In the middle of an expanse of red sand, a woman dies.

  Skinny and brunette, and wrapped in white cloth to shield her from the sun, she looks like a stranger who has come to know the land: out of place, yet adapted. But her white cloth is torn and stained with blood, and the last of her breath seems to echo in the empty wasteland.

  Then smoke rises from her clothes, and her wounds begin to glow, and with a gasp, she wakes again.

  “Fuck me,” she groans, “That one hurt.” Flopping onto her back, she tilts her head until she looks parallel to the ground, off in the distance, “But at least I made it.”

  Then she looks to the sky, covering her eyes to shield them from the sun. The sky is pure blue, but faint black shapes can be made out, slowly disappearing far off into the horizon.

  “Hear that, you stupid birds?!” she shouts, shaking her fist into the air, “I made it! Even after all that, you still couldn’t stop me!”

  Slowly, she sits up, the orange sand staining her clothes as much as the blood she just shed. All around her, desert grasses grow, and she has to tear her flowing clothes from one such patch of grass. Sighing, she stands, and shields her eyes once more as she scans the horizon.

  “Not a single goddamn cloud,” she mutters, “Never thought I’d miss the old hag’s monstrosity, but it sure would be a welcome sight compared to this hellhole.”

  Then her eyes catch on something else: the thing she saw earlier on the horizon. She smiles, studying the point just off in the distance.

  “Finally,” she says, “Who ever knew I’d be so happy to see a rock?” With a start, she begins walking, making her way to the horizon, where stands a massive slab of orange stone, and her destination—Uluru, the monolith once sacred to the aboriginal people of Australia.

  Now none of them are alive to call this place home.

  At a steady pace, it takes the woman a good few hours to reach the base of the rock. The terrain is relatively flat, and as she can be seen for miles, she makes no effort of stealth, knowing it will get her nowhere. Still, time begins to drag on as she trudges up to the mountain. The sun slowly starts to set, with the only other sign of the passing of time being the occasional rumbles that echo across the desert plains.

  “Well, that isn’t ominous at all,” the woman comments, as a particularly large quake seems to shake the land right as she approaches the rock, “Now,” she says, staring up at it, “Let’s go see what’s got ol’ Foster so worked up protecting.”

  Then, in a single large leap, she throws herself hundreds of meters into the air, scaling near half the cliff in one go. The moment before she would begin to fall, she kicks off the side of the rock, pushing herself up the rest of the way. Her foot barely makes it up to the top, and she wobbles a bit as she lands, sticking out her arms to retain balance and keep from falling back down. After a moment, she steadies herself, and looks out onto the surface of the monolith.

  Or rather, what would be the surface, if not for the steep decline mere feet past where she landed, dropping near instantly into a pit that seems to take up nearly the entirety of the stone.

  “I’m no geologist, but I don’t think that was there before,” she says, “Curioser and curioser.”

  With the sun setting, the gaping hole in the monolith is almost entirely covered in shadow, with nothing but more rock able to be seen. The woman spends a few minutes peering over the edge, searching in vain. Then she clicks her tongue and sighs, shaking her head.

  “Well, guess we’re going in then,” she says. Then she jumps.

  She falls for half a beat before the sides of the hole begin to slope inwards ever so slightly. From that point on, she grinds her heel against the rock, slowing her speed to manageable levels as she descends. She falls for a few seconds, then a few more, then, finally, as much as half a minute in, she spots the bottom, and leaps fully off the side to fall gracefully to the end.

  Almost absentmindedly, she taps her heel against the earth as she stares out into the darkness. A bit of dust falls off, and a bit of blood, and, just as before, the wound glows like a dying coal as the bleeding slowly stops.

  “Now,” she says, “If I were a secret that even a big, scary man like Foster would want to hide, where would I be?”

  Almost as if on cue, something large and quiet angry-sounding roars.

  From the darkness, a massive hand shoots out, slamming down on the space the woman was a second before. Dust and debris is thrown everywhere, a stone the size of a golf ball striking the woman on the left shoulder as she runs from the attack. She only grunts, and second later a plume of fire emanates from the wound, and she turns around to face the beast as the flame slowly peters out, leaving only a few small embers hovering in the air, sustained by some unknown power.

  “I knew he was experimenting on humans, but this…” she mutters, as the thing moves to face her, yellow yet all-to-human eyes studying her from the dark, “I don’t normally kill people, but something tells me you’d rather be put out of your misery.”

