Athwart History (Closed)

A thunderous crack precedes Marrane's exit from the subway stairs, tumbling gracelessly and deflecting off the railing with a meaty thud. The impact spins him up into the air just long enough for a sidearmed cinderblock to crunch into his chest and launch him another dozen feet across open sidewalk, spilling him onto the floor amid shattered chunks of masonry. He gasps for breath and clutches his chest, but his abnormal constitution is already doing its fell work, and his ribcage reforms, bones clicking back together and meat mending with sinewed thread. He staggers to a knee, and holds out a shaky hand that casts a malign light, a yellow that burns the nearby concrete to steam and clicks against the glass of the nearby office building like the echo of a thousand crickets sawing. The metro crowd scatters with an inhalation and moves with the swiftness of a public that knows the difference between a publicity stunt and a cape fight about to go savage. The police aren't stepping into this one.

Up the stairs comes his foe: Adamant. The old greatcoat, sweeping and stentorian, is gone, the classic medals and mailed coat that deflected thunderous blows in bygone years absent. The thick forearms and broad shoulders are still the same though, a towering figure that looms over the Wandering Jew even before he clears the stairs. The acquiline nose and terrible, icy stare; black hair on a black soul. Knuckles pop as his fingers flex gently, reflexively, and he stares down the familiar villain without an iota of fear. "Go ahead," he says, unblinking. "See where that gets you."

What would suffice to devastate an APC wouldn't so much as slow down Adamant, and Marrane knows it too. Instead he swipes the energy down, casting it into the ground to form a pool of hissing light that he reaches for - and is promptly intercepted by a lunging blur that resolves itself into Adamant's right foot as it smashes into the Wandering Jew's shoulder and almost tears the entire joint off his body, punting him two dozen feet into the air to deflect off the corner of a building and flop off bonelessly, blood drawing a lazy splatter to follow his ballistic arc.

Halfway to the ground, the body seizes and twists, then detonates as something blindingly fast, insectile and chitinous, lunges out like a bullet at Adamant, only to swerve around another devastating blow with a flicker of gossamer wings the span of a Toyota, pivoting in a beautiful twirl to slash with a wicked, barbed limb at his outstretched hand. It grinds down against the naked skin, tip spurting foul purple poison, and fails to so much as scratch the olive battlement of Adamant's flesh. Heedless of failure, it pirouettes around another swing and slams a blurry wash of many feet into the hero's stomach with a rippling thud like a bookshelf collapsing. The attack tears him from his feet from sheer force and propels him in a half-spin down the street, which he corrects with a hand grinding through pavement like paper for traction.

Paul Marrane - the Wandering Jew, a loathsome, chimeric creature of wasp and mantis stock, leers at Adamant though compound eyes, the discarded skin of his last meal still fluttering to the ground slowly behind him where he'd lunged from it. A hissing click gutters out as wingcases, and he rises into the air, staring down his opposition with infinite ire. Fell energies crackle beneath translucent skin, two eons of arcane knowledge empowering him into an abomination few could match - and he still doesn't strike.

Adamant scoffs, and rises to his feet from his half-crouch, absently flicking loose crumbs of asphalt from his hand. "I don't know why you bothered to come here. You know Indiana is my territory. You up here in my shitshow for a reason?"

Marrane croaks a terrible laugh, and the wasp-like body crumbles as a foul mist rises from it, along with a parchment scroll that had been embedded in the homunculus's body. The last embers of animating energy ground out into the concrete and a sigh echoes as the 'skull' splits apart, revealing a pink mass throbbing, nailed through with pins mounted with wasp queens.

Adamant sighs, and deliberately steps on it, crushing the fleshtrap to paste beneath his boot and ending the spirit trapped to empower the chitin golem. He picks up the scroll and checks the seal, embossed with a flower whose blooms stare back with wide eyes.

"Dramatic asshole. Can't just send a letter," he grouses, checks the surroundings for anyone hurt, and then drops a police beacon on top of the whole mess with a shrug, already thinking about where he'll stop to get breakfast. It's an unusual exchange, but with power-tripping villains and clashing egos, sometime a psycho's just got to psycho. He can't say anything - he's still looking for the same rush. It's just harder to get to, these days, with the old League shattered and the new lot playfighting each other in the streets. Paul's probably just looking for a tussle, old freak that he is. The new kids got no game.

It's terrible, but Adamant, now just Elias Halwell, understands him too much for his own peace of mind.

"I ain't never seen nobody down there, we thought it free game-"

"Well Tony ain't so keen on that-"

"Tony can't seem to keep what's his-"

Voices raised and a few fuck yous were dished out as the argument over territory continued between the two sides, guns drawn and threats exchanged-loud enough they were echoing down the empty side street currently being traversed by an out of town speedster.

It was the first shot that really got her attention however, causing the heroine to veer off the road, the shimmering blue blur passing between the two sides of gangers quicker than the twitchiest of trigger fingers and beelining straight for the large man at the end.

The men along the way found their hands emptied as the mirage passed, a broken index finger for the man who had first fired-and missed. They hardly had time to feel confused as the blur materialized.

A petite woman in a light blue costume made of a thicker protective material, Velocity currently had the sole of one silver boot firmly planted on the chest of Tony's enforcer. Her arms and silver gloved hands were full of all seven of their handguns-in pieces- and the girl leaned forward slightly on her right thigh, pressing her admittedly small weight into him. A slow, exaggerated shake of her head and a disappointed 'tsk' noise were both made before her full lips parted to speak in a light hearted, almost joking tone.

"You guys should really work on your social skills."

The tough talking ganger issued an enraged grunt as he pushed back into the much smaller, much lighter woman, throwing her off balance-but she blurred back to her trailing foot and then surged forward with a stronger attack for his solar plexus, the gun pieces briefly floating in mid air as she struck him-and then zipped down the alley to detain the others. To his credit, the big man didn't throw up-just a thin huffed wheeze before crumpling, his allies and his enemies being knocked back or tied up behind him as the metal struck concrete in front of his face.

...

Jenna all but whistled as she strolled back out of the alley at normal speed, a purple smart phone in her left hand and a small wastebasket full of gun parts in her right. He had been out earlier-she'd seen the crappy cell phone video of him beating the snot out of what first looked to be some guy on Youtube. Wandering Jew...THERE was some nightmare fuel, Jesus.

She wished she'd been in town or heard about it when it happened. Unlike with everything else, she never seemed to be in the right place at the right time when it came to Adamant. Nothing seemed to be going on now either-nothing currently being reported, anyway.

Damn.

She dropped the basket at the mouth of the alley with a sigh, battling disappointment at yet another missed opportunity. She hadn't come here to beat on gangers, but that's what had happened. Again. The other night it'd been a would be car thief. And then last Wednesday a violent mugger-every time she encountered something she took off before she could get hounded about it-she wasn't exactly supposed to be here. Not...hiding exactly, but well...why draw attention?

Jenna Paige, AKA Velocity II wasn't the largest of ladies. At five foot two she hardly counted for much, the half Filipina small all over-much to her consternation. But she was fast, and who cared if you were fast? In costume, in those silver boots and gloves, her signature silver goggles-Laura hadn't had those, she'd worn a blue mask-she was somebody. Somebody that mattered, was coming up in the world of heroes after an admittedly rough time a few months back.

But it was besting Mistress Rush that got the League's attention, so she supposed she should be grateful for it. Whether it had been a good trade...well, no sense worrying over it now.

