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Four words.
With four words, Scion had unmade him.
David did not know how long he hung there after Scion’s golden light washed over him. Everything was numb. He could not feel, or see, or even think. He almost wished it could have stayed that way. It would have been a fitting punishment. And it would have spared him the pain.
When the light finally did recede, he collapsed on his hands and knees in the middle of an empty street. The asphalt was in severe disrepair, weeds poking up from the cracks. The shells of disused buildings rose up all around him, broken windows and concrete walls covered with graffiti. Skyscrapers reached high into the air on the horizon, silhouetted by a rising sun. He stayed there on his knees for a long time, staring at the ground blankly. Why was he alive? Scion’s last blast should have killed him. He had made no move to defend or escape. Had Glaistig Uaine saved him at the last moment, teleporting him to another earth? Had Scion shunted him off to a parallel dimension, to toy with at his leisure? Was he hallucinating, his mind fabricating some fantasy the instant before he died? He didn’t know, or particularly care.
Vaguely, he reached out for his powers, felt them there. Matter erasure, the ability to pull matter from other universes, the ability to shove himself across dimensional barriers. He reached out for that one, but it evaded him, slipping through his fingers like fine sand. It vanished, and a new power immediately began filling its place.
He tried to speak, but found his throat closed tight. Moisture trickled down his cheeks. He removed his mask, letting it fall to the asphalt with a clatter, and wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. Finally, he managed to croak out one word. “Door.” Nothing. He repeated the word. “Door.” Still nothing. Had he ended up in some kind of power nullifying zone, a blind spot to the Clairvoyant’s power? Or had Cauldron simply abandoned him? Had they discarded their broken tool once it had proven itself useless? Were they punishing him for what he had inadvertently done? “Door. Doctor. Please.” He could hear the dullness of his own voice. The hopelessness. What have I done?
Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed. David’s head snapped up instinctively. Another scream. Whoever that was, she was nearby. He could find the source of the cry in moments, and…and what? Just as quickly as his head had risen, it fell again. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die.
What’s the point? Save one person, ten, ten thousand, ten million. I’ve done more harm than any good could possibly outweigh. Scion could be killing billions every moment. I should have stopped him. I failed. But he was more and less than a failure. He had created the Endbringers. His power and his hubris had led to untold suffering. Hundreds of heroes, tens of millions of people. Unwitting or not, he was a monster.
One life or ten million, it made no difference in the big picture, when this world would fall to Scion like all the others. He looked down at his hands, at the gloves that concealed the still-present scars on his wrists. His mask lay on the pavement between them. He picked it up and turned it around. It was stained with ash and dirt from the battle at the oil rig and the multi-dimensional war that had followed, a delicate crack traversing from the bottom of the right eye to the chin. He could no longer see his reflection in it.
His own voice came unbidden to his mind, words he had spoken not so long ago. I’d rather die in a blaze of glory than go out ingloriously. The scream came once more, only to be abruptly cut off. Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his knees. With shaking hands, he slipped the mask back into place. Then Eidolon stood and followed the scream.
The photon manipulation came with an increased spatial awareness, with a radius of perhaps three blocks. He felt the shapes of buildings, cars, and people as the light bounced off of them. Near the edge of his range, he could sense a dozen people moving down an isolated street. Two of them carried a limp figure between them. He was on them in moments.
The group turned to face him as he approached, ceasing his teleportation when he was perhaps ten meters away. The majority of them were men, white, with crew cuts and black turtlenecks, wielding submachine guns. The figure that had been at the head of the group, and now had his minions between him and Eidolon, was grotesque. He was perhaps seven feet tall, with spindly arms and legs and a bloated belly. His eyes bulged froglike in their sockets. His gray hair hung in limp, wet strands about his head, and he wore an excellent quality robe covered in runes and scrollwork. Two of the turtlenecks carried an unconscious young woman between them.
