton Bay!"

In the corner of the room, perched atop a stack of stolen tires, Mush was vibrating. The goblin looking merchant was huddled over a glass pipe, the lighter in his hand trembling as he torched a rock of crack.

"Hell yeah, Skids!" Mush cheered, exhaling a plume of acrid white smoke that joined the stale haze already hanging in the room. He scrambled down from his perch, his movements jerky and insect-like. "You’re the man! Top of the food chain, baby!"

"Think about it, Mush!" Skidmark shouted, his thoughts racing faster than his mouth could keep up. He grabbed a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the desk and took a swig, swishing the burn away. "For years, we’ve been the underdogs. Scraping by. Dealing with those slant-eyed fucks in the ABB and those goose-stepping Nazi shits in the Empire. But look at 'em now!" He laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Lung? That dragon-freak is getting shipped to the Birdcage! Caged like the animal he is! He’s done! Fucked! And the Nazis? Those retard supremacists broke the Endbringer truce! They attacked the PRT and got their asses handed to them! Kaiser is probably crying in a cell right now, waiting to get shanked!"

“All that’s left for us to take down is Coil boss!”

"Pfft, fuck Coil..." Skidmark said while glancing around nervously, his eyes narrowing as the paranoia of the cocaine briefly warred with his ego. "That snake-fucking coward. Probably got cold feet when he realized the Merchants were rising up. Ran away with his tail between his legs. Nobody has heard shit about him doing any big jobs for over a month now!"

"Totally ran away," Mush agreed, scratching furiously at a scab on his neck. "Scared of you, man. Scared of what we're building."

"Exactly!" Skidmark bellowed. He leaned back in his dumpy chair/throne. "Our competition is gone! By default, by rights, and by pure fucking grit... that means the Merchants run Brockton Bay now! I am the King! And this..." He gestured to the room—to the drugs. "...this is my kingdom!"

"Hail to the King!" Mush screamed, pumping a fist in the air, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting an audience to applaud.

From the other side of the room, a metallic clang rang out. Squealer slid out from under the chassis of a monstrous, half-built vehicle that looked like a monster truck had mated with a dumpster and a stealth bomber. She was covered in grease, her lab coat stained black and brown, her goggles pushed up into her frizzy, chemically-fried hair.

She wiped her hands on a rag that was only slightly dirtier than her skin, swaying slightly on her feet. She was blitzed out of her mind on uppers, her pupils dilated so wide her eyes looked like black holes. "You're the best, Skids," she slurred, her voice raspy from fumes and smoke. She stumbled over to the desk.

"Just don't go replacing me with some cheap, street-corner floozy, now that you’re the king! I ain’t joinin no harem!" Squealer spat. 

Skidmark looked at Squealer. She was a mess—skinny, twitchy, covered in sores and grime—but when she leaned forward, her stained tank top dipped low, revealing the heavy, swaying weight of her massive tits. They were sweaty and pale, smeared with grease, and to Skidmark, they were glorious!

"Baby, come here," Skidmark said, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr. He reached out with his free hand and grabbed Squealer’s waist, pulling her close. He buried his face in her cleavage, inhaling the scent of motor oil, sweat, and cheap perfume.

"No way I'd replace you," he mumbled into her skin, biting lightly at the soft flesh of her breast. He squeezed Squealer’s breast hard, eliciting a sharp gasp and a giggle from her. "You're my Queen, Squealer. My Tinker Queen."

Squealer preened under the praise, her insecurity melting away into a drug-addled haze of affection. She reached down and ran her grease-stained fingers through Skidmark's hair, scratching his scalp. "That's right, Skids. Just remember who builds your tanks!"

Damn, did he love his tanks!

He turned his attention back to the table, already reaching for the razor blade to line up another bump. He needed to keep this momentum going. He needed to think.

"Listen up!" Skidmark barked, sniffing hard as he snorted another line, the powder recharging his batteries instantly. He stood up and paced around the desk, his energy frantic and jagged. "The Bay is ours," he declared, waving his arms. "But people... the sheep out there... they don't know it yet. They think the Merchants are just... just some small-time dealers. Trash." He stopped in front of Mush, grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders and shaking him. "We gotta show 'em, Mush! We gotta show 'em we're the new royalty!"

"Yeah! Show 'em!" Mush agreed, eyes darting. "How we gonna do that, Skids?"