It was probably the wastebasket of gun bits that stood out the most, even with the vivid blue outfit the kid was sporting. Elias slows, chewing thoughtfully on the bagel he'd appropriated from the bakery, and looks at the sapphire newbie with a curious eye. The guns are not merely pulled apart, but dissembled; the alley behind her has a dozen groaning mooks on the ground, but no one's beat unconscious. That's either sloppy or an act of mercy most of her peers wouldn't get, and it's enough to peak his interest and turn his path to amble up besides the heroette. In the seconds as he approaches, he double checks himself: no black or silver, just jeans, a long-sleeve shirt, and a sheepskin bomber jacket. Granted, the last draws a lot of eyes, but it's an original and he'll be damned if he gives it up. That and the boots - the tall, black leather boots he'd surrender to nobody, the steady heel-toe double click of his slow stride so characteristic that most people can recognize him with their eyes closed.

Alright, so he's idiosyncratic. He'll admit it.

"They're all conscious." Elias notes to the young woman as he wanders up beside her, eyes focused down the alleyway as he takes in the scene, watching her from the corner of one eye. Side to side, her head barely reaches the top of his shoulder, and his brawny forearms are as thick as her thighs as he flicks a hand at the pile of bodies. "Good control. Concussions are bad publicity these days."

(Unsaid is the fact that when he tangled with baseline humans, in the bad and early days, they rarely survived)

"You're a long way from the Tower, too," he notes, a little dryness entering his baritone. "I'll pass on the schoolyard jokes, but I don't doubt that Cid's unhappy about you wandering this far, even if you could be back before nightfall."

El Cid. Lord of the Sterling Tower, home of the Greater Powers Association, where the brightest and bravest new talents are nutured, and guided, and held safely away from anything that might matter. A lightbulb in the dark, to blind people that pay too much attention to it.

Elias brushes away the thought with a roll of one thick shoulder.

It was the light, symmetrical clicks that drew her attention first-the heroine's gaze lifting from the brightly lit phone screen and spotting the broad shouldered figure in the dark. She didn't immediately place him while her eyes were still somewhat adjusting-but she let him approach anyway, even with as big as he was. A blur of her hand as the cell phone lowered, the heroine shifting to one foot, hip cocked and head slightly tilted, curious, even friendly body language. She liked to meet new people.

"They're all conscious." Jenna glanced into the alley, a hint of a frown on her mauve colored, full lips. "Well, yeah, brain swelling is kind of bad-"

"Good control. Concussions are bad publicity these days."

Her head turned back so quickly there was a blurred after image, eyes wide behind her goggles as she belatedly recognized him. Holy shit. She took a blurred step back so she wasn't having to tilt her head so far and to get her bearings as her heart slammed into a heightened pace. She felt a flush of embarrassed excitement-this was Adamant, she'd finally run into-or been run into by-Adamant! THE Adamant!

Cool it Jenna, no time for slack jawed idiocy.

And to think, she might've raced off already if it hadn't been for her smart phone distraction! Hooking her thumb beneath the bridge of her goggles she jerked them up just past her hairline to reveal dark, dark eyes with a hint of a slant, fringed in dark lashes. He'd see she was a pretty girl. He'd also see she was a little blown away.

What had he just said? Something about Cid and nightfall? Oh, right, that stupid curfew or whatever.

"WellIhaven't...gotten around to moving in, yet." The words started out fast and blended together before slowing through conscious effort, those eyes still a little widened, the girl utterly lacking a poker face. The way she said it, it kind of seemed like she didn't plan on it either. Amused in a way about the idea of a bedtime-but no intention on towing the line. "It's not like it'd take me long to get there, should they need me-so uh, hi-" Her lips curved into a full grin rather than a demure smile, boisterous and upbeat.

Another quick glance down the alley, then at him, then the cell phone in her right hand-quickly sheathed in her boot faster than the eye could follow. The girl straightened to her full height, shoulders back and a bit of an excited swell to her as her ungloved hand suddenly appeared for a shake.

Energy. There was a lot of energy to her, as if she'd be bopping all over the sidewalk if she wasn't restraining herself, reining it in. "I'm Jenna. Jenna Paige. I mean Velocity, or-well Jenna works."

She introduced herself as if no one had ever heard of her, not a hint of pride or guile. As if her name hadn't been plastered all over the news and papers for the last few months, the newest poster child for the GPA.

Unlike heroes trained within however, she was proving to be a bit elusive. Thrilled to be included, to be recognized by the once prestigious organization of heroes-but she wasn't entirely in the fold. She refused to abandon her home city, for one. She had yet to make an official public appearance. No talk show interviews, no GoPro youtube videos, no nothing. Velocity wasn't working to sell herself to the public-and was resisting the League's efforts to do so for her, it seemed.

Still, the people loved Jenna Paige; they couldn't get enough of the wholesome, wise cracking, justice seeking little heroine who never seemed to slow down. The shimmering blue blur:back in action.

And in his city, a place new heroes steered clear of. Especially when they ran with the Association. Her home city wasn't terribly far away-a hundred miles or so. Miles she could put down in a hurry.

"I've been hoping to run into you."

The raw energy of this young woman brings an unfamiliar twist to the corner of Elias's mouth, smiling in spite of himself. There are two things you can't buy in this world, dignity and integrity - and it doesn't matter how much this Jenna stutters or jumps, cheeks already red before she even gets off a sentence - her eyes meet his straight on. Cid hasn't taught her back to bend, yet. "Well, you're in cape, so I'll stick to Velocity for now," he replies.

She's slight: a petite little thing, a dancer on the field, no doubt. Not the train-collision Laura was in the day, rushing straight on and blowing enemies away with sonic booms and collapsing airbursts. The goggles are new, too, more open, leaving smiling pink lips free. There's more than a little magic in that face, a pixiesh charm. Warm dark skin and a smile that radiates. It's enough that he doesn't feel like sending her back to Tin Daddy just yet; Elias's eyes stay steady on hers, instead of dismissing her and moving on.

"Elias Halwell," he introduces, offering one giant paw down to her. His hand is half again the size of her own, broad knuckles scarred from decades of terrific impacts against the worst the world's got. "Retired, these days. Kind of. Sock Party gets tetchy about it sometimes."

Cid's face the first time he'd called his treehouse club the Sock Party had been hilarious.

"I don't see a camera, so you're already one leg up on that account," Adamant says, acerbic. There's a crowd beginning to gather, but he ignores it with long practice. Locals know him on sight, but the rubberneckers from out of state are always looking for a photo op with the Northern Thunder, or whatever the fuck else he'd been branded in the latest Action Center episode straw poll. "What brings you out my way, speedster?"

Him opting for the inherited moniker seemed to brighten that grin another watt, an enthusiastic hand shake possible only because her still gloved hand blurred to back of his large one to help. He was warm and he was a lot bigger than she'd imagined. She was used to feeling small but compared to him, she felt downright tiny.

"Nice to meet you!" This was stupid awesome. She had had no idea what sort of reception to expect-the masks back in the Tower were calling him standoffish and kind of acting like he was a pariah, but that hadn't really been it...what did they know? They were new heroes too-in it longer than she was sure, but still all popping up within the last eight years. None of them had worked with him. She wasn't sure anyone who had mentioned him in passing had even met him.

No, her hesitation-aside from just general, 'normal Jenna' awkwardness- had had more to do with Elias being a real a hero, a hero from before, a hero who had known Laura. Rush had been fairly insulted she'd taken up the mantle, and she'd been Laura's enemy! Jenna had been kind of worried Adamant might've felt just as strongly.

Heck, she didn't think she entirely deserved the name- but there ya go.

Sock party? A curious tilt of her head, not entirely understanding but catching the tone. "Well, you're one of the greats, I could see why they would want you in the 'club'." She said in earnest as her hands returned to her hips-an effort to not talk with them. These days they moved in a blur when she did, and it threw people off.

"Ha, I'd have no idea how to edit videos-and high speed cameras are expensive." She had never once considered recording anything. That would be weird. The heroine's dismissive joke did reveal a hint of overconfidence;speed. But the girl was fast, so that could perhaps be forgiven.

