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Chapter
Four: The Other Swordsman Fan woke up the
next morning, still slumped in her living room armchair. The rain had finally
let up, and the sun was shining. She thought about her conversation with
Sanguine the night before as she prepared for the day ahead. Just as she
finished donning her signature costume of black and white tights and putting on
her earrings, her phone rang. She answered it to hear a few words of broken
Rikti language on the other end, and abruptly hung up. Sator had found another
lead, and there was no time to lose. She teleported
directly to the Dusk Vanguard base, almost ritually causing a loud enough noise
to break Sator’s concentration and cause general chaos within the room. “So
where to this time?” she asked as Sator telekinetically cleaned up the
scattered papers and clipboards. “My wish: Fan cease
to do that,” the aged Mentalist said in a tone that signified exasperation. It
was still hard for the Rikti to convey emotion, but most of the time Fan got
the gist of it. “I’m sure you’re
used to it by now,” Fan quipped. “Anyway, you said you knew who the next victim
would be. Are you going to send me on my merry way or what?” If Sator could
smile, he would have. Instead, he picked up a stapled set of papers and handed
it to Fan, then went back to his work. Fan accepted them and read over the file
belonging to the hero Armor Shrike. “Well, Jake Maxwell,” she mused, mostly to
herself, “Hang in there, okay? I’m on my way.” She smiled at her old friend
before departing. “Hey, Duran!”
Sanguine called as she noticed the unmistakable form of the swordsman entering
the base. He paused and waited for her to approach, watching her behind dark
sunglasses. She thrust a small stack of papers at him, which he took and
skimmed the text of as he listened to her explanation. “Sator is a little busy,
so I’m helping out as much as I can here. He told me he might know where our
enemies are going to strike next. It’s this hero, Jake Maxwell. Fan’s busy with
something else at the moment, so he wanted you to take care of it.” Duran Dal nodded at
Sanguine and handed the papers back to her. “Sounds easy enough. Take care.” He
turned and left before Sanguine could wish him luck. Knowing him, he didn’t
need it anyway. “Boomtown”,
The months after the Rikti War concluded were filled
with a sort of desperate sadness that clung to every living soul that still
walked the streets of A bitter wind swept
across Sadness washed over
Fan as she walked slowly down the streets of what used to be Baumtown. She felt
cold and empty inside. She still remembered clearly the first time she was
here, so many years ago. She was still a new hero then, and had felt until that
point that she was worthless – one in many. It wasn’t until heroes started
dying that she realized just how much her city needed her. Feelings of fear
and worry suddenly overwhelmed her, but they were not her own. She looked
around for the source of the mental broadcast, and found a small Rikti – much
smaller than normal Rikti, she noted – trapped under a steel beam. A small urge
to just walk by crossed her mind, but she recalled that not all Rikti wished
for the destruction of humanity. The events that transpired after the second
Rikti War that had led to a relative peace between the two races had not yet
taken place in this time, but they had in Fan’s, so she knew that during the
first invasion, some Rikti actually meant no harm. Sator was living proof of
this. The feelings of
fear grew stronger as she approached the Rikti. Fan imagined the Rikti must
have been in a panic to be broadcasting its feelings so openly. She felt the
Rikti searching her mind, so she tried to convey her own feelings of calmness
and peace. I mean you no harm. She
wasn’t sure how effective her thoughts were, but at least the fear had subsided
somewhat. Fan smiled warmly at the Rikti as she took hold of the steel beam and
lifted it. It was heavier than she had thought, and she struggled with it a
moment before she managed to lift it high enough for the Rikti to climb
through. It hesitated. “It’s okay. Go ahead,” Fan said soothingly. The Rikti
crawled free and Fan made sure it was okay before she dropped the beam. “My
name is Fan. Will you be oka-” she was cut off as the small Rikti lashed out
with a wave of psychic energy. Memories flooded Fan’s mind as a link between
the two was unintentionally formed. From the words and images that briefly
flashed through her mind, Fan gathered that the Rikti was a young female, named
Tk’Lankah. She saw a few images of an older Rikti, who Fan guessed to be
Tk’Lankah’s father, speaking to Hro’Dtohz. From what little Fan had picked up
of the Rikti language, they were discussing the prospect of “natural-born”
Rikti. The father gestured toward Fan. She was confused a moment, but she
