The impudent little bastard looks up at me and smiles. He actually smiles, as though this is some sort of game. If it is, then I am done playing. I was told there was danger, and I came with my best gear. The pair of scimitars on my back and the guns holstered at my sides I only bring out for the greatest of opponents. This man, however, will not need them.

  “Is that who I think it is?” the spiky-haired, bare-chested man says in a thick Chinese accent, “You’re a bit early. I don’t have time for you now, come back later.”

  Behind me, the dust settles as the roar of his attack has long since faded. Replacing it is screaming, the screams of pain and fear of people caught up in disaster. They are all too familiar to me now. Silence, at first, then sounds of agony and of horror as the mind catches up, followed swiftly by panicked cries for family, for aid, for any hope they can find.

  Accompanying them are the acrid scents of blood and dust and torn steel.

  “You attacked my city,” I whisper, letting my righteous voice carry itself through the air. The impudent man winces a little, but his smile does not falter, “That will be the one and only mistake I allow you.”

  “Are we really doing this?” The impudent man says, his own ability flooding his voice. “Fine then.” He cracks his neck, the casual demeanor not yet lost. I sense strength in it. It takes an effortless yet noticeable amount of focus to ignore the overwhelming urge to fear him. Some aspect of his ability, no doubt. How annoying.

  In the next beat, I disembowel him.

  Or I should have, at least, but at the last moment he catches the feather I sent to do the deed, grasping it edge on as if it were no more than a butter knife. A thought has it tugging against his hold, but he remains firm.

  Then he squeezes, and it breaks.

  I suppress the urge to shudder as a profound sense of loss invades my mind, the feeling of phantom sensation in the feather not subsiding for a few seconds. It is more grief than pain, but it still hurts me. I have not felt such a way in a long, long while.

  I punish the act by tearing him to shreds.

  My attack turns the intersection to rubble, cars to scrap metal, and more than a few bystanders to piles of gore. It is enough though, that it kills him too. A small price to pay to rid the world of this impudent, evil little thing.

  Except, once more, I am alerted to the fact that he is not actually dead. The dust is blasted away in the same beat that he rockets past me, as I direct my wings to push myself out of the way just in time. He easily leaps well into the sky, but now I have him. He cannot dodge my attacks in midair, nor can he turn to grab them again, should I strike from behind. As my feathers stream toward him, a wave of death unmatched by my blows before, I am certain of my victory.

  But then some force manifests in the air around him, and it expands, pushing him out of the reach of my blow.

  Apparently, he can fly.

  So can I.

  I expend nearly all my feathers in a single, dominating movement, relying on the minimum of four I need to keep aloft as over a hundred attacks stream towards him. They hit at staggered intervals, in groups of four or five, all from different angles. The constant flood of death would be enough to make even the most agile of foes unable to avoid its entirety, yet somehow he continues to evade me, flying even higher in the air with his strange, jet-like propulsion. I follow, continuously pumping energy into my feathers as they grow larger and larger, yet are still ever nimble.

  If I do not have him now, I will in the end.

  —

  Charlie is almost deathly still in my arms as I carry her through the carnage towards the old hotel. Her shallow but constant breaths are the only sign I have that she’s still in there, a hope I cling to desperately with every fiber of my being.

  I can’t think of him, not now. If I do, I’ll break, and she will be all alone.

  I have absolutely no idea what to do, though. I don’t know the hospitals in the area, and even if I did, the city is in disaster mode. People are panicking, trying to make it out as Jonathan Alston clashes with the man of my nightmares in a brilliant display across the sky. I have no idea how to find help, so I’m headed towards the people who might: the heroes, from the party. They’re the best chance I have. We have.

  Please don’t die, Charlie. I just met you, I can’t lose you already.

  To my eternal relief, I spot a familiar face as soon as the hotel comes into sight. All throughout the night, Elias was funny, charming, and dangerously good at extracting my secrets. I only managed to stop myself when he started asking about Latasha. Above all, though, he’s Charlie’s friend. He’ll help her.

  “Charlie!” The woman next to him is the first to speak. I think Charlie introduced her, but unlike Elias, she was lost in the stream of faces. Or maybe just what happened after.

  The village. The fire. The smile. The hand. Charlie… Charlie!

  No!

  I shake my head, and force myself to move forward to meet the woman and Elias as they come rushing to their friend. I carry her as gingerly as I can, painfully aware of the feeling of her blood on my skin. The two reach me; Elias looks into my eyes, and just nods.

  He understands.

  “What happened?” the woman cries, cradling Charlie’s head in her arms.

  “Allacia,” Elias says calmly—so that’s her name—and places a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Priorities.”

  She looks at him with betrayal, but her gaze meets his, and she realizes.

  She nods.

  “Jayce!” Elias turns around and shouts. A pair perk up, and peel off from the crowd. As they approach, I see a stern-faced Japanese man and a terrified enby trailing close behind him.

