Turns out my girlfriend had some people on standby.

The orichalcum-reinforced camera blinked out—someone remotely cut the feed. Probably for the best. I was pretty sure the sight of me lying naked in a steaming crater like a half-melted rotisserie chicken wasn't the empowering hero shot the public needed right now.

A few seconds later, the distant thump-thump-thump of rotor blades broke through the ringing in my ears.

Helicopters. Big ones. Military-grade, matte black, bristling with sensor gear and strange insignias I didn’t recognize—but they weren’t government.

They circled me, one descending low enough that I could feel the buffeting wind slap at my broken body like a child trying to wake a drunk parent.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. I was still laying in what was left of the caldera, limbs twitching while my body tried to reassemble itself. Skin was knitting slowly over carbon-seared muscle. Bones sliding into place with sluggish pops and grinds. I wasn’t healing so much as molting.

It was bad. Not gonna lie.

I had no idea how I’d stood up earlier—let alone walked toward Apex and slapped the divine horseshit out of him—but I did. Somehow.

I guess spite really is a renewable energy source.

The choppers flared their lights and fanned out, following the vast trench of destruction I’d left behind me like breadcrumbs. They found Apex a few miles away—embedded in a collapsed mountain range, limbs twisted at angles that shouldn’t exist, golden armor cracked and leaking energy like a bleeding sun.

Unconscious. Broken. But still alive.

Bastard.

I was still blinking grit out of my eyes when the first boots hit the ground beside me. Gentle hands. Careful voices.

“She’s alive.”

“Careful. Don’t touch her skin directly, it’s still glowing.”

“She needs fluid. Painkillers. Triage in the air.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Momentum. We’re friends of Umbra. You’re safe now.”

I managed a hoarse laugh that sounded like a dying balloon. “Tell her she owes me... so much fucking ice cream...”

A dozen hands lifted me onto a stretcher like I was made of glass. I didn’t even protest. Just let them cradle me like a broken saint while they wheeled me toward the open bay of the helicopter. I caught a glimpse of one of their insignias—stylized wings behind a crescent moon.

Villainized heroes. The ones Apex had labeled traitors. "Rogues." "Terrorists." The ones who disappeared without a trace.

They hadn't been hiding. They'd been waiting.

As the helicopter rose and I looked out over the miles of shattered earth, I let my eyes flutter shut. Everything hurt. Everything burned.

But I fucking won.

---

__:::Alexander Day:::__

 

I gasped as I woke up.

It felt like being reborn in a furnace. My entire body screamed, nerves igniting in waves of agony that made my vision flash pure white. For a moment, I thought I was dead. Transcending into the solar fires that birthed me.

But no.

I blinked. Once. Twice. The white faded to sterile, flickering halogen. A ceiling I knew too well.

The containment wing.

No. No, No, No. That brat. That feral, insufferable, stubborn, naked brat. She survived that. After everything. And now… now she thought this was over? If I couldn’t kill her, maybe she could enjoy the gift of becoming Venusian mulch. That planet had accepted previous failures, after all. Why not one more?

I tried to sit up—and that’s when I felt it.

The weight.

The pull.

I looked down, expecting golden bracers, the familiar shine of my invincible armor. Instead, I saw skin. Bruised. Burnt. Cracked.

And metal.

Restraints.

Thick steel bands encased my limbs, bolted directly into the reinforced slab of a med-table. No ornate design. No aesthetic flair. Just raw function.

They bound me. Like some common thug.

I sneered.

Did they really believe this would hold me?

Arrogant fools.

I flexed.

Or tried to.

Nothing happened.

No flare of cosmic energy. No golden aura. No resistance from the restraints—because I wasn’t offering any.

My arm just… twitched.

I tried again, harder this time. Pushing, straining. My jaw clenched as veins bulged in my neck, but my limb barely shifted in its prison. There was no hidden reservoir. No sun-forged power answering my call.

It was like flexing a memory.

And that’s when the chill crept in. Cold, and deep, and real.

The door hissed.

A silhouette stepped into the room, gliding more than walking. All fluid poise and quiet confidence. And a voice followed, curling through the sterile air like smoke through silk.

