Ascent 9.9

2005, October 20: Phoenix, AZ, USA

“That’s for me, right?” my favorite Illuminati puppet master asked as she strolled through a Door. She knew; she was just being polite.

I continued to stir the cauldron. Its contents were an aggressive pink, or maybe violet, and bubbled like a witch’s brew. Maybe because it may as well be. It was easily the most controversial potion I’d ever made. “You got the memo then. You know I’m never going to make more than a small batch of this, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware. And I agree with you. This is the best way to counter the collapse of the CUI and reforge something resembling a stable central government.”

“How annoying. The ‘best way’ is literally to mindfuck the major players into coming to the negotiating table.”

“Humans are irrational creatures and the ambitions of the few will cause untold suffering for the masses. It is for the best that we force the creation of a strong federation that can keep its own members in check.”

“I know, Fortuna. You don’t have to tell me that. I’ve long since made peace with the fact that the ends justify the means more often than not where we’re concerned.”

I bottled up several flasks and set them aside. The flasks were different from the potions vials I typically used. They were made to pressurize the contents and could be fitted onto an upgraded Dream Blossom Censer. The new censer could either disperse aerosolized mist or use the contents of the flasks to coat hypodermic needles before launching them.

The original censer, made to release controlled bursts of Lilia’s dream mist, was something I’d made during the Red Sands Incident. Fortuna used it to put everyone around her to sleep, allowing her to act with impunity. She didn’t need it, but having it let her skip several steps on her Paths.

The upgraded version took cues from Renata Glasc, one of the most influential chem-barons of Zaun. She was a master chemist and self-made millionaire who rose through the ranks of Zaun’s cutthroat underbelly through cunning, ruthlessness, and a profound understanding of chemical weapons.

Renata’s true claim to fame was a serum that could put people in a suggestible state of mind, a literal brainwashing drug. The violet chemical was rather conspicuous, but that didn’t matter when anyone who took a whiff became her pawns.

I hadn’t wanted to make this. Renata’s special serum was one of those questionable things to come out of the twin cities. Alongside the biomechanical experiments that made Warwick, Viktor’s “glorious evolution,” Singed’s chemicals, and the Shimmer, it had been on my list of things I’d likely never make.

As always, circumstances liked to prove me wrong. After much thought, I decided to brew a few small batches for Fortuna’s use so she could clean up China. Or at least, keep that mess stable and give the people there a proper shot at bouncing back.

It started with the death of Leviathan, or perhaps the Simurgh’s visit to Shanghai years prior. In Adelaide, when I used Anivia’s Grace to hold Leviathan in place for Hero, I also killed several people who overestimated their powers and could not withstand Anivia’s storm.

One of those people was Baihu, who led one of the largest factions in China. His death had a lot of ripple effects that were impossible to completely mitigate, even for Fortuna’s Path.

Following the Simurgh’s visit to Shanghai, the CUI had fractured into five factions.

There was the established government led by the Yangban on behalf of the emperor. The imperial throne took on the banner of the yellow dragon as a historical callback to past dynasties.

Following from that, there were also four regional warlords who claimed to be the yellow dragon’s “Four Saint Beasts.” That imagery was cosmologically significant in China. By naming themselves after those four beasts, the warlords could seize legitimacy and claim they acted on behalf of the emperor.

In reality, they were functionally independent warlords. Their respective factions acted as quasi-sovereign governments that warred against one another in the absence of a strong central power.

And amidst that chaotic powder keg, I killed Baihu, the self-styled White Tiger of the West. Baihu’s faction collapsed into infighting shortly after Adelaide and the situation was somewhat tenuous even two months later.

Fortuna deemed that now that many of the minor leaders had been killed off or forced to join a larger bloc, she could stabilize Baihu’s old domain with relatively minor effort. Fewer factions meant fewer people she needed to influence, so now was the time for Renata’s serum.

Hence Renata’s special sauce.

“Thank you, Yusung,” she said as she loaded the flasks into her censer. “I will not abuse these.”

“I know. Just… Be as efficient as possible,” I told her. It was like Indonesia again. No matter what, if I wanted to improve Earth-Bet on a global scale, I’d end up an accomplice to some controversial things.

“I will. Door, Chongqing.”