  “Shit,” he says, spotting Charlie, “She needs healing, and fast.” He looks at me, “You don’t look so hot yourself either, villain.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap, just a little too quickly, “Help her first.”

  “We can’t,” Elias says grimly, “There was a healer at the party, but he got called off to the local hospital as soon as it started. He’s long gone, and even if we could reach him, I doubt he has the time to spare.”

  The enby by Jayce’s side tugs on his sleeve, and he turns to her.

  “The blood,” they say, “give her the blood you got from Dad.”

  “That’s for you,” he replies grimly, “I can’t.”

  “I’m not hurt,” they reply emphatically, “Give it to her.”

  He hesitates, as the rest of us watch him.

  “Fuck this,” I curse loudly, “You. I don’t know who you are, but now that I know you have a way to heal Charlie and you aren’t using it, I’m about five fucking seconds away from setting you on fucking fire and taking it.”

  Everyone flinches. Elias grimaces, and the enby stares at me with fearful eyes. I don’t care. All I do is watch this man Jayce as he sighs and reaches into his tuxedo coat.

  “You don't have to do that, I was going to anyway,” he says, pulling out a small, corked vial filled with a thick, red liquid. I recognize it, from all the way back to when Charlie and I fought that damned. Jonathan used it to heal her. This man must be a reaper.

  “Will that be enough?” I ask, fighting the reflexive urge to fight as the man I now know is a reaper approaches.

  “No idea,” he replies, “but it is all I have, and even if it wasn’t, giving her more than this would be more of a risk than its worth. Blood from Vampire is something we’ve been warned to use sparingly, if at all.”

  I hold Charlie steady as, calmly, Jayce pours the contents of the vial into her mouth, holding it open to help her get it all down. She coughs weakly, but swallows most of it. I watch her, my entire body tensed, as slowly the blood begins to work its magic.

  Literally, I hope. She needs it.

  —

  This one is difficult to pin down.

  I weave across the sky in an endless, whirling dance of glittering gold, my every motion intentional. I dodge only as much as necessary, and commit my feathers only just a little bit more than the last time, growing deadlier and deadlier until I inevitably shred him for his sins.

  To my mounting annoyance, he matches me perfectly. Raw Power roils off him in waves, inefficiency baked into his every movement, yet his pure might more than able to make up for it. The same power channeled into any other ability would make a formidable foe, and yet, neither can I see him losing for his inefficiency.

  I suppose I simply must hit harder.

  A feather glances off his arm, a blow which should’ve at least disabled the arm completely in a shower of gore, yet that inviolable force which surrounds him keeps it just off his skin. He dodges the rest of the blows contemptuously. For all his ability seems to waste its strength, he certainly is not uncontrolled. He is skilled. It bespeaks countless hours of training both on, and off, the battlefield.

  He laughs as he shoots through the air akin to a guided missile, intent on striking me down. He is as fast as I, perhaps faster, but I am more nimble. One does not have to outrun a charging bull to escape it, after all. He is far too adapted for broad, powerful movements to ever reach me. My wings are simply better adapted to flying.

  Despite this, I cannot seem to hit him—not properly, at least. Even were he not capable of surviving the blows I do land, he always seems to simply be one step ahead. He flies the only path through my wrath unscathed, every time. Even when I think there is none, he finds it.

  “Who are you?” I whisper, Angel carrying my voice to him regardless. He stops just long enough for a feather to almost hit him. Almost. He laughs.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “You really don’t know?” he says with Power, “And here I thought you were keeping tabs on me.”

  “I thought we had been,” I reply, “It is not possible that someone of your strength and experience was born here, you would’ve been found long ago. But you cannot be from outside, either. There is no way in.”

  My tide of death follows him throughout the air as I easily dodge another of his measly charges. I will admit, they would be difficult to survive head-on, but he is far too predictable to ever force me to that point. Strong, yet weak all the same.

  He smiles, “Except we both know that’s not true, now is it?”

  …

  I hover for a moment. It’s a mistake he capitalizes on, forcing me from my stupor as I narrowly dodge his next charge. I’m close enough that the Power wrapped around him makes my entire body shake, pushing me back even further than I meant to go. Too close.

  There is only one thing he could’ve meant by that, however. He came from outside. He knows someone else passed the cloudwall, and followed them. He could be of the Void King’s family, but he is not. No, if he was, he would never have been hunting her.

  That girl. I thought he had been targeting Gardner, but that would not make sense.

  This does.

  “You are Energizer,” I reply, “or you would like me to think you are. Yes, I have heard of that man, if you are him. The Emperor of the East. The Thirteenth Bomb. The Strongest Man Alive. I must say, if you are him, then your performance has been…lackluster, so far.”