“And who are you, to dare approach us so?” The robed man demanded imperiously. He spoke slurringly, as though through a mouthful of food. He raised on hand, which became wreathed in green energy from elbow to fingertips. “Run off, little wizard, and you shall be spared my wrath this day. Though your insult will not be forgotten.”
Wizard? He did not have time for games. “Release the girl, and surrender yourselves,” he said. The turtlenecks had begun to fan out, guns trained on him. “Do that, and I will not harm you. Think carefully before you respond. I have no time for mercy or second chances.”
The leader tilted his head back and let out a gurgling laugh. “Fool! You will suffer agonies untold for daring to threaten a lord of the Fomor.” He gestured lazily at his minions. “Take him. Alive.” So that was how it was to be. Very well, then. Several of the minions stepped forward. He concentrated on the photon manipulation power and raised one arm, palm out to face the leader.
The world went dark. For a full two seconds, every photon within three blocks rushed to him, concentrating themselves in the palm of his hand. He had seen what Phir Se’s attack had done to Behemoth at New Delhi. This was a fraction of a fraction of that power, but still…a headache-bright orb pulsed gently in his palm. He released it. The orb seared away from him at the speed of light, striking the leader squarely in the face. He collapsed to the ground, shrieking inhumanly and clawing at the blasted ruin of his face. His skin, muscles, hair, eyes—all of it was gone, baring an exposed skull to the world.
His minions reacted immediately, and a hail of bullets filled the air. As the first crossed the threshold of his defensive power, the world froze around him. The turtlenecks stood still as statues, their bullets moving at a nearly-imperceptible pace towards their target. Eidolon remained where he was. He took aim at the nearest minion, calling upon his offensive power. The photons answered his call, only an instant slower than before. He fired, watching the orb turn the man’s head into ash. Another orb, and another. Eleven in all. Then he stepped out of the path of the bullets. His defensive power dropped, and the hail of steel passed through the spot he had been standing in moments ago. At the same time, eleven headless bodies fell to the ground around him.
The leader was still shrieking, rolling about in total agony. “Fool!” He screamed. “Cur! You will die for this! The Fomor will never stop until your soul itself is rent into oblivion!” Eidolon blasted him with two more orbs, and he lay still.
He approached the woman where she had fallen in between the corpses of the men who had been carrying her. She was young, late teens at the oldest, with curls so blonde they almost appeared white. She wore a school uniform, and her wrists and ankles were bound. Behind his mask, Eidolon frowned. He wasn’t very good with knots. He moved over to one of the dead minions and began to search him. A knife was sheathed at his side. Eidolon drew it and returned to the girl’s side. She stirred as he began to free her ankles, her eyes fluttering. She looked up at the sky, blinked, and looked over at the charred body beside her.
She screamed, kicking out with impressive strength as she tried to scramble backwards. One of her feet caught Eidolon a glancing blow across his mask. Either his defensive power didn’t consider the motion dangerous enough, or the fact that it had been unintentional had prevented the power from triggering. “Easy,” he said as the girl continued to scramble away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He stared at him with wide eyes, shoulders and chest heaving. “Y-you killed them all,” she whispered.
“They would have killed me, if they’d had the chance,” he replied. And I don’t doubt they had something worse in mind for you. “Your arms are still bound. I can free them.” He held up the knife in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. “May I approach?” Her gaze flickered from the knife, to the bodies, to his expressionless mask. Slowly, she nodded. He walked around her and crouched, sawing at the ropes as gently as he could. “May I ask your name?”
“A-Amanda,” she said quietly. “Amanda Carpenter.” The knife sheared through the last of the ropes, and she got unsteadily to her feet. “Th-thank you.”
Eidolon didn’t respond. He looked down at the knife, catching his distorted reflection in the blade. “Door,” he muttered. “To Amanda Carpenter’s home.” Nothing.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” He dropped the knife. “Tell me, are you familiar with an organization called the Protectorate?” The grotesque men leading the gang had definitely been a parahuman.
“No.”
“The PRT? The Guild?”
“N-no, sorry.”
Definitely another world, then. “Never mind. What city is this?”