realized that she was in Tk’Lankah’s memories. The memory faded and Fan fell
asleep. In the Rikti girl’s panic, she had exposed her mind, but she was still
strong. Tk’Lankah looked at
the sleeping hero one last time before running off. Jake Maxwell was
hardly listening to what Colonel Benjamin Hupp of the Vanguard was saying. His
heart was pounding, and his blood rushed through his ears so loudly that he
could barely make sense of what he was hearing. It was in his will, that everything he had go to
you. I know this is hard, son. I lost a lot of good friends in the war. It was as if
something had broken inside him. That much made sense. That much was mentally
tangible. It seems like there should be something special to a
uniform that survives when the person wearing it doesn't. The colonel’s words
clung to Jake like a wet t-shirt. He stared at the armor in the black and
violet case as if it were a puzzle he was supposed to solve. His brother was
gone, but the armor looked like it had just been made and polished. It didn’t
make any sense. Nothing did. It was as if he had been forcibly detached from
reality, and now he existed outside of his physical self, observing the world
outside of him. He felt numb with disbelief. Life moved on. The
world would not stop for him. He needed time to figure things out, but that was
asking far too much. “This really seems like an odd place to be
taking a nap,” a masculine voice announced as he towered over Fan. Fan looked up,
blinking. “I have no idea what just happened,” she responded quietly, still
dazed. She examined the man in front of her. He seemed normal enough – except
that his body was encased in dark red demonic armor, his eyes were bright gold,
his ears were pointed, and he had pink hair. He sported a white trench coat,
which seemed to be as unnatural as the rest of him. “Who are you?” “I was about to ask
the same question. My name is Duran Dal.” “Duran… I’ve heard
that name before.” She recalled Sanguine’s story the other night. “You’re with
the Dusk Vanguard?” The demon
hesitated. “Yes. How do you know about us?” In these times, the Dusk Vanguard
was not a name people just threw around, because it didn’t even exist yet. “Consider me an
honorary member,” she said, standing up. “I’m Fan.” “Well Fan, I am
going to assume that you aren’t here simply to be eccentric and sleep in a pile
of rubble.” Duran looked at Fan questioningly. “Sator sent me,”
Fan explained, “to find Jake Maxwell.” “Interesting.
Sanguine sent me to do the same thing.” “You’ll never hear
me complain about having company,” Fan smiled at him. “Shall we?” “Alright. But just
one question.” Fan looked up at
him. “Yes?” “Why were you sleeping in a pile of rubble?” Fan gave him a sour
look. “A Rikti mesmerized me.” She decided to leave out the details, for now.
There was something strange about Tk’Lankah… “And then she ran away.” Duran Dal didn’t
press the issue any further. Together, they headed for the location where Jake
Maxwell was supposed to be assassinated. Jake Maxwell had
set the suit on fire, thrown things at it, and even fired a revolver at it. Yet
there it lay, looking as if it had just been made. What is that thing? he
wondered. It certainly wasn’t from this world – that, he was certain of. If the
armor was so durable, shouldn’t it have protected his brother? He furrowed his
brow in frustration. A strange
mechanical sound was coming from somewhere outside. Jake headed for his front
door, but it suddenly exploded. A woman in a black costume crashed through it,
slamming against the opposite wall. She jumped back to her feet in a defensive
position, and then noticed Jake. “Jake Maxwell?” “That was my door.” “Right. Sorry about
that.” “You could have
knocked.” “I didn’t intend to crash through your door. I was
blasted in. I’d advise stepping aside.” Jake didn’t
question her. He moved back quickly, just in time to avoid a shower of bullets
coming from outside. “What is going on here?!” he demanded of the woman in
black. “Nemesis. He’s
trying to kill you.” “Me? Why me?” “You’re Armor
Shrike.” “You must be
mistaken. My brother was Armor
Shrike.” “Was?” Before Jake could
answer her question, another wave of attacks came through the doorway, and the
hero fell. Her expression twisted into one of confusion, as if being injured by
bullets was surprising to her. Jake could hear the
robots coming. He stole one last glance at the fallen hero, and without
thinking, he put his brother’s suit on. It was weird, like
he was encased in stone. The armor seemed to adjust to his form – he was by no
means as well-built was his brother was – and he could see clearly through the
helmet, even though it seemed to be solid outside. He had no idea what
he was doing. He walked over to
the woman, making sure she was still alive. Good.