People were starting to take notice, and Jenna took notice of them in turn- gaze shifting to the few stragglers, then the men behind her-a bit of nervous anxiety creeping in as the audience formed, subtle but noticeable-a furrow to her brow as she seemed to make sure the downed, grumbling men were no threat to the gathering civilians-not tied and tangled up as they were.

He remained steady. Used to onlookers. Jenna adjusted the silver, opaque goggles back over her eyes, a slight wave to the curious observers with her bare hand before she almost absently pulled the glove back on. "Well, I-you know." She said distractedly before her attention flitted back to him. Another smile, slightly more reserved. "Hadn't really had the opportunity to meet other heroes before, and when you weren't there with them-" And folks were talking like you were crazy- "I thought I'd come say hi." She felt more awkward with the growing crowd. "We're practically neighbors, after all-" She was just in the next state over.

Also, you are super badass, sort of retired or not.

Best not to say that though-she didn't want to look like some kid. Well, more than she probably already did.

Elias laughs, a bark of not entirely good humor. It exposes white, thick teeth that contrast with his olive skin brightly - teeth he's bitten through steel with, as hard as any other part of him. He regains control swiftly, though the corner of his mouth remains tilted, his mood remaining relatively pleasant. A gleam deep in those ice-blue eyes tells of an unholy enthusiasm, though. "Cid doesn't want me anywhere near him, ever. I'd break him into little pieces and he knows it. That's one big reason you all aren't deployed up here."

He gestures with a hand as a blue uniform breaks the line of onlookers, a cop making his way over. Not quite overweight, but starting to lean in that direction, Officer Donner is a greyhaired officer who was walking the beat before Adamant was even born, and earns his check as "local anomalous elements liaison" - translating to "guy who gets shit done for heroes". It's a cushy job, but after having been shot four times in the line of duty, Donner isn't really cut out for heavy work anymore.

"Big man," he says with a nod, the New York nasal accent faint in his words. "Little lady. Thanks for the 10-20. My kid'll do pickup."

Idly, out of the officer's view, Adamant turns his hand and reveals an unadorned pager to Velocity, sliding it back up his sleeve with a lazy stretch.

A deputy, cropped hair and military bearing still strong from a stint in the Army slips behind them and begins methodically cuffing each thug. One attempts to struggle and is promptly tasered into submission, his jolted cries echoing up the alleyway. "Thought you didn't like company," Donner observes, taking in Velocity at a glance and dismissing her just as easily.

"Just a crowd," Adamant replies, and turns to amble away down the sidewalk, beckoning the younger hero after him. Officer Donner stares after him bemusedly.

"Too many people," Adamant says, even though his expression is serene and untroubled. "Rather not dig into cape politics with a couple dozen eavesdroppers. You got time to run a quick sweep of the locale?"

She's nice, but honestly he just wants to dig a little on how things are going at the Tower. He worries about Daybreak.

Despite his nice looking smile the laughter proved to be a little unsettling, the ensuing statement worse. She eyed him uncertainly from behind the mirrored silver goggles even as she turned her body to face the approaching policeman, her full lips again a slight frown.

Maybe he was crazy...

"Sir." Velocity's hands were back on her hips as she returned the officer's nod. He didn't ask for a report and she didn't offer one-Adamant had the wire here, not her.

She watched the other cop work for a moment, untangling arms from jackets of the mostly compliant, glaring criminals-and looked away when one got himself tasered, her stomach turning a little.

Her mind flitted back to Elias' statement, the obvious dislike for the knight. Maybe actual violent intent?

Was he crazy? No... no-it made sense there'd be creative differences in the aftermath of tragedy, no way was Adamant anything less than he'd ever been. Had a bone to pick with Cid maybe-which was hard for her to imagine, the Knight seemed pretty harmless, easy going. In what little she'd spoken with him anyway. He was one of the old heroes too-she couldn't imagine any fault with him OR his fellow veteran wife.

Okay, maybe if Elias had beef with Daylight...THEN she'd believe he was crazy.

"Just a crowd." Elias' statement sliced through her flurry of thoughts. He turned to go-dang-but then thankfully gave her a motion to follow. Good, she wanted the scoop, hear what he had to say.

See what she might've gotten herself into...

"Thank you for your continued service, fellas-" She said with a cheerful, two fingered salute off the top of her goggles-before she and her grin vanished to zip to Adamant's side.

"Yeah-probably a good idea." She had shed her disquiet in record time-still excited to have met the legendary hero.

She perked up further at the question. "Igottime!" Oops. "Er, if you do, Mr. Hallwell."

Elias's bulk clears a path through the gathering crowd easily, and he glances about before cruising down the sidewalk, removing a parchment scroll from the interior of his jacket and unrolling it as he speaks, reading the spidery handwriting. "Paul left me a trail of breadcrumbs. He probably got in a pissing match with some other professional douchebag and is using me as a catspaw to fuck this other guy over. To be frank, I'm fine with that."

There's a grim line stretching Adamant's mouth thin and pursing his lips. "I can't put Paul Marrane down. I've come to terms with that. Anyone with the mojo necessary got killed at the Aleutian Islands, and with no one to train apprentices, all those artifacts lost, it'll be decades before anyone can so much as threaten him. But in the meantime, he doesn't play nice with the rest of the black hats. Feeds one of 'em to me once in awhile. It's an antagonistic relationship."

He folds the scroll back up and pockets it again with a rough exhalation. "He's got Nergal to chase him up into Muskegon, in Michigan. Stole something of his, some computer chip that he cares a ton about, and the dipshit's too paranoid to trust anyone else to bring it back to him."

Nergal - an old name. Nergal is one of the pre-Immolation villains, a tall man with a ratty blond mane, able to change the requirements for combustion - in combat, everything he looks at is flame, every surface is melting, a living holocaust, with his own body coated in a solution that alone he chooses to not burn. He went underground four months before Immolation, and reemerged afterwards in some Australian laboratory doing experiments on fusion and state of energy changes, getting fat checks. He hasn't so much as seen the States in six years. Adamant hasn't seen him in longer, but still remembers the twitchy fingers, the dilated pupils of a drug user, drunk on the chemicals in his blood and the ash in the air. A bad seed who saw the money in going, at least, half-clean.

Adamant restlessly drums his fingertips on his thigh, the density of his fingers making it a thudding rain.

"What's the toughest fight you've had yet?" he asks, finally.

Velocity normally would have flitted through the crowd, ducking elbows and finding gaps for her small frame-but with Elias she only had to walk in his wake. It must be nice to be big.

She was at his side again, the petite speedster's form just barely blurring as she moved to keep up with his long strides. She watched him retrieve the parchment. "Yeah, I saw that fight on Youtube." She was burning to know what the heck was in such a message-but the topic change to business was kind of surprising. Maybe he didn't think she was just some kid. That'd be kind of nice.

Cid had been a little patronizing. She was sure he hadn't meant to be though.

Jenna's expression turned somber as he spoke, and even with the goggles obscuring her eyes she seemed sad. There wasn't time to say anything, not that she felt it her place TO say anything for the eight year old tragedy-before he moved on.

"That fire guy?" Uh oh. Sure, it was Adamant you were talking here, but still-Nergal was no joke. She was kind of surprised he was stealing again though, even if it was from another villain.

"I thought he, ya know, reformed?" She said distractedly, her mind racing through a bunch of other things-newspaper articles and wiki pages and criminal histories-when she realized he had asked her a question.

Jenna blinked behind her goggles. "You...I mean, you want backup?" Whoa. Then she immediately regretted the stupid question and her possible presumption, color coming to her russet cheeks. This was Adamant. Adamant. "Notthatyou, uh, I mean-" Blurred talking with her hands. Son of a bitch, she'd just answer the question and try not to be any dumber.