“How does it feel,” she said, “to be a normal now?”

I turned my head sharply—too sharply. Pain lanced down my spine. I bit it back and focused, eyes narrowing.

“Umbra,” I growled.

The name left my mouth like a curse. Like an old wound reopening.

She took one step closer, her heels clicking softly on the tile. Her silhouette shimmered faintly with the shadowy afterimages of her powers, coiling like specters. Her face was obscured by that featureless mask.

“We used the SCU tech to take away metahuman powers. You actually survived it—congratulations!” Umbra hissed, the word dripping with vicious delight. Her grin was a razor’s edge, glinting with schadenfreude. “How does it feel?”

I thrashed against the restraints, desperate to summon even the smallest spark of my power—but there was nothing. No heat, no radiance, no hum of infinite strength waiting in my bones. Just the cold ache of a ruined body, and the horrifying weight of mortality.

“No… no, not possible!” I screamed, my voice cracking under the strain. “You… you can’t do this to me!”

I was Apex.

I was chosen. A god, walking among sheep.

How?

How could I have lost to her—that crude, vulgar, posturing wench? That filthy little creature who spat blood and defiance with every breath?

I remembered her smile as she staggered forward, suit in tatters, face bruised and bloodied, and still had the audacity to say she always got back up.

That smile was still burned into the backs of my eyes.

“Oh, it was very possible,” Umbra cooed, circling the table like a panther savouring a wounded prey. “And frankly, long overdue. Every so-called ‘villain’ you humiliated, tortured, or ruined? Every dissident who dared challenge your divine complex? They were thrilled to help.”

She stopped beside the table and leaned in, her voice dropping into a silken whisper. “Taking this facility was the easy part. While Miss Momentum kept your attention, we slipped in through the cracks. Overwhelmed the guards. Took control of the systems. Even let a few of the techs live—just long enough to run the extraction protocols.”

Then she held it up.

A glass containment tube, barely the size of a thermos.

It pulsed with light—pure, golden light. My light.

“My power,” I breathed. “What have you—”

Umbra’s smile widened as she rotated the tube in her hands, admiring the glow.

“This,” she said, “is everything you ever stole. Everything you siphoned from those weaker than you. Everything you absorbed from real heroes, back when you wore a smile and spoke of unity and hope.”

The tube hummed, almost sadistically.

“You always said your strength came from within,” she added, almost mockingly. “Turns out, it came from a thousand others. All of whom you ground into the dirt for your throne.”

I stared at the tube like it was a blade through my heart.

This wasn’t just defeat.

This was deconstruction.

She didn’t just beat me. She unmade me.

“You think this changes anything?” I hissed. “You think the world will rally behind your little circus? I was order. I was control!”

“You were fear,” she snapped, her tone dropping like a guillotine. “And now? You’re nothing.”

She tapped the side of the tube lightly with a fingernail.

“This is all that’s left of Apex. A jar of stolen sunshine. Pretty, isn’t it?”

Then, her voice dipped to a purr.

“And now that it's out of you, the real question is... what should we do with it?”

“Give it back!” I bellowed, my voice raw with desperation, fury, and something dangerously close to panic. The restraints groaned under the strain of my trembling muscles. “It is rightfully mine! The world needs me!”

Umbra didn’t flinch. She just tilted her head, her expression darkening like a storm gathering behind her eyes.

“No,” she said, quiet at first, and then louder—firm, final, furious. “No, it really fucking doesn’t.”

She stepped closer, her boots echoing across the sterile floor, every step like the tick of a countdown.

“In fact, if it were up to me? I’d put a round through your skull for what you did to my parents alone.” Her voice shook—not from weakness, but from the barely contained rage radiating off her like a furnace about to blow. “And that’s before we even touch the millions dead in your name. The heroes you slaughtered. The people you silenced. The cities you scorched just to make a point.”

She leaned in, close enough that I could see the scar just below her left eye—one I gave her.

“You are done, Apex. History won’t remember you as a saviour. You’re not even a tyrant. You’re a cautionary tale.”

Her voice dropped to a low growl.

“Right now, you are one of the most loathed beings to ever live. Billions are calling for your execution. Children are cheering at the news of your capture. Hell, I’ve seen warlords with better PR than you.”