Skidmark spun around to face Squealer, who was busy inspecting a half-empty bag of chips. "We need to do something big," Skidmark said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that grew louder with every word. "Something massive. Something that screams 'The Merchants are here to stay!' Now that the ABB is gone, now that the Nazis are fucked... the city is wide open." He climbed up onto his desk, standing in his dirty sneakers on the mahogany surface, towering over his lieutenants. He spread his arms wide, encompassing the rot, the drugs, and the potential of his empire. "We're gonna throw a party," Skidmark shouted, his eyes gleaming with madness. "Not just a party. A fucking festival! A celebration of the new regime! We'll invite everyone! We'll raid the stores, we'll take the streets, and we'll show this city what happens when the Merchants take the throne!" He looked down at Squealer. "I want that tank finished, baby. I want it big, loud, and covered in spikes. I want to ride that motherfucker right down the Boardwalk while the city burns!"

"I can do that," Squealer said, a twisted smile spreading across her face, showing off her bad teeth. "I can make it fly, Skids. Or at least... jump really high."

"Perfect!" Skidmark screamed. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and hurled it against the far wall, shattering it in a spray of amber glass and alcohol. "To the Merchants! To the Kings of Brockton Bay!"

"To the Kings!" Mush and Squealer roared back.

– Rebecca –

The pristine, clinical whiteness of the Cauldron base felt jarringly sterile after spending days in the Underworld. Rebecca Costa-Brown sat at the head of the long, white conference table. 

Across from her sat Contessa—but in private between them she liked to go by her name Fortuna. She was the woman who saw the path to everything. 

Fortuna was leaning back in her chair, her posture deceivingly relaxed. She wore her signature suit, her fedora resting on the table in front of her. Her dark eyes were fixed on Rebecca, unblinking, absorbing every word of the debriefing.

"And then," Rebecca said, her voice echoing slightly in the empty room, "Gabriel used the Krayt Dragon pearls as a catalyst. She channeled enough holy energy to crack the foundation of that dimension to seal away the monster…"

She finished her report and leaned back, the silence stretching out between them. She waited for the tactical analysis. She waited for Fortuna to ask about the political ramifications of a power vacuum in a Biblical dimension, or the logistical utility of an army of angels, or the threat assessment of Tiamat, the Dragon King who was now obsessed with Silas and currently in their world.

Fortuna picked up her hat. She ran a finger along the brim, tracing the felt curve with a slow, deliberate movement. A small, enigmatic smile played on her lips. "I’m happy for you, Rebecca," Fortuna said softly.

Rebecca blinked, her tactical mind grinding to a halt. "Excuse me?"

Fortuna looked up, her eyes twinkling with a rare, genuine amusement. "You were wound so tight. For years, Rebecca. Decades even!" She placed the hat on her head, tilting it just so. "You desperately needed to get laid!"

Rebecca sputtered. Her mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out for a solid three seconds. The sheer absurdity of the statement, juxtaposed against the cosmic horror she had just described, short-circuited her brain. 

"I—" Rebecca stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I just told you I fought a war in Hell! I told you I watched the literal biblical God and Lucifer get eaten alive like appetizers by a monster that makes Behemoth look like a house cat! I told you we rewrote the metaphysics of an entire alternate reality!" She slammed her hand onto the table. The reinforced material groaned but held. "And your takeaway—your strategic analysis—is that you’re happy I got laid?"

Fortuna just giggled. It was light, almost girlish, a sound that seemed utterly alien coming from the Bogeyman. "Yep," Fortuna said, popping the 'p'. She crossed her legs, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "What else am I supposed to say? You’re my friend, Rebecca. You look... radiant. Your skin is glowing, your posture is less rigid. You aren't carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders alone anymore. You’re sharing it." Fortuna leaned forward, her expression sobering just a fraction, though the amusement remained in her eyes. "And, more importantly... our chances of total victory against Scion just rose."

Rebecca froze. The indignation vanished, replaced by the cold, hard focus that had defined her life since she drank a vial of black liquid. "Rose to what?"

"Over seventy percent," Fortuna whispered. "Seventy-four point eight percent, to be precise."

Rebecca’s legs gave out. She sank back into her chair, her breath leaving her in a rush. For years, the number had been decimal points. Fractions of a percent. A statistical impossibility that they were throwing lives at in a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable extinction of humanity across thousands of Earths!

"Seventy... percent," Rebecca breathed, the words tasting sweet and foreign on her tongue. "That’s... Fortuna, that’s winning. That’s actually winning!"

"It is," Fortuna agreed. "Silas’s growth is exponential. His ability to empower others—you, Amy Dallon, Taylor Hebert, the Ward Vista—is our greatest boon since we started our insane plan to kill an alien god!"

Rebecca felt a surge of hope so intense it was almost painful. "Then we do it," Rebecca said, her voice gaining strength. "If we’re at seventy percent, we push. We lure him here, fight him in a world we don’t care about. We mobilize the Triumvirate, the Guild, everything! We strike Scion now, while we have the element of surprise."