"Rush." She said after a slight pause. "That first encounter with Rush." Her right hand suddenly appeared at her slim left shoulder, lightly gripping at some remembered injury. "It didn't go so hot, but I got her the next time." With smarts not brawn, but she was a clever heroine.

In her heyday, Laura Mansfield, AKA Velocity, had had a rogues gallery to call her own. Sure, she had faced many a major villain, but there were rivals that particularly seemed to vex her and be vexed by her, and Rachel McCullogh, better known as Mistress Rush, was the worst of the worst of them.

Laura and Rachel were both tall women, and they were both speedsters. That was where the similarities stopped. While Laura had been full of honorable ideals and committed to using her gifts for good and the betterment of man, Rachel had never given a damn about anything or anyone but herself since day one. A thief and killer, she had always seemed to take sadistic pleasure in causing others pain.

Laura had been one of the few who could keep up with her-and Rachel had hated her for it. One of the last times Rush had been put away, they had placed her in special unit to prevent her escape, shocked her out of her senses every time she came to. Laura had shut that place down. Laura had helped her escape. Rush hadn't paid the favor in kind. Had never liked the competition of a female speedster in her spotlight, in her business.

She'd gone to assassination jobs without publicity sometime before the tragedy. Laura had been tracking her movements, closing in on her-before she answered that final call. Rush didn't resurface as herself for a long time-retired on her stolen wealth. But when a new Velocity was on the scene...well, she'd ventured out to end her.

Rush had reach and height on the petite heroine, easily outweighed her and certainly had much, much more experience tangling with another speedster and with cruelty.

It was a little impressive this new Velocity had managed to survive two encounters, let alone come out on top. Odd about the pause. She wasn't on record of tangling with anyone arguably bigger than Rush. Hm.

"The fire guy, yeah," Elias replies, with a faint snort. "Good a summary as any. No, I can count the real reformers on one hand. Succor, Mannequin, Inverse, Nailbiter. That's all of them. The rest have jobs now, but that doesn't make them legit; it just means that what they do is legal now, because they either do their dirty work abroad or the laws here have changed, or the question of whether it is legal is tied up in court with a dozen lawyers bodyblocking it down. The villains didn't retire, they just had no one left to fight worth their time."

There's real bitterness in his voice now, a rancid seething set to the popping of bones as he reflexively flexes his shoulders and fingers, joints cracking with the urge to get ahold of something and squeeze until it breaks. "The old rogue's gallery, all the people the League used to fight? Sometime, go check how many of them are in jail now for the crimes they committed before it all went down. Go see whether they've still got charges outstanding, or how many were just let go, swept under the carpet. Try telling me again about who's fucking reformed then."

There's a long silence, as Adamant stares off, straight forward, shoulders squared, stalking ahead. Then he eases up and shoves his thumbs into his pockets deliberately, letting his hands hang loose over the edge. That predatory stride softens into a wandering amble again.

"Rush wasn't a joke, either," he says. "I did hear about that. But I wanted to hear it from you, because if you come with me you're walking into another fight like that. Nergal is just as bad, but with more collateral damage than you can imagine. I'm asking you because I can put him down, but I can't stop him from destroying everything else he can lay eyes on. If you can get the civilians out, help distract him, keep him from just fuckin' nuking everything just to spite me for coming after him, you'll have more than done your part. I can beat anything into the ground. That's easy. What I can't do is protect people from him. I can't carry anyone out of the way, or throw a blindfold on him from super-speed, or clear the area. I can win the fight, but I'm not in this superhero business just to win fights. I want to save people. You understand me?"

Jenna stared up at him as he spoke, looking more and more troubled. Her brow furrowed and a worried frown was again on her lips, listening, taking in every word.

Was...was that true? The speedster turned her gaze back ahead in the silence, weighing the words-and his bitterness. Well...they were...rebuilding, right? Maybe-hm, no the...the pressure wasn't on heroes for prosecution. They had done the work and if this was true-and she believed that it must be-made the final sacrifice only for that hard work to be undone.

She didn't want to believe that. She'd look into that later-right now, she felt the urge to apologize. His bitterness made her feel very, very bad for him...for all the survivors. But he hadn't retired, and he also wasn't in with the League.

Alone.

She'd fallen behind a pace as he stalked ahead, and when he relaxed she was back at his side again, her goggles now on top of her head.

Her earlier giddiness had given way to seriousness, responsibility. "Yes. Yes I do."

The good fight, Miss Laura had said. Look out for the little guy, the people.

Companionable silence for a moment, her dark eyes contemplative. "And if he thinks it's just me intially, he probably won't nuke everything-not before you can do what you do best." Her eyes flicked over to him, a smile. "And I have lots of practice getting people out of harms way-and annoying the bad guys." A wink.

Elias looks down at Jenna, and takes her in for a moment - and then smiles, the cracked, weary grin, the victor's grin, on a million posters and a million screens, wry and rusted and defiant; the face he'd stared down the worst of the worst with, caught falling buildings with, stood before bullets with. It sears through the sleepless, dark rings of his eyes, the care wrinkles at the corners, an indefatigable resilience that warms the soul. Here is Adamant - unbending, unbroken, unswayed. The Man Against.

"Well then," he says, and jerks his head towards the upcoming shore. There's a jetty with a handful of boats docked nearby, little commercial things with the look of long use. "We got a boat to catch. Paul says he'll be at the Lake Michigan docks - we'll pull in there and try to keep him out on the water. Better than him frying half the city behind us."

He trots out onto the wooden docks, fishing out a set of keys as he leads her towards a 30-footer powerboat, the white trim worn by water pressure into a faded grey. He hops in and begins checking the gauges, gesturing her to take a seat. "You're in this now, so if you've got questions, ask 'em. I owe you that much, at least."

The roughness of his skin makes more sense now, the rugged calluses a result of salt and rope burns from working on the water. He sways with the waves easily, the boat familiar under his feet. His eyes are distant as he thinks and plans, the hum of thought almost audible as he revs the engine and prepares to depart, flicking a signal to the dock owner.

It was a smile that made you smile back-her pixieish grin melted into a happy, bright smile, soft sunshine in a bottle. He was the best. She was so glad she'd finally met him-and now she was getting to go with him, getting to help a real hero-she was both excited and a little nervous, because this was big league stuff with a big time bad guy far from her home turf.


"Right." A nod, all energy again as she hopped into the boat behind him. She was fast enough to run across the surface of water-she had tested that, and it was awesome. A boat ride she was less sure about, but it she was stoked to see him in action and could hardly believe he was really taking her with him. This had to be the best day of her life, nearly.

But they were also heading into some serious danger. But if Nergal wasn't reformed, if he was up to no good...well, they couldn't let him run loose. She wasn't about to pass up on lending a hand, but that didn't mean she was taking it lightly. She didn't want anyone getting hurt. Elias had said collateral damage she couldn't even imagine-that didn't bode well.

The physical danger to herself Jenna hardly considered.

She moved the large cuff of her left glove up to glance at what looked to be a small smart watch. It was connected to an older alert system-911 calls and police chatter scanned for keywords and pinging to the watch with locations and coordinates. All was quiet today. It tended to be, particularly with a speedster often all over it.

"No reserves?" Jenna asked, the chair twisting side to side, a full slow spin. She'd sat in it backwards-one knee bent and the accompanying calf and boot against the inside back of the chair, the other one dangling off the side with the toe barely touching the floor of the boat. It was difficult to sit still-it always kind of had been, even before she had access to the speedforce. "I mean, that could take all day. I've only been, you know, in this for a year and a half. Most of that doing my own thing, alone. I hadn't met another mask until the Association's invite. " Her arm was resting on the back of the chair and her other hand fumbled with the watch, turning it on her slender wrist over and over. "So I'm still playing catch up, getting my bearings with the whole...everything in the hero world."