“Chicago, sir.”
Chicago. Myrddin’s old headquarters. Myrrdin, who had been killed by Eidolon’s twisted clone. Another death that was his fault. Guilt and despair hit him like a wave of nausea, and it was an effort to force it down. “Would you like me to take you home, Amanda Carpenter?”
“To my home, sir?”
Eidolon frowned. “Of course.” What had she thought he’d meant?
“Yes, please.”
Despite himself, Eidolon felt his heart lift a little at that. It wasn’t enough, not for him, not even close. Nothing ever would be. But perhaps it would be enough for them. He sensed a final figure emerging from the house, limping slightly, supported by a cane. He was an older man, perhaps fifty or so, with hair more gray than brown and a neatly kept beard. He entered the mob of children and wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter. There were tears on his cheeks as well, Eidolon could see. He turned to go.
He sensed Amanda turning to him before he heard her footsteps. “Mister, wait!” She reached the fence and stopped. Eidolon turned to regard her. She looked nervous, uncertain. “Thank you. So much. I…you never told me your name.”
“Eidolon,” he said simply. Belatedly, he added, “And you’re welcome, Amanda Carpenter.”
The parents had approached while they’d talked. “We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,” The mother said, wrapping her arms around Amanda from behind. “We can never repay you. Please, won’t you come in? You look like death. At least let me patch up your clothes.”
Eidolon looked down at himself. His hooded cape was tattered and torn, his costumes just as much so. There were large tears in the skintight fabric, exposing the armor underneath. Despite himself, he felt slightly embarrassed at the fact. “I appreciate the gesture, but…” But what? He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Unless he managed to regain his dimensional travel, or Cauldron decided to recollect him, he could do nothing further to help against Scion. His purpose was gone. “I…” he struggled to speak around the lump in his throat.
The father spoke up for the first time, his voice gentle. “Please, Eidolon, come in. It’s the very least we can do, after you brought one of the lights of our lives back to us.”
Eidolon clenched his fists to keep them from trembling. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. He would need to be prepared if Cauldron called on him again, and that meant being rested, fed, his costume repaired. He would not fail again. “Very well. Thank you for your hospitality.”
The man smiled and opened the gate for him. “I’m Michael. This is my wife, charity. I believe you’re acquainted with Amanda.”
Eidolon nodded slowly and stepped into the yard. The other children were hanging back, looking at him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and nervousness. He was used to such stares, had barely considered them over the course of his career, but now it galled him. He didn’t deserve admiration. He didn’t deserve awe. On an impulse, he reached up and pulled back his hood, then removed his mask. This was another earth, after all, and his civilian identity had never been much of a factor in any case. He hadn’t had a life outside of his cape identity, not like Legend or Alexandria.
He knew what the Carpenter family was seeing now; a very ordinary man, thick-browed, heavy-cheeked, with ears and nose too large and a hairline that was going towards bald. He watched for the change in their expressions, the flicker of surprise and disappointment that most people exhibited when seeing his face for the first time. If they felt any of that, they gave no sign of it. “You can call me David, if you wish.”
Michael smiled warmly. Charity kissed the top of Amanda’s head and said, “David, please come in. It’s just about time for breakfast.”
With four words, Scion had unmade him.
David did not know how long he hung there after Scion’s golden light washed over him. Everything was numb. He could not feel, or see, or even think. He almost wished it could have stayed that way. It would have been a fitting punishment. And it would have spared him the pain.
When the light finally did recede, he collapsed on his hands and knees in the middle of an empty street. The asphalt was in severe disrepair, weeds poking up from the cracks. The shells of disused buildings rose up all around him, broken windows and concrete walls covered with graffiti. Skyscrapers reached high into the air on the horizon, silhouetted by a rising sun. He stayed there on his knees for a long time, staring at the ground blankly. Why was he alive? Scion’s last blast should have killed him. He had made no move to defend or escape. Had Glaistig Uaine saved him at the last moment, teleporting him to another earth? Had Scion shunted him off to a parallel dimension, to toy with at his leisure? Was he hallucinating, his mind fabricating some fantasy the instant before he died? He didn’t know, or particularly care.