  “Trinadtsataya Bomba!” he laughs, even as I attack once more, “It has been a while since I’d last heard that particular title. Yes, I suppose it is the type of name that would give one expectations. I apologize if I’ve disappointed you. That can, however, still be rectified.”

  I frown. It was not my intent to spur him into action. If he really is…that man, then this could be difficult.

  He charges once more, and I, accustomed to his tactics, dodge. It is a careless move, considering what he just said. As he streams closer, he doesn’t bother turning, or even slowing down. He simply takes on just a little bit more power than usual.

  The air for a dozen feet around him starts to glow, and I instantly begin recalling every feather I have. This is dangerous. I have no danger sense, not really—that would imply fear, and an Angel has nothing to fear from mortal men. But I can sense the effort placed behind the usage of an ability, how much the fabric of reality is twisted and bent by these strange powers. More is usually a sign of greater lethality.

  This attack, it is lethal.

  As the air approaches with force enough to become more energy than atmosphere, I put everything I have between me and it. It is all I can do. I would pray, but I am an Angel. The only thing up here that can answer my prayers is myself.

  I must simply be enough, all on my own.

  —

  I don’t dare tear my gaze away from Charlie’s face. Not even when a nuke detonates above.

  That’s what it sounds like, at least. I heard the rumors of what he could do, and from his mouth no less, but I never thought they were real. Whatever it is, it’s high enough up that we don’t seem to be in any danger. Thousands of glass windows and probably more than a few eardrums burst as the shockwave hits us, but no self-respecting SAU would be in danger from any of that.

  One or more of the heroes nearby might’ve screamed, but, as I said, I don’t look.

  “The fuck is going on?” I hear someone hiss. The reaper named Jayce gives me a questioning look, being the only face in my view as he too sits by Charlie’s side, I can actually see him.

  “I was wondering that too, actually,” he says, “Care to enlighten us?”

  I feel many gazes watching me.

  “You’re a reaper,” I say. His face shifts through a mix of emotions at that—surprise, fear, caution, anger—but he settles on gritting his teeth and saying nothing. I guess that’s enough of an answer, regardless.

  “Have you ever heard of Energizer?” I ask him.

  Hells, if there wasn’t fear in his eyes before, then there certainly is now.

  “Fuck,” he sums up adequately, standing suddenly, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I have to get Erin out of here. I have to find a superior. Fuck. Nimbus is still here. Fuck!”

  “You already said that,” I say calmly. I might otherwise relish in seeing a reaper so distraught, but in the circumstances, I find I just can’t.

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he hisses, “Fuck, I need a radio. If this isn’t a time for ‘Red Skies at Morning’ protocol, I don’t know what is. I have to warn somebody.”

  “We all just felt that, reaper,” Elias says calmly. I forgot he was there, “If anybody didn’t know there was danger before, they do now.”

  A silence follows his declaration. We all felt it. If that attack had been any lower, most, if not all, of us would’ve died. Probably brutally.

  “Well…” Jayce begins, “I probably should still contact somebody. I think…well, we could all use some direction right now.”

  “Can that direction be ‘away?’” The woman who is also Charlie’s friend—Allacia, if I recall—interjects, “Because most of us aren’t going to be able to help here, and I’d rather get Charlie out of danger at least, while she’s still recovering.”

  Finally, a worthwhile input. “I’ll carry her,” I inform the group.

  “No, you won’t,” Elias says, calmly yet forcefully. For the first time, I break my gaze away from Charlie to glare at him.

  “I’m faster,” I tell him. He looks unimpressed.

  “You’re dead on your feet,” he replies, “and I don’t have to set myself on fire to move quickly. You’d probably hurt her as much as help her. You did the right thing, getting her this far, but now you should let us handle the rest.”

  I hesitate, but I can’t deny his logic. Some part of me still wants to hold on to her, but…no. I have to help her, and I can’t do that if I’m too stubborn. It would do no good. It may even make things worse.

  “…Fine,” I agree, “but I’m coming with you.”

  “That was never in question,” he agrees, leaning down to carefully scoop up Charlie’s unconscious form. He then turns to Allacia, “Can you keep up?”

  She frowns, but nods.

  “Then we run,” he says.

  It’s as good an order as we need.

  —

  I had always wondered if I would be capable of surviving a nuclear warhead.

  It was a curiosity I found myself both reluctant and unable to sate, but I will admit that the prospect of overcoming the most powerful weapon humanity ever devised appeals to me somewhat.

  I suppose this will be the closest I ever get.

  Half my feathers have been shattered. Half. A solid barrier of the golden blades still stands firm between me and my foe, but my survival did not come without a cost. While I am able to recover my feathers, the last one he broke took me over a minute, and even then it cost me stamina—not a lot, but some. Now I have to do the same with half my arsenal.