Fortuna shook her head slowly. The hat brim shadowed her eyes. "...No."

"What? Why not!?" Rebecca demanded. "Seventy percent is better odds than we’ve ever dared to dream of!"

"Because seventy percent isn't one hundred percent," Fortuna said, her voice dropping, becoming cold and flat. "Do not underestimate him, Rebecca. Do not let your new strength blind you to what the Golden Man is." Fortuna stood up and walked to the wall, staring at a blank white panel as if she could see the golden avatar floating in the skies of Earth Bet. "He has access to every shard," Fortuna warned. "Every power you have ever seen, and millions you haven't. He is the source. If he feels truly threatened... if he stops holding back... he can pull from the well." She turned back to Rebecca, her face grim. "He could manifest the defensive capabilities of the Siberian. He could utilize the soul-harvesting mechanics of the Faerie Queen. He could, if pushed to the absolute brink, perhaps even access a variation of the Path to Victory itself."

Rebecca gulped. The new durability of her Viltrumite physiology suddenly felt very thin. The idea of Scion using Contessa’s power—seeing the steps to defeat them before they even moved—was a nightmare scenario!

"If we strike now, we risk him evolving," Fortuna continued. "We risk him adapting before Silas reaches his peak. Silas is a dragon, yes. But according to you and this Tiamat—he is a young dragon. He still needs to grow. He needs to hoard more power. More allies. More women. More... rewards." Fortuna walked back to the table and rested her hip against it, looking down at Rebecca. "Besides," Fortuna purred, her tone shifting again, "I wouldn't want your schoolgirl life with your boyfriend and girlfriend to end too soon, would we?" She reached out and pointed at Rebecca.

Rebecca huffed, slapping Fortuna’s hand away, though there was no real heat in it. "It’s not a 'schoolgirl life,'" Rebecca grumbled, crossing her arms defensively. "It’s deep cover infiltration and asset management."

"Asset management," Fortuna repeated, laughing softly. "Is that what we’re calling a three-way in a devil’s bathtub these days?"

"FORTUNA!" 

– Silas –

Director Piggot's office was silent after my story. I could practically hear the gears grinding in Armsmaster’s head as he processed the report I’d just delivered. Piggot looked like she was reconsidering every life choice that had led her to this specific chair in this specific city, and Miss Militia—Hannah—was staring at me with a mix of awe and utter bewilderment.

And that was with me leaving out the really crazy stuff.

I hadn't mentioned that Rebecca Costa-Brown was actually Alexandria. I definitely hadn’t mentioned that I’d spent a significant portion of my interdimensional trip engaged in activities that would make a porn star blush. 

Some things were better left unsaid, especially in a government office. 

"So," I said, breaking the silence before it could suffocate us all. "I think that covers the basics. Angels, devils—big monster sealed away for a thousand years. You know, just another Tuesday for me at this point..."

Piggot rubbed her temples, her eyes squeezed shut. "Mr. Thorn... 'basics' is not the word I would use. Go. Just... go. Before I have a stroke."

Armsmaster didn't even look up from his data pad, his fingers flying across the screen as he no doubt tried to calculate the impossible physics of what I’d described.

I turned to Hannah. She was leaning against the wall near the door. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, the professional mask slipped. I saw the woman beneath the hero, the one who had kissed me on the street after we beat the Simurgh.

"I'll just leave you three to discuss," I said, my voice softening. I walked past her, pausing just long enough to lean in slightly. "I'd like to see you later, though, Hannah."

I flashed her a smile—a genuine one, just for her. Even with her scarf covering the lower half of her face, I could see a hint of blush. She ducked her head, a shy nod her only answer, but it was enough.

I stepped out into the hallway, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. The Rig still wore the scars of the recent villain attack. Those assholes breaking the truce… 

The walls were scorched in places, long black streaks marking where energy blasts or explosions had hit. Some sections were just... gone, covered by temporary tarps or hasty repairs. 

But the blood was gone. The bodies had been cleared. Life, such as it was in Brockton Bay, went on.

I made my way to the Wards' common room. I swiped my keycard and the door hissed open.

"SILAS!" 

I barely had time to brace myself before a blur of green and white slammed into me. Vista—Missy—had warped across the room in a blink, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my stomach.

"You're back!" she cried, her voice muffled against my shirt. "You're actually back! I was so worried!”

I laughed, patting her head. Her blonde hair was soft under my fingers. "Easy, Missy. I'm okay. I promise."