Still breathing, he thought. He would have to buy her time. Another volley
of attacks came, this time shattering windows and putting holes through the
opposite wall. I don’t think my insurance
is going to cover this, he thought. He decided that he wasn’t going to remain
trapped in the house. Do they intend to
bring the whole structure down on me? While he was confident that the armor
would protect him from such an occurrence, his thoughts returned to the hero on
the floor. He stepped outside,
into clear view of the Nemesis soldiers. They fired. Bullets bounced off
of Jake as he headed toward the squad of Nemesis. He could probably fight the
soldiers. No one lived in He managed to take
down the few soldiers, who couldn’t hurt him with their rifles and bayonets. He
found that the best way to handle the Jaegers was to trick them into shooting
each other. This required a certain amount of maneuvering, but at last he got
lucky and they fired at each other and exploded simultaneously. He checked to make
sure no more Nemesis soldiers were heading toward him, and returned to his
house. The hero had regained consciousness and propped herself up; she was
staring at her gunshot wounds in disbelief. “Are you okay?”
Jake asked. The hero looked up.
“I am rather confused, but I should
be fine.” “Who are you?” “My name is Fan. So
you are Armor Shrike.” Jake didn’t know
what to make of this woman who kept insisting that he was his brother. “I told
you. Armor Shrike is dead.” “What? That can’t
be right, Jake. You’re Armor Shrike!” Jake studied her
expression. She didn’t seem to be confused at all. She seemed to be absolutely
sure of what she was saying, as if he
were the one who was in error. “I think I might have a headache.” “You have a headache, and I seem to be filled with holes. This is
turning out far worse than I expected. Regenerators don’t get hurt like this.”
She closed her eyes, as if in meditation, or perhaps searching for some
explanation within herself. “This is going to be a problem.” Duran Dal sped
through the streets of That meant that
someone else’s life was in danger. He couldn’t
understand why he thought of the Rikti that had attacked Fan. It was a stray
thought that had suddenly surfaced. Without another thought, he had left Fan to
deal with the Nemesis and ran in a seemingly random direction. He didn’t know
where he was going, but something in his mind summoned him. An airborne Jaeger
nearly struck him. He dodged intuitively, leaping off to the side without breaking
his pace. He skidded to a halt, stirring up dust. He peered through his dark
sunglasses, watching the Jaeger smash into the side of a building and explode.
Another soon followed. Duran searched for the source of the flying Jaegers, and
noticed a Rikti – unusually small, he noted – telekinetically tossing Nemesis
soldiers aside like rag dolls. He was briefly reminded of a story of Sator
doing something similar to Council soldiers. Sator. Suddenly the pieces
fit together perfectly. What if Nemesis could strike an emotional blow at the
Grand Diviner, in hopes of distracting him enough to gain an advantage over the
heroes? What if he could distract the heroes with a threat to another’s life,
while masking his true target: Sator’s niece? Sator had mentioned
a niece, once. Her name was Tk’Lankah. She was easily identified, Sator had
explained, because she was so small compared to other Rikti. Nemesis hadn’t
counted on Sator and Sanguine making a mistake. Where Nemesis had expected only
one hero, two had been sent. Duran ran to Tk’Lankah’s aid, drawing his swords
and quickly taking down several soldiers. All
these soldiers for just one target? But it was clear why so many had been
sent. Tk’Lankah was doing a good job of holding her own. While her psionic blasts
weren’t much use against her robot foes, they were extremely effective against
the human soldiers. She simply tossed the robots aside with telekinesis. Much
like her uncle, she was a force to be reckoned with. The Rikti noticed
him and instantly attacked him mentally, but he shrugged it off. “I’m not here
to hurt you. I know you’re scared. I’m a friend of Sator’s.” The Rikti’s attacks
stopped. She looked at him, silent. “It’s alright. Come
with me.” Tk’Lankah continued
to look at him, then finally nodded, though Duran couldn’t decipher if it were
out of assent or dissent until she stepped toward him. Fan pushed back
tears. Her entire body hurt from the wounds, and she couldn’t figure out why
she wasn’t regenerating. She felt as if she were being ripped open, and fought
to remain conscious. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t been teleported to
the hospital yet. Must be because I don’t
belong to this time stream, she decided. She would have to address that
issue later. For now, she just wanted to survive the hour. She was hardly
aware of Jake moving her onto a couch, muttering something about being thankful
she was so small, but she was going to get blood all over his new sofa. She was
even less aware of Duran Dal arriving with the small Rikti in tow, and asking
Jake where she was. She was, however,
aware of Duran taking her hand in his, and speaking. “Fan, what happened to you?” “I got shot,” she
said weakly. “I can see this.