I watched her head out into what used to be Baihu’s seat of power. Then, I went through my files and erased any mentions of the serum before purging my lab of all physical evidence. Cauldron could be trusted now, at least for the most part, but that was no reason to be stupid.

The mind was a man’s final bastion. It was the seat of identity and purpose. There were mind-altering tinkertech out there, and plenty of master powers, but magic, something no one on Earth-Bet could conceivably have a defense against, crossed a line. Maybe it wasn’t a good line, pedantic more than strictly virtuous, but damn it, it was the line I set for myself. 

X

2005, October 22: Phoenix, AZ, USA

A few days later, I was suited up and ready to head out on a mission of my own. Next to me, Hero ran through a final check of his loadout. On his back was his trademark cannon, as well as a set of shield generators that could be deployed anywhere.

Our cooperation was not a common occurrence. Hero didn’t get to spend as much time stateside as he wanted anymore, what with him being the head of the Guild now. He was either coordinating missions abroad or in Canada, where they were headquartered.

As for me, I was the opposite. I never got tapped for international deployments outside of endbringer battles. I was, on paper, still a Ward. If Hero required support from one of us, it was usually Alexandria or Eidolon who went, not me.

This just happened to be one of the few occurrences in which I was available and they were not. Besides, no one questioned it anymore when I made portals. 

“You head to Mariental,” Hero said, going over the plan one more time. “Help Moord Nag evacuate her territory. I’ll keep Ash Beast away from the town.”

“You think you can stop Ash Beast?”

“I’m just hoping I can do it without killing him. I know he’s not really a person anymore, but I’d prefer not to pull the trigger.”

“Fair enough. Have you figured out the energy drain yet?”

“No, that’s the biggest worry. I’m hoping Ash Beast can help with that.”

We were talking about Hero’s latest application of the Stilling. Typically, Hero used it as a laser beam. Sure, it was absurdly deadly and pierced across multiple dimensions, but it was functionally a laser.

After seeing Project: Gamera and its many drones, Hero got the bright idea to use a few himself. His pack now contained eight drones that could surround a target. They could connect to each other to project a Stilling field. This field drained every form of energy to act as an unbreakable shield or container.

The problem was, using the Stilling was expensive. Manipulation of wavelengths on a multidimensional scale was costly, even for a Shard. And, there just wasn’t a good way to allow drones to carry that much energy.

Hero theorized that if the contained object generated enough energy, it could power the drones, effectively powering its own jail. Ash Beast, as the perpetual nuclear bomb, was the perfect test subject.

“You’re going to move him, right?”

“That’s the idea. We should have done this sooner, but I hadn’t been sure how to contain him. Now that I have a semi-reliable idea, it’s time to lock him up and dump him on a different Earth, one with no humanity.”

“I’ll head to Mariental, just in case,” I nodded. Hero was worried that his containment field wouldn’t last long enough, even with Ash Beast’s own power contributing the energy. “What if Moord Nag doesn’t want the help?”

“We save lives, as many as we can,” Hero said, looking tired but resolute.

“Got it, I’ll ask nicely,” I replied. He didn’t say it, but that was greenlight to kick her ass to get my way.

Then, we were off.

It was a weird feeling. On one hand, this was deadly serious. Ash Beast was on a collision course with Mariental, a small city in central Namibia. The city belonged to Moord Nag, Africa’s most infamous warlord. The two meeting could only end in disaster for everyone else.

Ash Beast was the earliest example of a broken trigger that I could think of. Perhaps the mechanics were slightly different, but the effect was the same: He’d lost all sense of personhood and now rampaged across Africa without rhyme or reason. That was what made him so troublesome. His Shard controlled him so he couldn’t be deterred nor reasoned with.

Worse, his power was a constant stream of explosions. At the center of the inferno, his body changed to form claws or wings in an unending string of matter-to-energy and energy-to-matter conversions. So long as he had energy, he would continue to regenerate. And since he’d been subsumed by his Shard, he had functionally limitless energy.

On the other hand, we had time to kill. Ash Beast had no sense of self and so lumbered everywhere, literally walking the length of Africa over and over again aimlessly. He was a little like that serial killer parody who went around beating people with a spoon, except if the spoon got replaced with an unending chain of tactical nukes.

We considered using Anivia’s Grace again, but that wasn’t a solution. With the Shard expelling a constant stream of energy, we concluded that Ash Beast and I would lock ourselves in stalemate, much like what happened against Leviathan.