She pulled back, looking up at me with big, teary eyes. "You better be! You can't just disappear for days without me! We’re supposed to be Space Adventuring Buddies for life!"

I chuckled at the title she’d probably just come up with on the spot. "I know, I know," I said, giving her a squeeze. "I'm sorry for making you worry. But trust me, this was one of my most exciting adventures yet. I fought demons, met angels... I can't wait to tell you all about it."

I looked up and saw the rest of the team gathered in the room. Clockblocker was sprawled on a beanbag chair, Aegis was leaning against the counter in the kitchenette, and Kid Win was tinkering with something at the table. They all looked up at me with wide eyes, clearly dying to hear the story.

"Dude," Clockblocker said, sitting up. "You can't just drop 'fought demons and met angels' and not elaborate. Spill!"

"Later," I promised. "It's a long story and I just spent two hours telling the whole thing to Piggot, Armsmaster and Miss Militia." I scanned the room, noticing a distinct lack of a certain armored emotion-blaster. "Where's Dean?"

Before anyone could answer, a loud, sharp scoff cut through the air.

I turned. Sophia—Shadow Stalker—was sitting on the far end of the couch, staring intently at the TV. The screen was showing a news report about the cleanup efforts in the city, but her eyes were glazed over, not really seeing it. Her posture was rigid, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her dark skin glowing in the light of the television. She was doing her absolute best to pretend I didn't exist.

"Uh oh," Clockblocker whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. "Someone's in trouble..."

Aegis cleared his throat, pushing off the counter. "Alright, guys. Let's give them some room. Come on, Dennis, Chris. Let's go see what Carlos is working on in the workshop."

"But I want to hear about the demons!" Clockblocker complained.

"Later," Aegis said firmly, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him up.

Vista clung to me for a second longer. "But Silas..."

I looked down at her, giving her a gentle smile. "I'll hang out with you later, Missy. I promise. I just need to talk to Sophia real quick." I could tell that she was really upset for some reason.

Missy pouted, her lower lip jutting out, but she nodded. "Fine. But you owe me. Big time."

"I can show you guys my new tech while we wait!" Kid Win suggested enthusiastically, gathering up his components. "It's a modular drone system that—"

"You have ten minutes," Vista interrupted, her voice flat. "Ten minutes before you bore me to sleep, Chris!"

"Hey!" Kid Win protested, looking offended as they all shuffled out of the room.

The door closed behind them, leaving the room suddenly very quiet. The only sound was the low murmur of the news anchor on the TV.

I took a deep breath and walked over to the couch. Sophia didn't look at me. She kept her eyes glued to the screen, her jaw set tight. I sat down next to her, close enough that our thighs almost touched, but not quite.

"Hey," I said softly.

No response. She didn't even blink.

I reached out, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. Under my hand, her muscles were tense, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. She flinched slightly at my touch, a tiny, involuntary movement, but she didn't pull away.

"Sophia," I murmured, leaning in a little closer. "What's wrong?"

She was silent for a long moment, her breathing shallow and controlled. Then, slowly, she turned her head. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, and the raw hurt and anger swirling in them hit me like a physical blow. "You took Hebert," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

I blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"You took her," Sophia hissed, pulling away from my arm and shifting on the couch so she could face me fully. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. "On your little adventure. To another dimension. You took Taylor fucking Hebert!"

Oh…

"And then you fucked her!"

OH….

"How did you..."

"Are you kidding me?" Sophia laughed. She stood up, pacing in front of the couch, her movements jerky and agitated. "It's all over her face! She's walking around with this stupid, satisfied glow!” She stopped pacing and whirled on me, pointing an accusatory finger. "You fucked her first! Before me! I was here first, Silas! I saved your life! I was the one who found you in that alley! I was the one who dragged your ass to the hospital! Me! Not her!" Her chest was heaving, her eyes shining with unshed tears of rage. She looked beautiful and terrifying all at once.

"Sophia..." I stood up, reaching for her hands.

She slapped my hands away. "Don't touch me! You know  I wanted to go with you next! I wanted to be the one fighting by your side! I wanted to be the one that you claimed for yourself next!"

Well, that was certainly a thing…

I looked at her, really looked at her. I saw the insecurity beneath the anger, the fear that she wasn't enough, that she had been replaced. Sophia Hess, the predator, the strong one, was hurting. And I had caused it.

"It wasn't a choice against you, Sophia," I said, stepping closer, ignoring her resistance. I reached out again, slower this time, and took her hands. "It just happened. You know my system just grabs the people closest to me, and she was nearby. But I can control it now, and I can CHOOSE who I take with me from now on!”