  The almost human thing roars again, then charges. The woman does not run. Instead, she raises her right hand to just above her left shoulder. The embers from before flit down, and her hand begins to burn. Then she squeezes, and the flames coalesce into a glowing orange blade, held right within her hand.

  The thing reaches her. She leaps.

  With a one-handed swing of her fiery blade, she slashes across the creature’s neck, spraying a plume of fire and blood into the air. She falls back to the earth, and the massive thing falls with her, lifelessly collapsing to the ground.

  She stands in place for a moment, her sword now fading.

  “I’d better get moving,” she says to herself, “At this time of night, that would be rather visible even from-”

  Then, a sound like a low growl comes from the night, and a dozen more piercing, yellow eyes light up in the dark.

  “Well, shit,” she says, “guess I’m in it for the long-haul now.” Slowly, she raises her thumb to her mouth, and bites down, taking most of the thumb with her.

  She spits it out, “But, on the bright side, I know what I’m doing after this.” With an eerie glow, her body once more begins to burn, this time starting at the thumb.

  “After this, I’m gonna go home and give ol’ Johnny a kick in the nuts.”

  Then she charges.

  And the things in the dark charge right back at her.

  —

  Shaking like a leaf in the wind, the man with a ratlike face places a plate of scones on the table in front of me, then pulls back suddenly as though burned. His wide eyes track my every movement as I lift a cup of tea up to my lips to drink.

  “I must say, your hospitality has improved since last time I visited,” I comment.

  “I-I can only hope I didn’t offend you, Ms. Thorton,” the man stutters, “I-If I may…er, what can I…help you with?”

  I smile, “There’s only two reasons I would need to see you, my dear Entomologist. The first,” I set the cup back down with a clack, “is information. You are the foremost villain info-broker in the city, after all.”

  “A-and the second?” he asks.

  “The one thing you’re most worried I might be here for, of course,” I reply, “Revenge.”

  The rat-faced man gulps, “A-and, if I may…which one is…most accurate?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I lie, flicking my wrist dismissively so that my charms jingle and clank together, “You might want to start talking.”

  “Ah…y-yes, is there anything in particular you need to know?” The Entomologist asks.

  “Let’s start simple,” I reply, “It seems some of my knowledge of the city is a little behind. Tell me, what’s the current state of the BCCSI? Compared to when I left, that is.”

  “W-well, not much has changed structurally,” he begins to explain, “Heroes are generally greater in number, but of lower quality. Even I would hardly be afraid of most of them, these days—if you don’t mind my opinion. But even still, the elites have grown, if anything. Synth technologies have also been on the rise, and the bureau is taking full advantage.”

  “What about the reapers?” I prompt.

  “M-Ms. Thorton, they hardly like it when I speak on such-”

  “And, of course, they’ll do far worse to you than I could do right now, I assume?” I press, “What other reason could you have to keep so quiet, if not that?”

  The man looks to the floor, “W-well, no, not exactly…”

  “Then what,” I say in a low tone, “is the issue?”

  “I-” he starts, “Well…the reapers, yes. They’ve, um, been rather active lately, to tell you the truth. There are currently six in the city—including two in training. A rarity, I shouldn’t have to specify.”

  “Six?” I wonder aloud, “I was only aware of five. Don’t tell me Vermillion’s also decided to set up shop.”

  “Quite the contrary,” the Entomologist replies, “She is out of the country right now, which, if I’m not mistaken, is the very reason for the presence of Operative Janus.”

  “Janus…” I mutter, rubbing my chin, “So that’s the one I was missing. That explains quite a bit, actually. With Vermillion out and about and both Jonathan and the Captain in the city, they’ve left the rest of the country damn near undefended. I suppose having Janus on hand is just their way of covering their bases.”

  “Precisely my thoughts, Ms. Thorton,” the rat-faced man replies. He already seems far more in his element than he did serving refreshments a minute or two ago. It suits him strangely well.

  “And what of their general numbers?” I ask, “It’s clear they’re still recruiting.”

  “They’ve kept their numbers relatively stable since you left,” The Entomologist replies.

  I whistle appreciatively, “Now that’s some good news. They truly haven’t grown at all? Not in nearly three years?”

