Rubble exploded outward from the glass and cement facade of the Bank Americana building as Harpy’s body smacked across the pavement into an open alley. Wasting little time, he leapt back to his feet, power surging, and launched himself airborne. His wings flexed downward, creating enough lift to carry him back towards the building from which he was thrown. She was waiting there, unmoving and focused. He dove at her, first twisting out from her reach as she extended her massive arms towards where he should have been before digging his spiked pauldron into her green and white spandex-covered abdomen. A small trickle of blood, far, far less than expected for a normal person but par for her, flowed from her ochre-tinted skin beneath the suit.

“Eat that, cunt,” Harpy growled. The woman doubled over but remained rigid nevertheless.

“Dirty tricks, Harpy?” she replied with a calm, sturdy demeanor. Her large hands flew around his back as they rapidly descended towards the ground. “Two can play that game.”

“Get off me!” He struggled against her grip but found no purchase to leverage himself against. Instead, he angled his face towards her and opened his mouth. Bubbles churned up from within his stomach, transmogrifying in turn into quivers running up his vocal cords. Her face darkened as she surmised his plan, but it was too late.

“I said —” He pressed his knees against her. “GET OFF!” A shrieking howl erupted from his lungs, nearly instantly shattering all surrounding window panes into sparkling debris. She violently recoiled, her hands retreating from his back to cover her ears. He wasn’t as strong as her, but he could still hurt her. Kicking off, he soared back into the sky as she slammed into the pavement below. The building’s exterior blurred beneath him as his spectral wings carried him back to his prize. Entering through the hole he’d previously made in the twentieth story’s wall, Harpy kept from landing his black boots on the ground.

She’d be back up soon. She always got back up.

He rushed past the cowering bank-goers and tellers, past the open vault door, past the guard still clutching at the shattered knees he’d received for being cocky. They’d called her so quickly — and she’d come. Why was she even in Austin, anyways? Last Harpy had checked, she was at least a state away.

He resumed stuffing unmarked bills into his bag. Once Cliff got this delivery, he’d be square. Finally able to take his own jobs on again.

“Never gonna trust that shit-stain again,” Harpy cursed beneath his breath. The flick of a shadow right on the edge of his vision made him tense up. In a fluid spin, he slammed his shin into the side of a security guard, a different security guard, and sent him careening towards the wall of safety deposit boxes. His body bounced off the metal with a sickening thud.

“I told you,” Harpy pulled his bag close. “No heroes. Don’t act like you crooks don’t have it comin’. Think I’m bad — at least I ain’t stealin’ 401k’s, well, ‘cept from you bastards. Who has a bank and vault twenty floors above their main floor bank, anyway?”

The second security guard whimpered quietly from his position on the floor next to the first. 

“Y’all should go back to stuffin’ this dough in the Caymans.” Harpy exited the vault. Just as he turned toward the exit, she rose back into sight, a droplet of blood beneath her nose and a scowl etched beneath that.

“Miracle Maiden!” one of the bystanders jubilantly shouted.

Letting out a groan, Harpy called out to her through gritted teeth. “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. That Harpy fellow is still in there. You still might get him if you —”

“Enough,” she commanded. “Drop the bag, revert to your default form, and surrender. Now.”

His goatee-covered mouth twitched. “Sure, sounds reasonable.” His eyes snapped towards the skylight above them. It’d taken him years to gain the kind of control of his wings he could freely exercise at the drop of a hat. For moments exactly such as this. A quickfire burst from his vocal cords reduced the glass awning to jagged rainfall, providing ample opportunity for him to jet up into the sky while she protected the civilians.

The weight of his bag jostling against his shoulder sent shivers of relief through his stomach and chest.

Finally.

He scanned the buildings below for a hiding place.“Come on, come on…” The sandy-blonde hairs of his goatee bristled as the early-afternoon air thumped against him. The only building directly below was some museum and other high-rises. Neither would be suitable for cover. Not against Miracle Maiden.