I thought she and Taylor had been more chill lately, but obviously in hindsight, I could see how me sleeping with Taylor first would upset her. 

Her eyes seemed to light up a bit more upon hearing all that. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah,” I pulled her in, closing the distance between us, and crashed my lips onto hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss. Sophia made a noise in the back of her throat, a mix of a growl and a moan, and threw her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her. Her body pressed against mine, hard and demanding. 

I walked her backward until her legs hit the couch, and she fell back onto the cushions, pulling me down with her. I settled between her legs, my weight pressing her into the soft fabric. Her thighs parted instantly, wrapping around my waist, locking me in place.

"You better make this up to me," she breathed against my lips, her hands tangling in my hair, yanking my head back so she could bite my neck.

"I will," I promised, my voice rough. 

I kissed her again, deeper this time, my hands roaming over her body. She was wearing a tight tank top and sweatpants, and I could feel the strength in her muscles, the power coiled under her skin. I slid my hand up her shirt, my fingers grazing the smooth skin of her stomach, moving higher until I cupped her breast through her bra.

"I KNEW THEY WERE DOING DIRTY THINGS!" The voice was high, sharp, and unmistakably triumphant.

Sophia froze. I flinched.

We broke apart, a string of saliva connecting our lips for a split second before it snapped. Sophia whipped her head around, her chest heaving, her eyes dilated and wild with frustration. I looked over her shoulder to see the rest of the Wards standing in the doorway like a deer-in-headlights audience.

Vista—Missy—stood at the front of the pack, her arm extended, pointing an accusatory finger right at us. Her face was flushed a brilliant, angry pink, but her eyes were narrowed with a possessiveness that matched Sophia’s.

Behind her, Kid Win looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor. Aegis was rubbing the back of his neck, looking awkward but resigned. And Clockblocker... Clockblocker was staring with his mouth hanging open.

"Dude," Clockblocker whispered, the silence in the room amplifying his voice. "I know it's Sophia. I know she's basically an evil witch who would staple my tongue to the table if I looked at her wrong... but I am so jealous of Silas right now."

Sophia’s head snapped toward him. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and a low growl rumbled in her throat. It wasn’t human sounding that’s for sure. "Say another word, clock-boy, and I’ll feed you your own mask!"

Clockblocker flinched so hard he bumped into the doorframe. "Shutting up. Shutting up now!"

I let out a long breath, trying to slow my racing heart. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Had it really been ten minutes? 

"Great," Sophia muttered, turning back to me but not moving an inch from my lap. Her hands were still on my chest, claiming her territory. "The peanut gallery returns. Just when we were getting to the good part."

I ran a hand through my blond hair, trying to look more composed than I felt. "Probably for the best, Sophia. This room is rigged with cameras, remember? Piggot probably has a live feed."

"Let her watch," Sophia huffed, leaning her forehead against mine. "Let her see who you belong to."

"Get off him!" Missy shouted, stomping her foot.

Sophia rolled her eyes, not even bothering to look at the younger girl. "Make me, short stack. I’m comfortable."

The air in the room suddenly changed. It wasn't a sound, exactly. It was a pressure change, a static charge that made the hair on my arms stand up. I felt it before I saw it—a ripple in the air, a distortion of light and gravity.

Sophia yelped!

It wasn't a noise I ever expected to hear from Shadow Stalker. It was a sound of genuine surprise as an invisible force seized her. She didn't just slide off my lap—she was yanked.

One second, her warm weight was pressing against me. The next, she was airborne.

An invisible hand, fueled by the Force and Missy’s spatial warping, gripped Sophia and flung her backward. She flew across the room, limbs flailing, a blur of dark skin and gray sweatpants.

Whump!

She landed upside down in the oversized beanbag chair in the corner, her legs kicking in the air. "What the fuck?!" Sophia roared, her voice muffled by the beanbag.

The space directly in front of me blurred, the air folding in on itself like origami, and with a soft pop of displaced air, Vista appeared. She landed on my lap with a soft oomph, settling in instantly. Her face was beaming up at me, a mix of adoration and smug victory. She wrapped her arms around my neck and snuggled into my chest, right where Sophia had been moments ago.

"Hi, Silas!" she giggled.

I blinked, looking down at her. "Uh. Hi, Missy." At least I suspected her crush on me was gone now and her adoration was more like hero worship, or more like how a little sister sees her big brother.

She turned her head, looking across the room at the beanbag chair where Sophia was currently struggling to untangle herself, looking murderous. "Stay away from my big brother, you hussy!" Missy shouted, sticking her tongue out.