Shouldn’t you have avoided being shot somehow? It looks like you just stood and
took it.” “Normally, I just
heal this kind of stuff.” Duran looked
genuinely concerned. “We need to get you to a hospital.” He pulled back,
letting go of her hand. “Wait,” Tk’Lankah
said suddenly. “My Ability: Healing. This Hero: Met Before.” The Rikti timidly
reached out to Fan, her hands hovering over the most serious of the wounds. Her
hands glowed green, and so did the wounds, until all of them were completely
healed. The Rikti looked a little drained, but she stepped back and nodded
firmly. “Earlier Behavior: Sincere Apology. This Gesture: Gratitude.” “Thank you,” Fan
said, feeling her strength recover. “You saved my life. No thanks to Duran of
course, who abandoned me in the first place.” She sat up, then was hit with a
wave of dizziness and fell back down. She sighed. She hated being weak. Duran shot Fan a
look of annoyance, though it was mostly hidden by his sunglasses. “I was busy
saving the one who saved you.” “I’m not going to
thank you for leaving me like that.” “Fine,”
Duran said. Jake watched the
two heroes during their exchange. “Are you two married or something?” Fan gave Jake a
look that threatened murder. “Guess not,” Jake
mumbled, mostly to himself. “Well, I guess I should be thanking you for saving
me.” “No need,” Fan
whispered. “I didn’t do anything, except nearly get myself killed.” She stared
off into the distance, seeing nothing. “Well, at least you
gave me some perspective,” Jake amended. He was still wearing his brother’s
suit, though he had taken the helmet off before moving Fan to the couch. “Sorry about the
door,” Fan said. “And the windows. And the wall. And the furniture,” she added. “It’s not all that
bad. I was thinking of remodeling,” Jake lied. He was trying to comfort her,
but he knew he was failing miserably. He was also trying to ignore the Rikti
standing a few feet away from him. She seemed kind enough, but that didn’t
change what happened to his brother… As if sensing
Jake’s distress, Duran extended a hand to Fan. “We should get going. I really
need to talk to Sator.” Fan took his hand
gingerly, allowing herself to be pulled up to her feet. Standing this close to
him, Fan realized he was nearly a foot taller than her. Fan turned to
Tk’Lankah. “Seek out Megumi Yamato,” she said, and the Rikti nodded, puzzled.
“She can help you. Trust me.” The Rikti looked at Fan thankfully, and, also
sensing Jake’s discomfort, sped away. “Megumi Yamato?”
Duran asked. “Tk’Lankah’s best
friend. I figure it can’t mess up the time stream too badly, since they were going to meet soon anyway. I think Armor
Shrike and I meet soon as well.” She turned to Jake with a serious expression.
“You never met me, okay? I won’t be surprised if the universe simply explodes,
the way we’re mucking everything up.” “Okay,” Jake
promised numbly. “Can you stand?”
Duran asked of Fan. “I think so.” She
let go of him and immediately began to fall over. Duran caught her. “Guess
not.” He lifted her into
his arms quicker than she could protest, and she held onto him, resigned. He
sped out of the hole that used to be a door, holding Fan securely against his
chest. He ran with such incredible swiftness that with each leap and bound, Fan
felt like they were flying. She did not like being carried like this, but what
could she do? For some reason, her body wasn’t working the way it used to. After a few minutes
of running, Duran slowed to a stop and set Fan down, careful to hold her
steady. They were standing on a fallen building, near where they had first met
in Baumtown. “Why are we here?
We could have returned to the base from anywhere,” Fan asked quietly. “Crey,” Duran said.
“They’ve been tracking you. Sanguine added a note to her report, warning me to
look out for them. She thinks they did something to you. I don’t fully
understand what is going on here, but I think you should show them that they
failed in their efforts. Can you do that?” Fan tested her
footing, but found that her legs still wouldn’t support her weight. She frowned
and hovered just barely an inch off the ground, letting whatever power within
her that made her inhuman hold her instead. She floated down the building, and
then gave the appearance of walking. The Crey spotted her and raised their
pistols. Fan ducked behind a tank that had been abandoned, presumably from an
order to flee during the war. It didn’t really matter. Fan lifted it with ease,
and threw it at the Crey agents before they could fire their weapons. Duran was at her
side in an instant. “That will show them,” he mused, impressed. “Now, I believe,
it is safe to leave.” Fan didn’t remember
blacking out. The very last thing she remembered was standing beside Duran
after she had thrown a tank. What was happening to her? Why had she suddenly
become so… normal? She still had her inhuman
strength and ability to fly, though these abilities now took a lot out of her,
when they used to be second nature. And here she was,
in the medical bay of the Dusk Vanguard base, for the second time this week.