Vaguely, he reached out for his powers, felt them there. Matter erasure, the ability to pull matter from other universes, the ability to shove himself across dimensional barriers. He reached out for that one, but it evaded him, slipping through his fingers like fine sand. It vanished, and a new power immediately began filling its place.
He tried to speak, but found his throat closed tight. Moisture trickled down his cheeks. He removed his mask, letting it fall to the asphalt with a clatter, and wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. Finally, he managed to croak out one word. “Door.” Nothing. He repeated the word. “Door.” Still nothing. Had he ended up in some kind of power nullifying zone, a blind spot to the Clairvoyant’s power? Or had Cauldron simply abandoned him? Had they discarded their broken tool once it had proven itself useless? Were they punishing him for what he had inadvertently done? “Door. Doctor. Please.” He could hear the dullness of his own voice. The hopelessness. What have I done?
Somewhere nearby, a woman screamed. David’s head snapped up instinctively. Another scream. Whoever that was, she was nearby. He could find the source of the cry in moments, and…and what? Just as quickly as his head had risen, it fell again. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die.
What’s the point? Save one person, ten, ten thousand, ten million. I’ve done more harm than any good could possibly outweigh. Scion could be killing billions every moment. I should have stopped him. I failed. But he was more and less than a failure. He had created the Endbringers. His power and his hubris had led to untold suffering. Hundreds of heroes, tens of millions of people. Unwitting or not, he was a monster.
One life or ten million, it made no difference in the big picture, when this world would fall to Scion like all the others. He looked down at his hands, at the gloves that concealed the still-present scars on his wrists. His mask lay on the pavement between them. He picked it up and turned it around. It was stained with ash and dirt from the battle at the oil rig and the multi-dimensional war that had followed, a delicate crack traversing from the bottom of the right eye to the chin. He could no longer see his reflection in it.
His own voice came unbidden to his mind, words he had spoken not so long ago. I’d rather die in a blaze of glory than go out ingloriously. The scream came once more, only to be abruptly cut off. Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his knees. With shaking hands, he slipped the mask back into place. Then Eidolon stood and followed the scream.
*****
He discarded the matter erasure power. It would be worse than useless in the confined streets of a city. He concentrated, and in a moment felt a new power take root. A mover power, a short ranged teleport that operated in a zig zag pattern. He used it, moving down the empty street at the speed of a running man. As he moved, he cast off the power that summoned matter from parallel worlds, along with the power that had taken the place of the dimensional travel. A defensive power, and a focused offensive one. They snapped into place; a danger sense with a slight reflex enhancement, and a photon manipulation power. He cast off the danger sense. The power that took its place was one he had never encountered before; proximity-based time slowing. It would have to do. He picked up speed as his powers began to take root, growing to their full potential. He was almost as strong as he had been at the beginning of his career. His powers came faster, filled up faster. He felt no joy from it.
The photon manipulation came with an increased spatial awareness, with a radius of perhaps three blocks. He felt the shapes of buildings, cars, and people as the light bounced off of them. Near the edge of his range, he could sense a dozen people moving down an isolated street. Two of them carried a limp figure between them. He was on them in moments.
The group turned to face him as he approached, ceasing his teleportation when he was perhaps ten meters away. The majority of them were men, white, with crew cuts and black turtlenecks, wielding submachine guns. The figure that had been at the head of the group, and now had his minions between him and Eidolon, was grotesque. He was perhaps seven feet tall, with spindly arms and legs and a bloated belly. His eyes bulged froglike in their sockets. His gray hair hung in limp, wet strands about his head, and he wore an excellent quality robe covered in runes and scrollwork. Two of the turtlenecks carried an unconscious young woman between them.