"I am going to kill you, shorty!" Sophia shrieked, finally managing to roll out of the chair. She stood up, her hair wild, her fists clenched. Shadows started to smoke off her skin, her breaker state flickering in and out with her rage. "I am actually going to murder you, you little brat!"

Agis stepped forward, putting himself between Sophia and the couch. "Whoa, whoa! Sophia, cool it! No powers in the common room!"

"She threw me!" Sophia snarled, pointing at Missy. "With her mind! It’s bullshit she’s not Manton limited anymore!”

"You’re just jealous that I have learned the ways of the Force," Missy said primly. "Jealousy leads to anger, Sophia. Anger leads to hate. And hate leads to you getting your ass kicked by me!" the twelve year old just threw some absolute shade at the girl covered in shadows!

I couldn't help it. I snorted.

Sophia looked at me, betrayal written all over her face. "You think this is funny?"

"A little," I admitted. "She got you pretty good!"

Sophia fumed, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger for a moment. She stalked back over to the couch, glaring at Missy the entire way. "Move."

"No," Missy said, tightening her grip on me. "I was here second. Finders keepers."

Sophia growled and flopped down on the cushion right next to me, pressing her thigh aggressively against mine. She leaned back, crossing her arms and staring daggers at the ceiling. "Fine," Sophia spat. "But don't think this is over."

Missy ignored her, turning her full attention back to me. "The Force... It feels more wary of you now. Did you get stronger?"

The question hung in the air. Even Clockblocker and Kid Win stopped pretending to be busy and leaned in. In our line of work, power was everything. And everyone knew that when I went away, I came back different.

I looked at Missy, then at Sophia. Sophia had stopped sulking. Her head was turned toward me, her dark eyes sharp and hungry. The anger was still there, but beneath it was that obsession with strength, that predator's need to be close to the apex.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I got a lot stronger." I guessed I’d be telling this story over and over again today. But looking at them, listening with bated breath... I didn't mind. And I had no doubts that Vicky and Amy would want to hear everything later as well.

– Tiamat –

Hours later…

The moon hung high and full over Brockton Bay. The midnight air over Brockton Bay tasted of salt, rust, and the lingering, stale exhaust of a million human machines. 

Tiamat hovered effortlessly in the cool night air, her sapphire wings beating slowly, rhythmically, keeping her aloft above the jagged skyline. She wasn't in her true form—her majestic, mountain-sized dragon body would have likely caused a panic among the fragile little humans Silas was so fond of protecting. 

She had spent the day being remarkably productive, if she did say so herself. While her mate had been off dealing with his human obligations—meetings, debriefings, and whatever other tedious nonsense the "PRT" required—she had been busy ensuring their future comfort.

A familiar scent caught on the wind—an amazing musk that was uniquely Silas. Her heart—both the physical organ beating in her chest and the draconic core of her soul—leapt.

He flew toward her, his black dragon wings spread wide, cutting through the night. He looked exhausted, his shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes were bright as they locked onto hers. 

He slowed as he drew near, hovering a few feet away, his wings mirroring the rhythm of her own.

"Are you finally done with all your business for today, Silas?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr that vibrated in the open air. She crossed her arms beneath her heavy breasts, pushing them up slightly, and watched his gaze flicker down before returning to her face. Good. He was tired, but not too tired to admire her.

Silas ran a hand through his wind-blown hair and nodded. "Yeah. Finally, I talked to everyone I needed to. Piggot, Armsmaster, my girls, the team... let them all know the latest System quest went great and that I'm back in one piece." He let out a long breath, the tension draining from his frame. "It's been a long day."

Tiamat nodded, a smug smile curving her blue lips. "Good. Because while you were frolicking all day with your little human friends, I have been very busy."

She spread her arms wide, a dramatic gesture encompassing the city below them. She puffed out her chest, waiting for the inevitable praise. "I have acquired a lair for us, Silas," she declared, her voice ringing with triumph. "A proper dwelling. A mansion fit for a Dragon King and her mate!" She held the pose, her chest thrust out, a beaming smile on her face. She waited for the inevitable reaction—for him to fly into her arms, to crush her against him, to bury his face in her breasts and tell her she was the most magnificent creature in existence. 

She waited for the praise, the worship, the lust!

Instead, Silas just blinked.

He floated there, his black wings beating slowly to keep him aloft, looking at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"What?" he asked.

Tiamat’s smile faltered. She lowered her arms, crossing them back over her chest with a huff, her tail materializing just long enough to lash irritably at the air behind her. She pouted, jutting out her lower lip.