  Not that the process didn’t drain my foe as well. He is visibly exhausted—sweating and slightly flushed. Some of that may have been from our fight before, but not all. Still, if he can do it again…

  “Satisfied now, Jonathan?” he roars in challenge, “This is the ability that brings nations to their knees, and it is mine. Tell me, are you afraid yet?”

  “I will admit,” I muster, more than happy to stall him as I regain my breath. I am not tired, I simply see no reason to resume the fight just yet, “I see why the Russians called you a bomb. The thirteenth, however, still eludes me. I assume it has something to do with how Moscow is a crater?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he replies, “They dropped twelve warheads on their own goddamn city to stop me, and when they failed, I showed them what a real bomb is like.”

  …

  That is worryingly plausible, given what our scouts reported.

  It may be intelligent to finish this quickly.

  A few of my feathers pop into existence, extra stamina spent to recover them swiftly. I’m back up to a comfortable sixty—enough, at least, to take another one of those blasts. My opponent, however, notices, and takes it as an excuse to resume the fight.

  He flies straight for me, the air swiftly beginning to compress around him again. He’s going for another one of those attacks, but I have no intention of just letting him. It takes time to charge—a few seconds, but enough. Both cursing myself for my weakness and relieved by my caution, I carefully draw one of the weapons I had almost left behind.

  God, but it feels good to pull the trigger.

  The report of the handgun I just fired almost sounds louder to my ears than his attack before. Handcannon might be more accurate, despite its shape. Hand artillery, even, or hand railgun, if I remember my science.

  His arrogant smile breaks as, for the first time, I actually manage to hurt him. It’s not a flesh wound, either. The shot slams through the force surrounding him and his shoulder in equal measure, accompanied by a trail of blood four times as long as he is tall. It stops him in his path, and he swerves wildly to avoid the next shot.

  “A gun?” he cries with rage and just a hint of pain, “I…you…you dare?!”

  Not just any gun. I would not have been able to hurt him otherwise. Not even a typical anti-SAU armament, either. Even most of those are weaker than my feathers at top speed. No, this one is a marvel of ability generated—or, synth, colloquially—technology. Even I would fear it, if it were in a foe’s hands, but it is not. It is only in mine.

  ASA-1341, its barrel reads. Godslayer, the inventor named it.

  A suitable cognomen, given its efficacy.

  Of course, I tell my opponent none of this, even as he circles around and glares with rage fierce enough to be Power all on its own. Maybe I have underestimated him. Maybe I have just awoken a sleeping dragon. Maybe he will even beat me.

  I just draw my other gun, and resummon a dozen more feathers.

  The challenge is carried far better than any words could.

  —

  I don’t know how long we run. Not really. It could’ve been minutes, or seconds, hours, or days. It’s all a blur, just like getting Charlie to the heroes.

  And much like then, it ends as well as I can hope.

  There are disaster relief sites already cropping up around the city, hospitals and rescue personnel moving like a well-oiled machine to recover and treat all that they can. At the same time, the heroes of the city spring into action like a kicked hornets’ nest, most of them unable to do anything, but all of them angry. No less than half of the heroes that run back with us to the relief site loudly announce that they’ll be going back out there as soon as they’re made aware of the best way to help. It all looks like posturing to me. None of them are good enough to fight him.

  There is one, though, at the relief site. A hero of actual strength. The others of my small group lock onto it immediately, the thing of steel. I follow them hesitantly, but I know in my heart that heroes are not as bad as reapers. It still makes me afraid.

  One from our group talks to it for a while, as the others make their way around the camp. She seems to be explaining the situation, as after a moment it seems to form a radio out of its own body, and hands it to Jayce. Then it turns to Elias, and Charlie.

  “The blood will be enough,” it says, the voice as sexless as I would expect, “Lay her somewhere out of the way. We cannot spare a cot for someone who will recover.”

  Cold, emotionless, but practical. I cannot blame its thinking. I follow Elias as he brings Charlie to an empty stretch of floor at the edge of the relief zone and carefully places her on the cold, hard asphalt of the abandoned lot they’d set up in. Allacia follows us, and after a moment, the one who had been talking to the robot does so too.

  “Apex says you can get medical attention if you need it,” she tells me. So that’s its name. I try to make sure I’ll remember. I don’t recall the woman, though, even if her blonde hair and cold attitude seems familiar to me.

  “Not ability healing,” she clarifies, “Just regular doctors, but you look like you could use all the help you can get.”

  “…I may take that offer,” I reply, “but only after she wakes up.”

  She nods, then walks off. I guess she has other things to do.

  It doesn’t really matter.

  All that matters right now is if Charlie will wake up, and when. Maybe after that, there will be something else to focus on. Maybe then I can worry about him, or the destruction he’s causing. Maybe then I can hurt him back.

  Maybe.

  But before that, Charlie has to wake up.

  I can’t lose my very first friend.

  near the end.