I’d just have to trust Hero. Either Hero’s containment strategy worked, or Ash Beast might well die today to Sting.

“Dragon, please remind me to get Hero a bumblebee costume as a gag gift,” I muttered under my breath.

“I don’t follow. How did you wind up thinking about gag gifts for Hero?” she asked curiously.

“His Shard is called ‘Sting.’ Bees sting. Then I imagined our tinker overlord dressed in a bumblebee costume shouting corny catchphrases like ‘You’ve been stung!’ every time he arrests a villain.”

“I see…”

“Do you?”

“No, not truly. But father told me that expressions of affirmation were good ways to keep the conversation moving, even when you spout nonsense.”

“Thanks, Dragon, you’re a dear.”

“Humans have such an eclectic understanding of humor. I am still struggling to relate to them all,” she said plainly. “Hyunmu, would you like me to have a costume custom-made with Hero’s sizes? I’m sure the company that manufactures mascots for NFL teams would be happy to take an order.”

I chuckled. She didn’t get it, but she was being accommodating anyway. “You know what? Sure. It’s not like we’re short on cash.”

“Done. Now, please return to the mission. There is a high likelihood that Moord Nag will seek to test you in some way.”

“I know. It’s expected.”

“Have you foreseen this event?”

“No, but she wouldn’t be a parahuman warlord if she didn’t pick a fight.”

“That is a distressing lack of faith in your fellow parahumans.”

“What does your empirical data say?”

“That you are correct… Parahumans are rather conflict-prone. This seems doubly true for those who are in unlawful positions of power.”

“Unfortunately. You have the refugee camps set up, right?” I asked, mostly to make conversation. The plan was to move people using my Wayfinder before returning them once the crisis had passed. It was easier than setting up a truck convoy all the way out here.

“Of course. We have Guild personnel ready to provide logistical support. All necessities have been prepared ahead of time,” she replied confidently. “Your translator is also online.”

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” It was a small lapel mic integrated into my costume. I had Richter make it for me following Adelaide.

Mariental came into view. Though it was one of Namibia’s thirteen cities, its population was less than ten thousand people. It was a city in that its municipal government had the authority to set up public transit and other services, not because of its size.

I descended with the winter wind behind me, just enough to keep myself cool. It also served to announce my presence, not that the residents weren’t already aware of something happening. The African governments kept track of Ash Beast like the rest of the world kept track of the Simurgh.

Before I could head into the city, an inky shadow rose up to greet me. It expanded like smoke until it was as large as the building it had emerged from. As I watched, the smoke hardened and paled in front of me, forming the skull of an animal. Long snout, lots of teeth, so possibly a crocodile, if the croc’s maw was as long as I was tall.

This was Aasdier, Moord Nag’s power and sole friend. If I remembered right, the name meant “corpse eater,” or something to that effect. It was a breaker construct that gained mass with each corpse it consumed. Its maw opened, revealing a woman in her mid-thirties.

Appearance-wise, she was an unremarkable woman. She didn’t bother with a costume or mask; that was mostly a western convention. African, neither tall nor short, neither gorgeous nor hideous. She kept her hair in thin braids that fell to her back and wore a simple, gray t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Her dress, fluttery and ankle-length, was frayed at the edges.

Her eyes were hard and cold. There was an air of understated confidence about her. According to our files, she’d risen to warlord status in 2003, sometime during my nap. Since then, she’d taken over all of Namibia and sizable chunks of Angola. Projections said she’d soon reach for Botswana next.

The funny part of her conquest was that I wasn’t sure what she wanted. Most warlords wanted wealth, women, all that typical stuff. Moord Nag… She wasn’t dressed to impress, nor did her files suggest any sort of addiction she might have considered worth fighting for. As far as I knew, she claimed territory for the simple sake of having it.

“Hello, Moord Nag,” I greeted with a neutral bow.

“You are trespassing, American,” she said. Her English was limited, halting. She spat the words like just having to speak the language offended her.

“Do you prefer Oshiwambo?” I asked politely. English had been Namibia’s official language before she turned the country into her personal fiefdom. But even back when the country wasn’t just a convenient name to put on maps, most people spoke Oshiwambo exclusively. “We can stick to your native tongue if that’s what you’re comfortable with.”