"You heard me," she scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. "You told me you were staying in a small room on that tiny metal rig in the ocean. As your mate—and a Dragon King—I found that completely unacceptable. Dragons do not live in closets, Silas. We live in grandeur!" She tossed her long blue hair over her shoulder. "So, I used a fraction of my hoard—a very small fraction, mind you—to buy us a proper home. Nice, large, on the water. Secluded enough for... privacy."

Silas stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. "How?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "You don't have ID. You don't have a social security number. You literally just got to this dimension today. How did you buy a mansion in less than twelve hours?"

Tiamat smirked, the memory of her afternoon triumph playing out in her mind like a favorite song. "Oh, it was simple enough," she said, her eyes suddenly gleaming.

Earlier that day...

The building the humans called a "bank" was a drab, gray box of concrete and glass, smelling of stale coffee and desperation. Tiamat pushed through the revolving doors. She wasn't trying to be subtle. She wore a dress of deep midnight blue silk that clung to her curves like a second skin, slit high up the thigh to reveal a flash of leg with every step.

The lobby went silent.

Every head turned. Tellers froze mid-count. Security guards’ hands drifted toward their belts, then stopped, unsure of what to do. Customers stared, their jaws slack.

Tiamat walked to the center of the room, basking in the attention. She knew what they were looking at. It wasn't just her blue skin or the horns curling from her forehead. No, it was obviously her beauty. Her radiance. She was a goddess walking among insects, and they knew it!

Or maybe it was actually the blue skin and horns… 

She cut the line and approached the nearest teller window. The young woman behind the glass—a mousy thing with glasses and a name tag that read "Jennifer"—stared up at her with wide, terrified eyes. 

"Can... can I help you, miss?" the teller squeaked, her voice trembling.

Tiamat rested her hands on the counter, leaning forward just enough to give the girl a good view. "I require a dwelling," Tiamat stated, her voice projecting clearly through the silent lobby. "I wish to open an account to facilitate the purchase of a large estate. Immediately."

The teller blinked, her brain seemingly short-circuiting. "An... an account? Of course. Um. Do you... do you have any identification?"

Tiamat frowned. "Identification?"

"A driver's license? A passport? Social security number?"

"I do not," Tiamat said flatly. "I am Tiamat."

The teller swallowed hard, looking around for help. "Are... are you a Case 53, ma'am?"

Tiamat’s eyes flashed sapphire fire. A Case 53? One of those broken, amnesiac mutants with the twisted bodies Silas had told her about?

"I am a Dragon," she hissed, leaning closer, her slit pupils contracting. "Do not insult me with your human classifications, little mouse. I am an ancient being of power and wealth. I do not have a 'social security number.' I have gold."

"Ok..." The teller whispered, shrinking back into her chair.

Tiamat wondered briefly if the girl was touched in the head? Why was her request so complicated? Was this not where the humans stored their money?

Tiamat sighed. This was tedious.  She stepped back from the counter, finding an empty space in the center of the lobby. "Observe," she commanded.

She waved her hand through the air, channeling her magic to open a rift to her pocket dimension. The air shimmered and distorted, and then, with a heavy, metallic crash, it rained.

Gold coins. Solid ingots. Gemstones the size of fists—rubies, emeralds, sapphires that caught the fluorescent lights and scattered rainbows across the walls. Ancient chalices and jewelry spilled out of the void, piling up on the cheap linoleum floor. The pile grew, rising steadily until it was waist-high, a glittering mountain of wealth that would have made kings of old weep with envy.

The silence in the bank was absolute.

Tiamat waved her hand again, closing the rift. She rested a hand on her hip, looking at the stunned teller and the frozen security guards.

"There," Tiamat said coolly. "That is roughly... a hundred million of your dollars, by my estimation. Is this sufficient to open an account? Or shall I take my business to a competitor?"

A door to the side burst open. A short, balding man in a cheap suit came sprinting out of his office. He was sweating, his tie crooked, but his eyes were locked on the pile of gold with a hunger that Tiamat recognized instantly.

Greed. Universal and reliable.

"Ma'am!" the manager gasped, practically sliding to a halt in front of her. He ignored the horns, the blue skin, the terrifying aura. He only saw the money. "I'm the branch manager! We would be honored to handle your finances! Identification? Not needed! Mere formalities! We have... special protocols for parahuman clients of substantial means! VIP status! No questions asked!" He was practically wringing his hands, bowing and scraping.

Tiamat smirked, looking down at him. "Excellent. I also require a realtor. Now."

“My brother is a realtor, and I know he can get you some great rates!”

“Ah, it seems success must run in your family!” she declared, obviously misjudging this man.

Flashback end…

Silas chuckled once she finished her tale. "Only in this town," he murmured… He drifted closer, reaching out to take her hand. "Alright, Tiamat. You win. I'm impressed. Let's see this house."