And once again, Sanguine was sitting in the chair beside the bed, looking
worried. “Oh good, you’re awake.” “How long have I
been out?” Fan asked wearily. “Only a day. I
suspected worse. You were nearly comatose when Duran brought you in.” Fan frowned. “A
day? What happened to me?” “I was hoping you’d
answer that. Fortunately, Sator and Duran have an idea. I’ll go get them.” Fan nodded and
watched Sanguine leave. A few moments later, she returned with Sator and Duran
in tow. Sanguine returned to Fan’s side, holding onto one of her hands. Duran spoke first.
“Sator took the liberty of taking a blood sample from you. There were
some…startling revelations.” Sator nodded,
holding up a chart. “Your Heritage: In Question. Blood Sample: telling.
Revealed: Kheldian Origins.” Fan blinked. “Kheldian blood?” “What
do you know of your family, Fan?” Duran asked gently. Fan considered
this. “My mother was definitely human, as was my father. My grandfather
committed suicide when my grandmother disappeared. So I guess the only unknown
variable is my grandmother. But that makes no sense, because I ended up being
special and Jive was completely normal…” she trailed off, frowning deeper. “It seems some of the pieces are fitting
together,” Sanguine said. “That was the other thing we found out. Those missing
Regenerators? I was one of them. Crey seems to have found a toxin that slows
the regeneration process of meta-humans. And demons,” she added. “And it
eventually kills whoever is injected with it. They must have known you were
weak to quantum technology, Fan. How else could they have gotten a toxin into
your bloodstream without your body naturally rejecting it?” “If that’s true,
then we’re dealing with forces that are already several steps ahead of us,”
Duran said gravely. “We’ll need to find an advantage, and fast.” Sanguine looked at
Sator, as if communicating with him silently. “We don’t have time to look right
now. There’s already another attack in progress. Does Lockhart Industries sound
familiar?” Fan shot out of
bed, ignoring her weariness. “I’m on it.” “No you’re not,”
Sanguine protested. Fan glared at her
threateningly. “Well, at least take Duran with you,” Sanguine
pleaded. Fan sighed, and
then nodded in agreement. Duran didn’t seem to mind being drafted into the
task. He’d never complain about a chance to take down some villains. “Medicine: Please
Take,” Sator said to Fan, offering her two pills from a bottle. “Will
Counter-Act: Toxins: Limited Time,” he explained. “Thanks,” Fan said,
and took the pills. “At least someone
knows better than to try to stop me,” she teased. Sanguine grunted
and stalked out of the room. Fan looked after her, concerned. “Crey will pay
for what they did to her. I’m going to make sure of that.” “What is our task,
Sator?” Duran asked. “Fan: Already
Understands,” Sator answered simply, and followed Sanguine out of the room. He
was still distracted by the disturbing news that Duran had given him about
Tk’Lankah. Duran turned to
Fan. “I’ll explain when we’re there,” she said, answering his silent question.
“We need to hurry.” Interlude Three May 19th,
1957 – Jennifer was dying. This was
disturbingly clear to her as she lay on the cold street, bleeding from various
burns and cuts. She didn’t know why she had attacked the 5th Column
soldiers. She was, after all, only human. And humans died. She was not
immortal, or different, or powerful. The 5th
Column had trapped a beautiful, bright-blue creature, and for some reason
Jennifer thought she could help. That she should
help. She had failed, and now she would die for her foolishness. Something cool and
pleasant touched her cheek. She recognized it as one of the tendrils of the
alien. Was it sympathetic? She couldn’t tell. It had no form, yet it had been
capable of blasting the soldiers with its brilliant white light as soon as
Jennifer had opened the cage. But the alien was too late to stop the soldiers
from attacking Jennifer. Jennifer’s vision
dimmed, and the alien was more urgent in its attempts to gain her attention.
Was it… trying to talk to her? She
struggled to focus on the creature, and was rewarded with a beautiful, sonorous
voice in her head. You
saved me. Jennifer nodded
weakly. Her head was pounding. Thank
you. “Wh-What are you?”
Jennifer managed to whisper through the relentless pain that assaulted her. I am
a Kheldian. I want to offer you a chance to be reborn… as a Peacebringer. I can
tell you have a good soul. Will you be my host? Jennifer nodded,
though the motion was so slight, she wasn’t sure the Kheldian would have
noticed it. |