Very true. She wished she was able to learn from Laura, actual Laura-not just what she could glean from the dead heroine's computer in the small subway base, more than that sad echo in the very beginning...

"But earlier, what you said about El Cid..." And the 'you all'...that had kind of bothered her. Like she was part of something distasteful, being looped in with it. But the Association was continuing the work of bygone heroes, right? Training the 'next generation' so to speak? "What's up there? You're both veterans, I guess I kind of thought you'd be...friends?" Yes. She had guessed that. He had fought alongside him and Daybreak, alongside Laura, hadn't he?

The question was open and not entirely probing, no judgement. She was curious, was all. Curious, and eager to hear what he had to say.

"We got about twenty minutes to get to the dock," Elias says, as panels slide up and seal the cockpit of the powerboat in. Metallic chunks sound as rivets and bolts seal into place, and the entire angle of the boat's crest changes, lying forward, becoming slim and dangerous. The seats slide back and mesh with the floor, curving about their spines into comfortable shock absorbers. "You could probably get there in three, but I'd fall behind by a long shot. There's time. Also, put your seatbelt on. This is not a civilian vehicle, and there's no speed limits on the Great Lakes, so we're about to make some waves."

The engine changes to a gutteral thrum beneath them, the entire boat shuddering in anticipation of speed. There's a series of clicks near the back of the boat, as something in the engine changes over as well, then two short bursts of sound, like cut-off roaring. "It's fine to be new," Elias says, fingers still dancing on the control panel, which has also sunk into the console and slid wider open, revealing two half-panels of additional, unlabeled switches and buttons. He plugs a key into both, which then light up. "You'll get your grounding. Don't be afraid to ask questions, because questions are never stupid so long as you're looking to learn something. It's better to be thought a diligent student than an arrogant newcomer, and that never changes."

Under Adamant's careful guidance, the boat slips away from the dock and begins to pick up speed, the vehicle's faint trembling smoothing out as they gather knots, the water slicing into spray beneath the prow as speed lifts them onto the surface's crest. He speeds a few seconds steadying their takeoff route and checking a digital map, and when they've settled on their route he finally answers.

"El Cid and I have never gotten along for a variety of reasons," Elias says. "He's a hero, but he's in this business for the wrong reasons, and he's got enough power now that those wrong reasons have let him guide a whole generation of new heroes into stupid decisions. Worse, he has nobody to call him out when he's stupid because he's chased them all away, so he thinks he's right, and will continue to be right because he has been right."

He gestures in the vague direction of the Association Tower. "This tough-on-crime thing he's got - having the juniors chase down and beat on the misfit villains. What was that last one's name, Gnarlhorn? Mutate, big horns and strength and stamina, robbing mall stores one after another? He had five kids go beat him down, put him in jail. No one robs mall stores because they've got an evil plan, they do it because they're out of good choices, and angry. You think beating the shit out of him and putting him in jail is gonna change either of those things? He'll do time and come back angrier, harder. He'll want to hurt people this time, and he'll have nothing to do, no prospects of a future, besides maybe fucking up one of the powered kids hard enough that maybe a big-name villain will notice and throw some bucks his way. That's how you get a lifer villain - maybe not an important one, but one that's never gonna change. But Cid gets his bust, and his photographs, and his front page article of five guys throwing Gnarlhorn through a busted wall, saving the day. What does he care?"

There's another silence, as Adamant stews, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Cid has never - treated other people like equals. He's always had to have the spotlight. And maybe that didn't matter at first, didn't matter when there was enough of us to spread out that stress and demand, but now he's got the spotlight alone, and he's gorged on his attention addiction. He can't cut his product now, let anything dilute or demean his pure and perfect world. Cid tasted what he thinks is perfection when he got the league and the girl and the tower all at once, and it changed him. His fantasy's ruined him, and he'll see ruin to everything around him before he lets his perfect dream so much as take a dent."

Jenna straightened up as the panels rose, her dark eyes flitting this way and that as the boat transformed.

Wow. Just, wow. This was so cool-she twisted to sit in the chair proper, brimming with energy and barely repressed excitement.

One of those upbeat, happy grins curved her lips as she buckled in. "Sure I could-but that wouldn't be half as fun as this."

Not to mention how much of an opportunity this was, an outing with a real hero. And one open to questions. It made her feel a little less self conscious-the other heroes in the Tower had their own routines, lingo and cliques. She felt like she had to catch up-and she just wasn't used to being behind.

Good thing she liked to learn and there were veterans like Elias and Daybreak to help. That, and she was friendly and people tended to like her, so she was sure she'd make friends soon as she spent some more time and effort at getting to know everyone.

She takes in what he's doing but there are a lot of steps and switches-she studies that map and then again looks at her smart watch, pressing the button on the side to read an impossibly fast scroll of digital green text-older tech and software for sure-and then again to switch it off as he returned to her question.

The...the wrong reasons? Jenna frowned. The heck did a person go into heroing for if they didn't want to help people? And the new heroes-what did he mean, stupid decisions?

Her frown deepened as he went on. Five vs one and a violent beatdown for robbery wasn't really her idea of justice, but the jailtime made sense. And this other stuff, the idea of the knight being in it for fame or something other than good intent-well...

She turned the information over in her head a few times, a little troubled but not entirely convinced. Cid was a hero. He had taken the helm in trying to rebuild the League, in keeping the legacy alive. Him and Daybreak worked tirelessly.

She was quiet a few moments, just the thrum and power of the engines over the thoughts that slipped and raced past each other in tandem.

"...I don't think anyone wants to be bad, Elias. Not really." She finally said, gloved fingers lacing together in her lap.. "And...five meta humans against one misguided, maybe desperate man might have been overkill, a questionable jump to violence-but the jailtime makes sense. I mean, he's not going to have a positive view of heroes, you're right, but I'm sure they tried to help him. And when that didn't work it had to be jailtime for rehabilitation."

It was regrettable it had turned to violence. She hadn't been there, but she assumed...hoped they had done their best.

As for Cid... "And Cid's not alone.. There's Miss Daybreak right there beside him, training heroes." Jenna pointed out, adjusting her seatbelt. "She's-I mean, she's great. For sure. I don't think she'd be married to someone who didn't have the best interests of others in mind."

Jenna thought of the kind, maternal heroine who taught her how to fight a bit, normal speed. Jenna had no intention to make time for interviews or talk shows, but Daybreak-she'd make time for Daybreak. And be grateful for every minute Daybreak spent with her, too.

And then she thought about how tired and reserved the older woman was, the lingering sadness there. The veteran heroes had been through a lot, of course. There had to be a lot of hurt there. But shouldn't there be some comfort in a veteran husband? Healing?

Worry and doubt crept into her thoughts, her facial expression. She looked up from her hands and at Elias again.

"...right?"

"The jailtime isn't the problem," Adamant says, shaking his head as he carefully edges up the throttle, the grumble of the engine settling into a steady thrum that vibrates the boat's form beneath them, cushioned by the infinite comfort of their crashseats. They're gliding almost on top of the water now, skimming over the surface so lightly that the roar of water parting has settled to a fine spray, vaporizing from the speed of contact. "It's that Cid does no outreach. We've got more metahumans than ever, more kids facing challenges they'd never imagined, and he either has them under his wing or under his heel. When was the last time you saw him speak to someone that wasn't part of the Association, the media, or a villain? He doesn't register civilians, doesn't care about them until they become a problem or a resource. He's stomping on symptoms."

The mention of Daybreak turns him silent, though, and he focuses on driving the powerboat for a time in silence, carefully thinking and shaping words - his lips move, but nothing comes out, as he debates with himself first.