Richter’s translator didn’t have a hint of the usual mechanical cadence. It could incorporate the nuances of language like tones and idioms in real time thanks to the tinker’s exceptional VI. 

Her eyes widened with surprise. “You speak Oshiwambo?”

“I don’t,” I tapped my lapel. “A friend of mine is a very talented tinker. He built this for me so I could communicate better with you.”

“No matter. You are trespassing. Begone, boy. My territory is no place for you.”

“I cannot. Ash Beast is coming this way. Hero is working to stop him, but just in case, I am here to offer your people the chance to evacuate with my Wayfinder.”

“Why? What do you gain from offering assistance? It will not be appreciated.”

“Because I am a hero. Mariental has a population of over ten thousand people. That is more than you can move comfortably. Please let me help you.”

“No. People have begun to leave already. They will be gone by the time the flaming one arrives.”

I looked around and saw that she was right. Inside the homes, people were packing as best they could, trying to cram as much of their lives into whatever they could carry. If Ash Beast made contact, there wouldn’t be anything left here but soot and ashes.

At the same time, there simply weren’t enough cars. Mariental was not a prosperous place. That there were even ten thousand people in a city like this was a small miracle given how much trade had deteriorated all across Africa. 

“You can’t evacuate everyone,” I told her plainly. “At the rate you’re going, people will fall to infighting or be left behind. Not everyone is healthy enough to just start walking, either.”

“Then so be it. I will not accept the help of an American,” she said with a careless shrug.

“That’s not true. You’re here, not out there facing down Ash Beast. You seem perfectly happy to leave that task to Hero.”

“Then go face the flaming one. He is nothing. This city is mine.”

In a rural city of ten thousand, it was a given that some people would be unable to leave for various reasons. Some people were too old, too young, or too sick. Not everyone had a family that could be counted on to help them out. People weren’t always willing to leave their livelihoods or cherished possessions behind to make room for a stranger.

It was starting to dawn on me that Moord Nag wasn’t here to lead her people. She wasn’t here to facilitate the evacuation process or maintain public order. She didn’t give two shits about that. No, she seemed to have accepted that hundreds, potentially thousands, would die.

She reached up to caress Aasdier’s skull. It was an oddly delicate motion. She showed affection for her power construct rather than empathy for the people living in her territory.

The corpses… Aasdier was the “corpse eater,” a construct that was a facsimile of life. It could consume. It could grow. The people who could not evacuate would die. Moord Nag was being territorial now because she was here to bulk up her pet shadow.

I looked at her with horror. “You’re going to kill everyone who remains.”

“What is it to you, boy?” she scoffed dismissively. Her eyes were cold, uncaring. It wasn’t that she didn’t realize she was doing wrong, merely that she accepted the lives she’d sacrifice to her growing construct. “Such is life away from your ‘civilized world.’ The weak perish. The strong live on.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I urged her. 

“Perhaps in your America, with its wealth of food and heroes who stand for the weak. This is not America. This is no place for you, boy.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way even here. I can move those people out of Ash Beast’s path, then return them once he has moved on.”

“No, they will feed Aasdier. They are useless, dead men who breathe. Even should they survive this calamity with your aid, what then? Their uselessness will not change.”

“I won’t let you kill them off.”

“Then you have overstayed your welcome.”

Author’s Note

Andy’s actions have far-reaching consequences. Baihu didn’t survive Anivia’s Grace because he’s not Alexandria.

Chongqing is the largest city in Western China. It has a population of over 31 million, three times that of the Los Angeles metro area.

Moord Nag showed up during the battle against Khonsu in 2012. It’s said that she came into power more than eight years prior, so I’m going to give her an extra year at nine.

Animal Fact: Platypus do not have kittens, kits, cubs, or pups. They have platypups. Or, more commonly, puggles. The word “platypup” dates back to 1944 news articles but never gained much traction.

“Puggle,” however, is much catchier. It was first used to refer to baby platypuses by the Taronga Zoo staff in New South Wales in 2003.

Thank you to everyone who paid for my groceries. I have a and Kofi with dozens of chapters written across my various stories. If you’d like to read ahead, receive more frequent updates, vote in monthly polls or even commission a chapter directly, this is where to find me.

For subscriptions, : https://www..com/c/user?u=83024152 

For commissions, Kofi: https://.com/fabledwebs