  “Not at all, Ms. Thorton,” the man replies, “In fact, they have yet to even recover from…prior losses. That’s not to say they’ve had no new recruits, but…let us just say that theirs remains a dangerous profession.”

  “Even so, I would expect they’d be floundering like a fish out of water by now, what with how understaffed they must be. How have they managed to stay afloat?” I ask.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “If I may—I’m not sure they have,” the Entomologist responds.

  I lean in closer, “Explain.”

  The man begins to sweat a little, “M-Maybe I shouldn’t. It’s only a theory-”

  “Explain,” I repeat, voice lowering.

  The rat-faced man gulps, “I should reiterate that I cannot confirm any of this.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, “Now talk.”

  “W-well, you see,” the Entomologist begins, “While I only have eyes in the city and just beyond, I have been able to gather some important snippets of information. The first, and most notable, is that the divide among the reapers appears to be shrinking.”

  “How is that a bad thing?” I ask, “For them, at least. Cohesiveness should only bolster their strength.”

  “They’re tightening ranks, Ms. Thorton,” he continues, “Man is a fickle creature. When there is no outside threat to face, we often turn to infighting. In this case, I would argue the inverse is true.”

  I nod, following along.

  “Though I would agree that it is a long shot, were it not for the other evidence,” the Entomologist explains, “Namely, the severe lack of reapers in the city. Recent times have been a bit of an outlier, but before I had seen far too few reapers within my range—even fewer than expected. Combining this with their inability to grow, and I see only one conclusion: they are fighting a losing battle. Something has them constantly on guard, working without rest, yet also either unable or unwilling to improve their situation. I can only guess as to the nature of the threat, but, realistically, I see a collapse…imminent.”

  The rat-faced man seems to suddenly be stricken by shame, and clears his throat, “B-but that’s only my theory. Unfortunately, I can only guess at the broader strokes in this case. Anything else would be far beyond my capabilities.”

  I smile, “You little rat. You’ve sure been busy. And here I was thinking I would no longer have a use for you after this conversation.”

  He pales, “A-am I to assume you do now?”

  My smile fades, “Confirm this theory. I want to know precisely what has them on edge and why. I have no interest at the moment in exploiting the holes in their defenses, but if this system is due a collapse, I’d rather know.” I say. “Preferrably before it happens.” I add.

  The Entomologist nods shakily, "A-anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” I reply, “I’d like to know if there’s anything you’ve heard that you would think I’d like to know. I assume, being an information broker, that you know of answers to questions I wouldn’t even think to ask, no?”

  “W-well, there is one thing,” the man agrees.

  “What?” I ask.

  He hesitates, “I, um, overheard a conversation between the Heron Hunter and…him. Truly, I had no intention of doing so, but…you might want to know…I heard something about that girl you’ve adopted.”

  “Spill,” I press.

  “…they said the Empress in the South told them your ward was involved with…the Energizer,” the Entomologist says, hanging his head.

  I squeeze the teacup until it shatters.

  He flinches, but I’m not done. I reach for something, intangible yet forceful, and push the weight of my ability behind it. The room is flooded with pressure as I take the very abstract notion of my presence—and make it become Giant.

  The Entomologist turns white as a sheet, stumbling in his haste to get away from me. He trips on his own feet and falls back onto his butt, scooting back in a similar haste until his back reaches the other wall, leaving him shivering like a kitten left out in the rain as I stand to look down upon him.

  “Never,” I say, voice booming with power, “let me hear that accursed name spew from your lips again. Ever.”

  The pale, rat-faced man nods wildly, eyes wide and unblinking.

  “We’re done here,” I say, letting my ability fade, “Have a report ready for me in a week.”

  The spy does not say another word, even as I walk away.

  He only breathes a sigh of relief the moment I leave the room.

  —

  Tick, tock, tick, tock…

  The slow ticking of an old grandfather clock dominates the room, but, behind it, a fainter sound can be heard: the labored breathing of the old man kneeling on the floor. His pale skin contrasts his tweed jacket in a sickly way, and his wire-frame glasses have a spiderweb of visible cracks on the left lens. He glistens with sweat, and he seems unsteady, almost like he’s about to faint. His right hand presses firmly down on his left shoulder—or where it once was. Now, only the steady flow of blood indicates there was anything there before.

  “It’s funny,” the man with spiky black hair says, looking down on him, “I’ve hit you, I’ve broken bones, I even tore your arm off, but still you refuse to betray a girl you knew for only a few weeks over a year ago. What causes you to be so loyal? At this rate, you’ll bleed to death before I get what I want out of you.”