"Sarah - Daybreak - deserves better," he says, finally. "Cid held up two tons of molten rock to save her life. That's great. But she lost everything at Immolation, Jenna. Over half the people she worked with, her sister, her boyfriend, all in one horrible day. Cid took her from the battlefield to the bedroom in a week flat. Married her three months after."

Elias shakes his head, lips tight. His eyes are stormy, a grinding rage behind them and in his whitened knuckles on the steering wheel. "I was busy holding off Укриття," his tongue rips off some unpronounceable word without losing a beat, "in the North. They tried to strip Rahab's corpse. I don't even know what those fucking nuclear cabalists would have done if they'd managed to get ahold of it, and I fought them for three months in the cold and destroyed every piece of the Challenger Beast I found. And when I was done I get a wedding invitation, and I come back to find Daybreak on Cid's arm, in a wedding dress. She was still crying, on the day of the wedding. Cid told her she shouldn't ruin her makeup."

He swallows convulsively, his tongue running over his marble-white teeth as he stares at nothing. "I would have been thrown out if I hadn't left. Haven't really been back since. Me n' her send cards once in awhile. That's it."

"-doesn't care about them until they become a problem or a resource."

That just couldn't be true. Jenna didn't believe that for a second. Nope. No hero would be that apathetic.

She stayed quiet, not willing to get defensive until she had more information, but positive he was wrong. He had to be! Cid was the only real leader right now, him and his wife.

She watched Elias out of the corner of her eye-the conflict before he spoke in a careful, slower fashion. The statement of loss made her heart ache, eyes very intent on her gloved hands again-before she straightened up and her widened eyes flew back to him, lips parted in shock.

"He...he what?" What?! Anyone would have seen how traumatic that was, had been for her! If that was true, Cid had taken advantage of a grieving woman who had lost her entire support system in a day, survived something horrible-and survived thanks to him. The power desparity there... Jenna felt an awful sort of anxious weight on her chest, a mixture of disbelief, pity, and anger.

It made her angry.

But wait, she...she shouldn't jump to...she...

"M-maybe it was a mistake." She started slowly. "He couldn't have been thinking clearly to...to possibly think that was okay. Appropriate." There was a clear reluctance to think badly of the knight. For a moment, it almost seemed like Jenna would waver, would explain Cid's atrocious, predatory behavior away-but then she shook her head, those troubled eyes flashing with anger and sympathy.

"No...that was wrong. He had to have known it was wrong."

Jenna Paige was no enabler for abuse.

And if a person was willing to take advantage of a friend and ally like that, of anyone...what else might they be capable-or incapable!-of?

"Jesus, Elias." She ran her hand through her hair, snagging the goggles off her head and mushing her smooth, short ponytail. She stared at the mirrored goggles a moment, then looked at him with that worry, that upset.

This revelation hurt the young heroine, that much was obvious-all of her emotions were obvious, she had no poker face, no talent at deception.

"And she stays with him? Can't...she won't listen to you?"

Adamant shrugs. The motion is tired, a bare jerk of his shoulders. "That's what I told her. I threw such a fit about it at the wedding that I'm still not welcome at the Tower. Cid holds it over my head like a fucking anchor. He's made sure I know jailtime's in order if I do anything like that again - there's actually a restraining order. Under seal, of course, because it's a black mark on the cape community, but it's there. There aren't any other heroes that really knew Sarah left either - I think she trades letters with Shatterspark, but she's in Canada now, needs a wheelchair besides. I've asked her to talk sense to Sarah. She never responded. Why would she? We've never talked before."

Adamant scrubs his face with one hand, and glances at Jenna out of the corner of one eye, the worried cinnamon of Jenna's gaze pushing him to say something else he hadn't meant to. "Sometimes I think - Rahab, that big beast, I think he did something besides throw fire and earth at us. I think he poisoned us somehow, turned us against each other. There isn't more than three heroes working together anywhere. Most of us are spread out, scattered. We're worse than we were, and sometimes I think I'm the only one it didn't touch - or maybe it did, and that's why I've spent eight years not saving Daybreak in the way she deserves. Why I'm up here doing nothing but fighting whatever driblets coming my way, instead of laying siege to crime where it matters, tearing it out by the root in the capital and Atlanta and San Fran. I don't know."

He shrugs again, but this time visibly gathers himself and shakes it off, his eyes steadying in resolve. "I don't know. I just keep fighting. It's what I do. There's goodness yet to be brought. Every day will be better than yesterday, where I stand. This is my creed: onward, unto dawn."

Jenna didn't have any answers. He'd certainly given her a lot to chew on, worry over. Things were not at all what she had thought them to be in the greater hero'ing world, and she wasn't sure where that left her or anyone else. She also wasn't sure how to comfort him-they were strangers, after all. He might not appreciate the attempt either.

" There's goodness yet to be brought. Every day will be better than yesterday, where I stand. This is my creed: onward, unto dawn."

"The good fight." Jenna's softer voice stated after him, a half smile-still bothered, but taking his cue to return to the here and now. It also soothed her that Adamant, in the least, was very much as unyielding as he'd ever been. She slipped her goggles back onto her head with a nod, seeming to regain her lighthearted, energetic self composure. "Me, I'm just trying to look out for the little guy." She tightened her ponytail, the shiny black hair smooth once more.

"Everything else is secondary."

The words were an echo, and Elias nods unconsciously, hearing the words overlaid with ones he'd heard from Laura, long back before she'd outrun the world and left them all behind. "That it is," he rasps, and looks foward, to where the traces of smoke are starting to show on the horizon.

The docks in the distance are clearly aflame; low, sullen fires burn on several buildings, but occasional pillars of incandescent light flash, like thunderbolts from a clear sky, leaving spots on their eyes and echoing blasts that resound over the water even at this enormous distance. Adamant blows out a heavy breath and whaps the center console between them with a backhand. The heavy duty plastic shudders and trembles under the offhand strength of the blow. "There's headsets in there - ear protection combined with connected radios. Put one on, Nergal looks to be going nuts and it's going to be ridiculously loud. If you don't have hearing insulation he'll probably blow your eardrums by accident and then you'll be fucked. When we stop there's burn-resistant gel in the back cabinet with a blue cross on it - that's the preventatives cabinet. Smear some of that on any exposed surface you've got and you won't just go up like a candle if he catches you out. I'd offer you eye protection as well but I assume your goggles are rated to diffuse light."

"Quick review," Adamant says, rolling his shoulders. "Nergal creates fire from everything, and from the look of it has a new trick or two. Stay mobile, I can tank anything he has but if he draws a bead on you, you'll probably get burned. It's going to be very loud and bright everywhere - watch for civilians first and foremost, evacuate the area. Afterwards once the area's clear you can engage with me, but focus on distracting and disorienting him rather than attacking, because if he's pressed enough he can just nuke an area around himself. It used to be around a forty-foot epicenter, but I don't know how much that's changed either way, and it's a fast reaction. I don't care if you're just throwing rocks at him so long as you stay outside that kill radius once he goes lit."

"Paul is also likely somewhere in the area, and he's probably already infested civilians as a fallback. He won't seriously try for me but he may take a swipe at you - keep your head on a swivel. He's a body snatcher, but he never evinces fear; he doesn't remember what it feels like. Anyone he takes won't be acting scared at all, so watch for weird body language. If he engages Nergal, back off and let them rumble. Either one of them could melt you in a heartbeat and they've got experience tangling with Laura, so they know how to handle speedsters. In particular Marrane's got a lot of insect tricks - don't follow him into an enclosed area, and if you start hearing any kind of buzz just get the fuck out, he likes pulling swarms out of his ass."

He glances over, makes eye contact with Jenna. He's all hard angles and grim certainty now, adrenaline pumping as he readies for the fight. "Last chance. After this we're in the hot zone, and things will be bad until we drop Nergal because he's a petty bitch and will take down as much as possible with him. You ready?"