His flight was interrupted as his body jolted downward with the weight of a boulder on the center of his back — right between his wings. Familiar arms coiled around him from behind.

“Emergency landing, eh, Harpy?” Her trademark cocky, dulcet voice whispered against his ear. “Hold on tight.” The museum fast approaching and her arms gripping his torso tightly, his mind was blank save for the consideration of blood flowing downward from his head and heart to beneath his belt.

The glass of the roof shattered from the impact of their bodies, as did the wooden flooring immediately beneath, only barely keeping them from falling further. She was the first to stand up which wasn’t a surprise. Harpy found himself lifted by the collar of his suit, his bag of riches lay scattered on the floor around them like flower petals surrounding a lover’s bed.

“No, no,” he groggily barked.

“It’s over, Harpy.” Miracle Maiden lifted him to her eye level. “The police will be here soon. Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

“NO!” He let his howl burst forth, staggering her enough to release his uniform. His wings reformed, he sailed backward to gain distance. He hurriedly skimmed his surroundings. Graceful paintings lined the walls, surrounding several ancient-looking weapons held aloft on marble podiums. Quiet music reminiscent of an elevator ride irritated his ears.

Well and truly fucked now, his mind raced. Need something, anything to hold her long enough. His eyes landed upon a pedestal supporting an onyx spear, intricately decorated along the hilt with interweaving designs of white and black. The curving blade, a portion of it too decorated, reflected back at him as clearly as a mirror.

Aiolikí.

She was looking at him again as she marched forward, her deep-boysenberry eyes tired and full of quiet resignation.

Harpy snatched the spear from its pedestal and leveled it at her.

“Ah. Careful, Bonnie. Wouldn’t want to spill your vittles.”

She reached towards him. “I said it’s over, Harpy.”

His fingers tightened around the spear. “Better doublecheck with the fat lady, then.” A howl passed through his lips once more, causing her to falter. But, much to Harpy’s surprise, the reflective metal of the spear glowed vibrantly as soon as his cry came into contact with it.

A massive surge of feedback rushed back at him, seeping past his very bones and knocking him off his feet, tossing him several meters across the glossy wooden floors. A wooden cabinet caught his slide, crumbling against his weight.

He laid there, unmoving. Every inch of his body ached with heretofore unknown levels of pain, surpassed only by the deep, guttural throb of his head. The cabinet was lifted off of him, the familiar stoic face of his arch-enemy replaced with... heartfelt concern?

“Har...py?” she asked as though she were uncertain the answer was right in front of her face.

Choking on air, he spat at her. “Of course it’s me, you fuckin’ moron.” Or he would have, but his voice came out harsh, raspy, and squeaky. Barely an inch above a whisper.

He tried to move but found his body refusing to reply. Panic blossoming in his chest, his breath picked up.

“Wha— what’s happening? What did you do?!”

Her brow furrowed. “Is… is this your default form, Harpy?”

Finally, his fingers found the courage to respond. But fists wouldn’t do any good if you couldn’t swing them.

“What are you talking about?” His voice squeaked breathlessly once more. That was when his eyes, thrashing about as they were, caught sight of his reflection in the metallic surface of the ceiling light above them. Though heavily distorted, he could still parse why she was confused.

His goatee was gone. His clothes, too, had become baggy and ill-fitting save for the chest. And his face, no longer masculine and rugged enough to land nearly any woman at Bar Knowhere, blinked prettily from its apple-shaped frame.

“What the fuck,” he choked out. “What the fuck! Did you do this?! What ha—” his throat erupted with long, sustained coughs powerful enough to bounce his body from the floor. She recoiled, but only just. The sound of police racing towards them only rooms away stole her attention as Harpy continued to alternate between coughing fits and freaking out. She looked back at him, her eyes pleading and unsure.

She swiftly scooped him into her arms and ascended rapidly into the sky back out the hole from which they came, darting into a passing cloud for cover as she determined her next move.