  “I-I know nothing,” the dying man says, “A-and even if I did, death w-would be far b-better a fate than giving a m-monster like you anything it w-wants. I w-would never b-betray a patient, and I know G-God will reward me for my-”

  “Oh shut up, you old fart,” Drake replies, “I know you know more than you’re letting on. Every other person in this village agrees you spoke with Luó Wén the longest. And don’t give that crap about ‘God.’ Did you have any idea of the abomination ruling over you? Over the entire continent? God has forsaken you, old man. All that remains is death.”

  The man flinches, “I-I know no one by t-that name.”

  His attacker sighs, “Fine. ‘Rowan.’ Ugh, so disgusting. To think she’d abandon her name just like she abandoned me. This is why I have to find her, you know?” Drake grasps a bit of the dying man’s hair, tugging on him to make him look up into his eyes, “To make sure she doesn’t make any more mistakes like this. I have to look out for her.”

  “S-she told me,” the man says, “w-what you did. She’s better off f-far away from you.”

  Drake frowns, “You know nothing, old man,” he sighs again, “But at least we’re getting somewhere—you finally acknowledge you know something.” He pulls back, letting the man slump back down, and begins pacing, “What should I break this time? It has to be something painful, but I really can’t afford more bleeding. Maybe the collarbone?” He turns to his victim, “What do you think?”

  Before the man can respond, the door behind them bursts open. A Chinese woman in a tight black jumpsuit pushes a young, freckled girl in skirts through the open doorway.

  “I found something, darling,” the Chinese woman says, “I hope you like it.”

  “Ah, Xia Ling,” Drake replies, turning around to face her, “Go on, explain. Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

  “G-grandfather?” the girl whimpers.

  “Oh,” Drake smiles, “I see now. Tell me your name, little one.”

  The girl looks up at him in fear.

  “D-Don’t answer him, Elena!” the old man cries, “It’ll b-be okay. Just d-don’t answer his questions. G-grandpa will handle this, okay?”

  “You shouldn’t lie to children, old man,” Drake says in a low voice, “It messes with their development. You’re a psychiatrist, you should know that.”

  “N-not as m-much as PTSD,” the man replies, “L-let her g-go. If you s-so much as t-touch her-”

  Drake places a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She flinches from his touch.

  “Are you trying to threaten me?” Drake asks, “You seem to have this backward. What are you going to threaten me with? Silence? I don’t see how I lose anything there. If I keep torturing you, you’ll tell me nothing, but if I torture her you’ll what? Tell me less than nothing? What reason do I have not to just try?”

  “W-wait!” the girl squeaks, all heads in the room turning to her, “You just want information on a patient, right? I can give you that! I sometimes listen through the door! I know all kinds of things!”

  Drake smiles, “Is that so? Do you happen to know about a girl named ‘Rowan?’”

  The girl nods vigorously, “Yes! She was here for a while, then left! I thought it was strange, since most people stay forever. I learned a lot since I was curious.” She whimpers. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “N-No, Elena!” the old man shouts, causing her to flinch, “You musn’t!”

  Drake turns to him, “That’s enough out of you,” he places his hand atop the dying man’s face, “Shut up now.”

  And with a ‘pop,’ the whole room is painted in his blood.

  His granddaughter shrieks, then slaps her hands over her mouth. Drake turns back to the wide-eyed girl, smiling.

  “Now, do you mind telling me where my friend went when she left? It’s very important to me, you see. I have to find her,” the monster says without dropping his smile.

  “I-” the girl hesitates, “S-she said she w-was g-going t-to the USC.”

  “I know that,” Drake replies, “I need to know how. Did she take a boat? A plane? Something else? Even knowing which town she went to next would be helpful. You want to be helpful, right?”

  “I-I don’t know,” the girl whimpers, “I-”

  “Think harder,” Drake says forcefully, his smile growing strained.

  The girl says nothing. Tears start to well up in her eyes.

  “Answer him, brat!” Xia Ling shouts, giving her a forceful kick in the back, knocking her to the floor. The girl just starts shaking with fear.

  In return, Drake slaps her across the face.

  “D-darling?“ she sputters, holding her cheek, “Why?”