The smoke was coming into view and Jenna frowned, her hands pausing at the spunky ponytail she'd just tightened-only to jump with a slight blur when he backhands the console, pulled from her dismayed reverie with a start.

Her gaze is focused and her expression intent as she listens to him speak, the seriousness of the situation not lost on her. The young woman had always been a diligent student, but with the stakes being what they were and her company being what it was, she took even greater care to absorb his every word and instruction, to learn from him.

Two big bad guys was a little more nerve wracking than the one. Two big bad guys who had fought with her predecessor. Jenna already thought herself a piss poor substitute for the real Velocity, so that wasn't very reassuring.

" Last chance. After this we're in the hot zone, and things will be bad until we drop Nergal because he's a petty bitch and will take down as much as possible with him. You ready?"

The speedster looked back towards the city with that same intent expression, her dark eyes full of concern and compassion, compulsion. As if she hadn't considered the out for a moment, lips already parting to answer him.

"Well, we're already here. And here's where I gotta be." Her goggles were suddenly back over her eyes and a headset around her neck, the seat belt unclasped before the boat had fully come to a stop or transformed to let them loose.

She was light enough the boat hardly rocked as she appeared at the back cabinet, finding the indicated burn resist gel easily. He'd be unbuckling and she'd be next to her abandoned seat again, gloss to the exposed russet brown skin of her face and her silver goggles reflecting the flames and water. "You be careful." She said reflexively-then snapped her attention back to him, color rising to her cheeks as she blinked behind her goggles. She had just told Adamant to be careful. Like either of these two could hurt him-he'd survived Immolation! Jesus Jenna!

A sort of embarrassed, awkward expression before the heroine shrugged, the return of that pixieish grin, willing to laugh at herself. "I meant-You do you, Adamant." She said as she turned her body towards the front of the boat, a flex of her thighs and a bend to her knees that were visible only a split second-and then she was gone, a shimmering blue blur rocketing over the bow of the boat and across the surface of the water, splitting it in a sliced v.

Gone.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

This, this, this was what she had wanted to do ever since stepping into the boat. Sitting still for any length of time took effort and concentration-she just liked to move. She liked to be fast.

It was also when she did her best thinking-thoughts at the back and foreground of her mind racing alongside each other in a flurry, all simultaneously processed as quickly as her feet tracked dust-or water, as it were. Flames to her right hissed, the hellish looking docks burning in slow motion, little curls and wisps at the tips of the flames.

"-creates fire from everything-" "-take down as much as possible with him-" "-if he draws a bead on you-"

Nergal. All this destruction, all this flame-Nergal. Not so reformed after all. Silver boots hit the sand, small explosions of impact, sand thrown in her wake.

A huddle of four people cowered just inside an open concrete building and Velocity beelined for them, coming to a sharp, sandy stop just short of the sidewalk.

"We gotta move, folks!"

They hardly had time to process her words before she blurred back into motion, a hand at the back of one man's head and the other at the small of his back, fingers curled juuuust inside of his waistband. Gone. Returned. Gone. Returned. Gone. Returned. Gone.

She raced into a burning building and cleared it top to bottom. An ice cream shop's employees and the two families inside were evacuated in short order. The speed force protected her and her charges from the flames and the heat so long as she was moving-but that didn't make it anything less than the hot, sweaty, sooty work that it was.

She hadn't seen him yet. Then again, she wasn't looking-she was clearing sidewalks and small businesses, stalled cars and back alleys-everyone moved further inland where mass evacuations were already taking place. Nergal was on a rampage, but somewhere else, somewhere here, was a different nightmare altogether.

"-already infested civilians as a fallback-" "-experience tangling with Laura-" "-insect tricks-"

She worked in a grid and she moved fast, her mind racing with the task at hand and the conversation in the boat, the overall situation.

Cid was apparently fame hungry and the not the man or hero he presented himself as. Was it all about the appearance of heroes, rather than the spirit of them? Had she signed up with something nefarious?

Jenna tried to enter a building but found it locked, the shimmering blur already bolting away, curving around to the back, a wooden door. One kick. Two. Twenty seven-and the wood and jamb splintered in the fraction of a second it took her to deliver the blows, small boot prints still visible on the door. She raced inside the smoke filled building, windmilling her arms before her to cyclone it away.

"-he'll see ruin to everything around him before-" "-got the girl and the tower and-" "-battlefield to the bedroom-" "-still crying-" "-ruin to everything around him-" "-saving Daybreak in the way she deserves-" "-lost everything-"

Daybreak...it had been eight years. What had started out so terribly might have grown into something better, but Jenna wasn't so sure. Adamant clearly didn't think so.

And Adamant! Alone and maybe regretting, so powerful and yet seemingly so helpless in this one awful thing, worrying and bitter and angry for eight solid years, eight years of hurt.

"-poisoned us somehow, turned us against each other-" "-no more than three-"

It was a mess. It was all a mess. But she refused to believe it hopeless. What few people had remained were in the clear, along with several pets in the nearby houses and buildings. All told, it'd only been fifty or so people. She handed a corgi off to a trustworthy looking woman in a denim dress and raced off again.

"I just keep fighting." "I want to save people." "I just keep fighting."

No, it wasn't hopeless.

Elias barely notices her verbal fumbling. He lifts himself from his chair and rolls broad shoulders, a faint, white glimmer fading into sight around them, sheathing his arms in flickering ghostlight. She dashes off, and he spares a prayer for her safety - he wouldn't have asked her to come here if this wasn't set to be a disaster - and then he steps off the boat and into calamity.

The docks are a disaster zone. Flames consume everything; the wooden piers are alight and collapsing, the squat buildings just beyond alight, sails punching high overhead nothing more than pyres. He can smell human ash on the air, and for a moment Adamant is dizzy, remembering the scent and the choking ash, the snow and the screaming, unearthly roars, but he shakes it with an exhale and strides forth. Another belching blast of incandescent flame detonates to the far left, tearing a schooner in half and hurling pieces of fiberglass and plastic almost two hundred feet in the air. Shards patter off his form, causing pearlescent ripples to flow softly over his unmarked skin. He alters his path towards there, as the shattering boom washes over the waters in the distance, laying flat the waves with raw power.

He spots Nergal. No longer the ratty-haired bum, but revitalized and vicious - like living flame, a suit of something so brilliant it hurts to look at, blending in with the flickering will-o-the-wisps that danced about his form like coruscating lightning. The tangled mane was alive and afire, a thousand white-hot strands aloft on the burning air that flailed and snapped, carving through whatever they struck with molten heat. Barely visible in the heat-haze is the lion's mask he'd made his name with: Nergal, god of fire and war, the flaming eater of the unworthy and king of sunsets. Nergal spots him too, and there isn't even a beat of hesitation before a harsh ripping echoes. The air six inches from Adamant's face transmutes into hydrogen, combines with the oxygen, and promptly erupts into screaming hellfire that detonates and flings him into the air - where the ambient atmosphere then mutates into phosphorus, igniting into raining fire that blows him from the sky into the brackish, ash-drowned waters below.

Nergal lifts a hand and points, and the hydrogen molecules of all that water - H20 - separates, recombines, ignites, and then the world is shattering thunder and the scream of radiant flame as every window within a half-mile shatters. The tide reverses from the massive shockwave that levels the docks to the naked coastal stone beneath, and what water is left boils away instantly from the hellish temperatures as steam shrieks from scorched stones. The ear-wrenching detonation echoes for what seems like forever.