“And who are you, to dare approach us so?” The robed man demanded imperiously. He spoke slurringly, as though through a mouthful of food. He raised on hand, which became wreathed in green energy from elbow to fingertips. “Run off, little wizard, and you shall be spared my wrath this day. Though your insult will not be forgotten.”
Wizard? He did not have time for games. “Release the girl, and surrender yourselves,” he said. The turtlenecks had begun to fan out, guns trained on him. “Do that, and I will not harm you. Think carefully before you respond. I have no time for mercy or second chances.”
The leader tilted his head back and let out a gurgling laugh. “Fool! You will suffer agonies untold for daring to threaten a lord of the Fomor.” He gestured lazily at his minions. “Take him. Alive.” So that was how it was to be. Very well, then. Several of the minions stepped forward. He concentrated on the photon manipulation power and raised one arm, palm out to face the leader.
The world went dark. For a full two seconds, every photon within three blocks rushed to him, concentrating themselves in the palm of his hand. He had seen what Phir Se’s attack had done to Behemoth at New Delhi. This was a fraction of a fraction of that power, but still…a headache-bright orb pulsed gently in his palm. He released it. The orb seared away from him at the speed of light, striking the leader squarely in the face. He collapsed to the ground, shrieking inhumanly and clawing at the blasted ruin of his face. His skin, muscles, hair, eyes—all of it was gone, baring an exposed skull to the world.
His minions reacted immediately, and a hail of bullets filled the air. As the first crossed the threshold of his defensive power, the world froze around him. The turtlenecks stood still as statues, their bullets moving at a nearly-imperceptible pace towards their target. Eidolon remained where he was. He took aim at the nearest minion, calling upon his offensive power. The photons answered his call, only an instant slower than before. He fired, watching the orb turn the man’s head into ash. Another orb, and another. Eleven in all. Then he stepped out of the path of the bullets. His defensive power dropped, and the hail of steel passed through the spot he had been standing in moments ago. At the same time, eleven headless bodies fell to the ground around him.
The leader was still shrieking, rolling about in total agony. “Fool!” He screamed. “Cur! You will die for this! The Fomor will never stop until your soul itself is rent into oblivion!” Eidolon blasted him with two more orbs, and he lay still.
He approached the woman where she had fallen in between the corpses of the men who had been carrying her. She was young, late teens at the oldest, with curls so blonde they almost appeared white. She wore a school uniform, and her wrists and ankles were bound. Behind his mask, Eidolon frowned. He wasn’t very good with knots. He moved over to one of the dead minions and began to search him. A knife was sheathed at his side. Eidolon drew it and returned to the girl’s side. She stirred as he began to free her ankles, her eyes fluttering. She looked up at the sky, blinked, and looked over at the charred body beside her.
She screamed, kicking out with impressive strength as she tried to scramble backwards. One of her feet caught Eidolon a glancing blow across his mask. Either his defensive power didn’t consider the motion dangerous enough, or the fact that it had been unintentional had prevented the power from triggering. “Easy,” he said as the girl continued to scramble away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He stared at him with wide eyes, shoulders and chest heaving. “Y-you killed them all,” she whispered.
“They would have killed me, if they’d had the chance,” he replied. And I don’t doubt they had something worse in mind for you. “Your arms are still bound. I can free them.” He held up the knife in what he hoped was a non-threatening manner. “May I approach?” Her gaze flickered from the knife, to the bodies, to his expressionless mask. Slowly, she nodded. He walked around her and crouched, sawing at the ropes as gently as he could. “May I ask your name?”
“A-Amanda,” she said quietly. “Amanda Carpenter.” The knife sheared through the last of the ropes, and she got unsteadily to her feet. “Th-thank you.”
Eidolon didn’t respond. He looked down at the knife, catching his distorted reflection in the blade. “Door,” he muttered. “To Amanda Carpenter’s home.” Nothing.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” He dropped the knife. “Tell me, are you familiar with an organization called the Protectorate?” The grotesque men leading the gang had definitely been a parahuman.
“No.”
“The PRT? The Guild?”