  “Don’t you have an ounce of motherly instinct? Don’t hit children,” he turns back to the girl, “Sorry about her. Don’t worry, we aren’t going to hurt you. Your Grandpa was a bad man, okay? But I can tell you’re a good girl, and you just want to help, right? Just try thinking a little bit more, okay?”

  The girl shudders, “M-maybe the island?”

  Drake smiles, “Go on.”

  “T-the other woman, the o-one with her, s-said they n-needed to go t-to an island,” the girl stutters, “G-grandfather thought they s-shouldn’t go, b-because there were b-bad p-people there, b-but the other w-woman said there was n-no other way. I-I d-don’t…”

  “Thank you, dear, that was enough,” Drake places a hand on her shoulder once more. The girl turns her head up to him, trying to smile. He smiles back.

  Then his hand starts to glow, and the girl’s eyes widen, a spasm rocking her body.

  Then she bursts, and the room is covered in another fresh layer of blood.

  Drake rises, “Get ready to move out.”

  “Do you know where to go, darling?” Xia Ling asks.

  “Where else?” he replies, “The only island with ‘bad people’ that are in any way necessary for transportation.”

  The monster smiles, “We’re going to Iceland, to seek an audience with the Void King.”

  —

  For those that live in the dark, the most effective cure is a bullet through the skull

  Sergeant First Class Julian Campbell of the Reaper Corp, aka ‘Multishot,’ knows this well, but as he stares down at the body before him, he can’t help but think he’s seen that face before.

  “How odd…” he murmurs to himself, inspecting his handiwork. The woman—a tall and lithe, dark-haired and warlike thing—is not missing most of her skull, but what remains bespeaks something familiar. The placement of that one mole visible on her chin, the scar just above her collarbone, the overall shape of the body—the more Julian observes the more he notices the eerie details.

  She had been an easy target, just a few seconds ago. Strong and fast, with a propensity for stealth and ambush attacks, but nothing special. If he’d had to guess her ability a moment before, he’d have said it was one with a problematic activation condition or else no use in combat at all; that is to say, basically none.

  “And yet,” Julian mutters to himself, “it seems that I have killed you before. Perhaps there may be more to this than I’d thought.”

  Then he cocks his shotgun, and fires twice into the corpse’s chest.

  Julian frowns, observing the reaction—or, rather, lack thereof. If she’d simply been able to survive somehow, there would’ve been some reaction to the pain. Even just a change in expression, however slight, could’ve tipped him off. Instead, he observes quite a bit of nothing. Whatever is going on, the body before him is just that—a corpse.

  All of a sudden, a shape flies towards him, blurring into a misshapen silhouette as it moves through the shadows. Julian turns at the last second, putting his gun’s barrel between him and the charging figure. As it grips on to him, the two spin with the impact, Julian barely keeping his feet.

  The figure rips the gun from his hands in the next motion, pushing him to the ground. It pulls back a hand, preparing to strike, but in this moment, there is opportunity. Julian pulls a gun from within his coat and presses it right against his attacker’s gut, squeezing the trigger once, twice, thrice. Each shot is accompanied by dozens of extra strikes, shredding the figure in seconds as near a hundred bullets each carve out a small chunk of its insides.

  With it now thoroughly dead, Julian pushes it off of him with his other arm and stands with a grunt of exertion. His finger never leaves the trigger as he scans his surroundings for further movement. After a moment, he relaxes ever so slightly, and takes the chance to observe his attacker.

  Her lower abdomen is practically nonexistent—and yes, she definitely was a woman. In fact, with a clearer view of the face, Julian can now confirm his newest theory.

  Both corpses in this small woodland clearing are exactly the same person.

  Julian whips around, tracing a sudden movement in the trees. He fires off six rounds, each spreading into dozens of bullets, tearing apart trees and blowing entire branches from their main stems. The thing in the trees keeps moving, as Julian backs towards his fallen gun, still firing. With barely a moment, he picks the shotgun back up the floor, dropping his handgun in exchange. With a single pull of the trigger, he sends more than a thousand shards of synth metal into the trees.

  The thing in the trees stands no chance—and neither do the trees surrounding it. A huge section of the forest comes crashing down, having been swiss-cheesed to the point of complete structural failure. As the dust settles, Julian steps over to observe what he already knows.

  Once again, he has killed the same woman—now for the fourth time.

  “At least five, most likely,” he tells himself, “I think I’ll need some help for this one.”