Then Adamant comes out of the steam like a bullet, aloft in a predator's low leap that arcs towards Nergal. The flame-wielder clenches a fist, and the air has a bare instant to blur and twist -

Adamant twists -

a shining bulwark flashes into existence beneath his feet, at his back -

he twists -

a thick fist soars forth, driven by collapsing, gleaming walls -

it strikes the mass of blurring air -

The resulting shockwave is nothing but sound and light and a terrible force that eradicates every structure for two hundred feet in a tremendous airburst. The blast wave lifts Nergal from his feet and tosses him backwards like a ragdoll, tumbling backwards - and then Adamant surges forward in a torrent of silver light to reach for Nergal with terrible, radiant hands, a figure equally incandescent, outlined and clothed in starlight. The flesh between is shadowed into sullen darkness, nigh-gray, trembling and taut from astral might.

Nergal, thrown spinning through the air, barely manages to create another hydrogen burst that hurls them apart again, but the uncontrolled propulsion skids him off the boiled stone like a rock across a pond. His whipping, white-hot mane lashes the ground as he tumbles, creates hissing and molten divots, and he barely manages to scramble to his feet. Adamant leaps forward again, carried and driven by his sheets of starlight - and then, a roaring crack as a sickly-yellow beam lances through the air and impacts the hero from a half-mile away, driving him from the air into the steaming rock below. The beam shudders, but holds coherent as Adamant bucks against it, seizing it in both hands -

Nergal rises, howls something - his voice insignificant against the titanic forces unleashing - but the roar of incandescent flame is not, as the air just before Adamant's face fuses into a burning ball that erupts into seething plasma, ambient gases superheated until they fly apart in shrieking symphony. Stuck like a bug on a pin, the older hero is battered by these tectonic bursts of unearthly force once, twice, three times!

(May possibly edit further)

It was so hot and stifling-she had evacuated burning buildings before, had tested the limits of the speed force aura-but this was insane. Velocity was half worried that if she stopped moving, her lungs might scorch.

How exactly did that work anyway? Questions for another time, maybe for Daybreak.

The heroine zipped down another side street, neither winded nor fatigued- just aware of the crushing heat and rampant destruction all around her. But why? Why was Nergal doing this, what did he possibly have to gain? And this started because of a stolen computer part? Jesus.

Velocity's next footfall fell in line with the shockwave, the shimmering blue blur luckily behind a building at that exact moment-but she felt it through the ground and was startled to see glass shattering, shards slowly bursting out of their frames and falling like snowflakes in her perception.

She changed direction and found herself racing down a large straight road, an old brick apartment complex straight ahead. She steeled herself and continued right for it-the first step was always the scariest.

Glass hit and was knocked aside rather than slicing into her body as she ran up the old brickwork, seeking a return to the beach, the shoreline, try and see how far Adamant had gotten into the city.

Faster, faster, faster-and suddenly she's airborne, blurred silver boots curling beneath her bottom as she threw her upper body forward into a roll-landing hard on her feet and not daring to slow as she zipped back and forth across the surface of the roof. And holy shit, the view from up here!

The destruction and the all consuming flames were terrible to behold, slowing even the buoyant speedster as she darted back and forth. If there was a hell, this was what it looked like. If my mother finds out I was here...

Her heart sinks in the knowledge that, although she had gotten as many out as there were left, it was impossible to hope there had been no causalities before they had arrived.

She sees blazing fire and light not far at all from the docks-and turns just in time to see the start of Adamant's strike, the trembling of the surrounding structures before they were decimated, the flight of what could only be Nergal-and realizes they are not in slowed motion in the slightest, not even to her speed force powered mind. The realization felt like a douse of cold water. A very real sense of foreboding and fear washed over her, twisting her stomach into knots and sending her heart into an erratic, faster pace, thudding so hard against the inside wall of her chest she almost imagined it hurt.

What the hell was she doing here? She was zipping back and forth atop a tower in the midst of hell and watching two legendary heroes with godlike abilities go at each other at speeds that shouldn't even be possible. Not without access to the speed force.

If she went anywhere near that, if she took a hit-she'd die.

She sucked in a breath. This wasn't like with Rush. She had been afraid of Rush, very afraid-but not like this. Not so terribly certain of doom dare she take a stand.

And then a bolt of amber flew in from nowhere, smashing the hero and pinning him down for the kill. Where had-Paul? Paul.
He had said the body snatcher wouldn't make a serious attempt-but there it was. Had it all been a plot to eliminate two rivals? Jenna was over the lip of the building and racing down before she had time to process the thought fully.

There was a cracking booming sound over the flames as the blur broke the sound barrier-one of the handful of times she had done so, still clumsy enough for the boom- the slightly panicking, surely doomed heroine racing down the side of the building in the smallest fraction of a second-moving nearly 800 miles an hour, easy. The brick work smoothed beneath her boots with the added heat and friction, electricity sparking from her body in bursts of energy as the speed force aura crackled around her, the shattered, exploding outward glass thrown in a new direction.

She didn't know what she was going to do, but she was going to do something.

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A cast iron pan rocketed towards the head of the fire god, the smear of shimmering blue and silver curving in a wide arc around the villain, other projectiles flying his way. She hurled them with full force and speed, because if Adamant's attack hadn't killed him, rocks, pans, and street signs sure wouldn't.

She slowed to his previous speed at a right angle to Adamant, her limbs blurring even as her head and torso came into view, the heroine darting this way and that. "You always this temperamental Nergal, or just when you're on your period?" Faster than the speed of sound she couldn't hear herself speak-but the words lacked malicious bite and instead sounded like schoolyard goading, light hearted and carefree, a joke-as if she wasn't ridiculously in over her head.

As if she stood any sort of a half chance. Foolish, ignorant girl.

Or maybe not. Even with the light tone and bubbling energy, there was a tightness of her lips and poorly concealed anxiety and fear in that guileless face, even without being able to see her eyes. Foolishly brave, but certainly not ignorant of the danger.

She bolted with another sonic boom as flames erupted from nothingness, following that same arc but moving away from Adamant so that the fire bug could not face them both at the same time. So he could hopefully free himself and prevent them both from becoming barbecue-because she didn't have a hell of a lot of ideas aside from making cyclones of fire-which obviously wouldn't hurt Nergal.

For all his hellish power, Nergal is still, essentially, a guy in a cool suit, and no amount of cool suit cures the impact of a frying pan to the back of the head. The lion's head helmet rocks forward and he staggers forward under the completely unexpected impact, then swings aside to confront a sapphire blur zooming around and pitching everything but the kitchen sink at him.

It takes him a moment to recompile the situation in his head, and when that moment is interrupted by a pithy one-liner and an actual fish smacking him upside the head, he completely loses his shit. Roaring through the lionsmask, he eradicates the entire stretch of stone she'd been standing on with roaring hellfire - but Velocity moves faster than his eyes can turn, and only that which he sees will burn.

Then, Adamant rears up and slams a meteoric elbow down into the scorched stone beneath him, and the earth shatters, cratering deep and taking the prison-beam with it. Nergal makes to gesture again, and then the superhero seizes a chunk of molten stone and sidearms it at him. It breaks a dozen Mach barriers in a screaming split-second, impacts his chest, and drives him from the battlefield in a wildly tumbling mess that somersaults high overhead, over a devastated city street, and pelts through an open, shattered window to piledrive into a building support strut.

Another shaft of putrid amber forks out and punches through Adamant's chest, cleanly piercing the bastion of radiant light that surrounds him, and he jerks and falls to a knee. The faint crackles of sickly lightning trace their way back to a distant rooftop, upon which stands an unassuming man in a business suit - if not for the foul magics clouding his form.

Not even eight seconds have elapsed yet. The lake waters still roil, blasted back by thunderous shockwaves, yet to collapse back to shore. Ear-shattering echoes reverberate from the buildings. Glass thrown from windows in the first great blast finally begin to rain to the ground beneath, tinkling in deadly showers to the pavement below.