Tiamat preened under his touch, squeezing his hand back. "Follow me, my mate. It is not far. Just near the edge of the wealthy district, overlooking the ocean. It has a private beach."

The cold wind whipped past them, but to Tiamat, the Chaos Karma Dragon King, it was nothing. They soared high above the sprawling, grid-like decay of Brockton Bay, two apex predators dancing in the currents of the night.

Her hand was clasped firmly in Silas’s. Tiamat glanced over at him, her sapphire eyes glowing faintly in the dark. She couldn't help the wicked, satisfied grin that stretched across her lips. Her body was betraying her in the most delicious way possible.

She let her control slip, just a fraction, allowing her natural scent to flood the air between them. It wasn't a smell humans would pick up easily, but to a dragon? It was unmistakable. 

It was the scent of a female in heat, a heavy, musk-laden signal that screamed readiness and desire.

Silas’s head snapped toward her instantly. His nostrils flared, his pupils dilating until the blue of his irises was nearly swallowed by black. He swallowed hard, his flight path wavering for a millisecond as the pheromones hit him like a physical blow.

"Tiamat," he choked out, his voice dropping an octave, rough with sudden need. "You... you're doing that on purpose."

"You like that, don't you?" Tiamat purred. She squeezed his hand, pulling him slightly closer in the air until their shoulders brushed. "You can smell how wet I am for you, Silas. You can smell that I've been waiting for this moment since we left the Underworld."

Silas cleared his throat, a dark flush rising up his neck to stain his cheeks. He didn't look away, though. His gaze dropped to her body—to the deep plunge of her blue dress, where her heavy breasts were heaving with anticipation, nipples hard and pressing against the fabric.

She squeezed his hand, pulling him slightly closer until their shoulders brushed mid-air. "Of course I am, my mate," she murmured, her voice dripping with sultry intent. "I have waited long enough. I have been... remarkably patient." She let her gaze rake over him, imagining the layers of clothes melting away, visualizing the hard muscle and dragon scales beneath. "But my patience has run dry," she declared, her tongue darting out to wet her blue lips. "I hope you aren't too tired from your little meetings with the humans, Silas. Because once we cross the threshold of our new lair, I do not intend to let you sleep."

Silas swallowed hard, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing. A dark flush crept up his neck. "Not tired," he promised, his grip on her hand tightening. "Just... preparing myself."

"Good," she whispered, leaning across the gap between them to nip at the air near his ear. "Because we shall be fucking all night long. I intend to mount you and ride you until your legs fail. I want to feel every inch of your new strength inside me. I want to mark you, bite you, and cover you in my scent until every female in this city knows you belong to the Dragon King."

Silas let out a shaky breath, his eyes burning with a reflection of her own hunger. "You know... we might destroy the new house if we go that hard," he joked, though his voice was thick with lust. 

Tiamat threw her head back and laughed. "Then let it break! I have enough gold to buy a thousand mansions! If we shatter the bed, we shall fuck on the floor. If we break the floor, we shall take to the sky!"

She felt a surge of triumph. He was ready. She was ready. The mansion she had bullied that banker into procuring was just a few miles ahead!

She surged forward, pulling him along, eager to close the distance. She could already picture it— throwing him onto the expensive silk sheets, her blue skin contrasting against his pale flesh, the roar of their pleasure filling the empty halls.

BOOM!

The sound was not the roar of passion Tiamat had been fantasizing about. 

Below them, near the center of the city’s commercial district, an explosion went off.

Oh, for fuck's sake, she thought, itching to tear something apart.

She turned her head slowly, looking at Silas. She knew what she would see before she even looked. 

She knew him. He was a hero. A protector. It was part of why she desired him—his strength of character—but right now, it was the single most annoying trait he possessed.

Silas had stopped dead in the air.  "I have to go check that out," he said. “Someone could be hurt."

"I'm sure it’s nothing… Can you not let the local authorities handle one explosion?"

BOOM! BOOM! CRASH!

As if to spite her, three more explosions rocked the district in rapid succession. Tiamat’s eyes narrowed into slits. She activated her enhanced draconic vision, zooming in on the chaos below with predatory focus.

Hundreds of humans were flooding the streets. They were scruffy, dirty humans at that. They wore mismatched clothes, rags, and garish colors. They were smashing windows, looting stores, and setting fires with reckless abandon.

And they were chanting.

"Merchants! Merchants! Merchants!"

“Kings of Brockton Bay!”

“This city is ours now!”

Silas was already diving towards the city and Tiamat paused just for a moment before following him. Whoever these Merchants were, they had earned her wrath!

XXX