“N-no, sorry.”
Definitely another world, then. “Never mind. What city is this?”
“Chicago, sir.”
Chicago. Myrddin’s old headquarters. Myrrdin, who had been killed by Eidolon’s twisted clone. Another death that was his fault. Guilt and despair hit him like a wave of nausea, and it was an effort to force it down. “Would you like me to take you home, Amanda Carpenter?”
“To my home, sir?”
Eidolon frowned. “Of course.” What had she thought he’d meant?
“Yes, please.”
*****
They arrived at her home not thirty minutes later. Eidolon’s teleportation power had reached full strength, and he could move at something like ninety miles an hour now. Amanda Carpenter’s home was a quaint colonial, complete with a white picket fence. Eidolon stopped just outside and set her down at the gate. He could sense a small figure dash from where it had been watching them from the window, and after a moment half a dozen children were spilling from the house into the yard. Amanda pushed open the gate and ran to them, immediately being swamped with hugs and cries of happiness. A middle-aged blonde woman emerged from the home, moving with a warrior’s grace as she approached the little group. She pulled Amanda into a crushing embrace, tears streaking her face. the girl buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, and her body shook with weeping.
Despite himself, Eidolon felt his heart lift a little at that. It wasn’t enough, not for him, not even close. Nothing ever would be. But perhaps it would be enough for them. He sensed a final figure emerging from the house, limping slightly, supported by a cane. He was an older man, perhaps fifty or so, with hair more gray than brown and a neatly kept beard. He entered the mob of children and wrapped his arms around his wife and daughter. There were tears on his cheeks as well, Eidolon could see. He turned to go.
He sensed Amanda turning to him before he heard her footsteps. “Mister, wait!” She reached the fence and stopped. Eidolon turned to regard her. She looked nervous, uncertain. “Thank you. So much. I…you never told me your name.”
“Eidolon,” he said simply. Belatedly, he added, “And you’re welcome, Amanda Carpenter.”
The parents had approached while they’d talked. “We can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done,” The mother said, wrapping her arms around Amanda from behind. “We can never repay you. Please, won’t you come in? You look like death. At least let me patch up your clothes.”
Eidolon looked down at himself. His hooded cape was tattered and torn, his costumes just as much so. There were large tears in the skintight fabric, exposing the armor underneath. Despite himself, he felt slightly embarrassed at the fact. “I appreciate the gesture, but…” But what? He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Unless he managed to regain his dimensional travel, or Cauldron decided to recollect him, he could do nothing further to help against Scion. His purpose was gone. “I…” he struggled to speak around the lump in his throat.
The father spoke up for the first time, his voice gentle. “Please, Eidolon, come in. It’s the very least we can do, after you brought one of the lights of our lives back to us.”
Eidolon clenched his fists to keep them from trembling. He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. He would need to be prepared if Cauldron called on him again, and that meant being rested, fed, his costume repaired. He would not fail again. “Very well. Thank you for your hospitality.”
The man smiled and opened the gate for him. “I’m Michael. This is my wife, charity. I believe you’re acquainted with Amanda.”
Eidolon nodded slowly and stepped into the yard. The other children were hanging back, looking at him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and nervousness. He was used to such stares, had barely considered them over the course of his career, but now it galled him. He didn’t deserve admiration. He didn’t deserve awe. On an impulse, he reached up and pulled back his hood, then removed his mask. This was another earth, after all, and his civilian identity had never been much of a factor in any case. He hadn’t had a life outside of his cape identity, not like Legend or Alexandria.
He knew what the Carpenter family was seeing now; a very ordinary man, thick-browed, heavy-cheeked, with ears and nose too large and a hairline that was going towards bald. He watched for the change in their expressions, the flicker of surprise and disappointment that most people exhibited when seeing his face for the first time. If they felt any of that, they gave no sign of it. “You can call me David, if you wish.”
Michael smiled warmly. Charity kissed the top of Amanda’s head and said, “David, please come in. It’s just about time for breakfast.”
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