She stood upright again, lifting the glowing containment tube just out of reach, letting it bathe the room in a warm, cruel light.

“But Miss Momentum... she asked that we give you a trial. Said justice matters more than vengeance. Personally, I think she’s being far too merciful. Death would be easy, but a prolonged punishment is even better.”

My lips curled into a trembling sneer. I needed something. Anything.

“She’s dead then?” I asked, latching onto the only thread of satisfaction I could find. My voice was hoarse, half-laugh, half-snarl. “Good. If I killed her, then at least that’s something. A small victory.”

For a moment, Umbra was silent.

Then a voice cut through the tension, irritatingly chipper and impossibly familiar.

“Who’s dead?”

I turned my head toward the door, slowly, dread dawning like a sunrise over my broken pride.

There she stood.

Miss Momentum.

Alive.

Not just alive—standing tall, suit repaired, hair immaculate, face freshly scrubbed of the bruises and blood I’d so lovingly administered. Her eyes sparkled like she’d just had a nap and a snack.

She even had the audacity to wave.

“Sup, dickbag,” she said cheerfully. “Heard you missed me.”

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

Umbra chuckled—a low, satisfied sound that sounded like the prelude to a guillotine.

“Oh, and by the way?” she said, stepping aside so Momentum could stroll in. “She’s not just alive. She’s a national fucking hero.”

Miss Momentum beamed as she stepped up to the table, looked down at me, then tapped the tube of glowing energy lightly with a finger.

“This? This is your legacy now. A glorified lava lamp. Hope the view’s nice.”

And for the first time in my life, I realized I had truly, irrevocably lost.

Not just the battle.

Not just the power.

But everything.

 

---

Wow. That felt amazing.

I mean, yeah, my bones used to be soup. But I heal fast. Perks of being a one-woman kinetic bombshell. Now I was standing, strutting even, while watching my hot-as-sin supervillain girlfriend verbally flay Apex like she was carving ham for Sunday dinner.

And goddamn, Umbra’s ass in that tactical bodysuit? I swear it should be a national treasure. Or a religion. I could’ve stared through that observation glass forever, hand over heart, ready to pledge allegiance.

But the real kicker? Timing. Flawless. Right as Apex was writhing in the depths of his “boo hoo I lost” delusion, I waltzed in and hit him with the emotional equivalent of a sucker punch wrapped in glitter and righteous fury. The drama. The cinematic payoff. Someone give me a slow-motion replay with an orchestral swell.

And let’s not forget the slap heard ‘round the world.

Halcyon City? More like Halcyon Craterville. That kinetic discharge was absurd. Two hundred kilometer radius of shattered windows, seismic sensors having little panic attacks, birds forgetting how to bird, and some poor guy's latte vibrating out of his hands across town. I didn’t mean to accidentally cause a minor infrastructure disaster, but you know what? It was a vibe.

Thankfully, no buildings fell. Just a lot of stunned people getting patched up by healer-types—and get this—some of them used to be villains. Apparently when Apex eats dirt, it’s good for morale. Even the guy I suplexed through a billboard two months ago was out there tossing medkits like a champ. Wild times.

Now, the stream? The stream.

That was Gran. Petunia. The most dangerous woman to ever wield a keyboard, floral teacups, and a deep personal grudge against fascist men in capes. She hijacked every open network. Billboards, TVs, phones, smart mirrors, some guy’s pacemaker (sorry Carl)—anything with a screen.

Everyone saw it. Everyone.

And apparently? They were cheering. For me. Miss Momentum. Former C-Class Hero, current S-Class Hero, with a tendency to annoy, provoke and have a love of swearing. I’m trending on every social. I’ve got merch already. Someone knitted a plushie of me. There’s fanfic. That’s only the day after too.

Like—what even is my life?

I just became one of the most famous heroes on the planet. And not because I fit the mould. Not because I played nice or polished my image. But because I survived, I stood up, and I slapped the taste out of a monster’s mouth on live TV.

Honestly?

I’m still riding the high. I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know what the world’s going to make of me.

But I’ve got Selene.

I’ve got Gran watching my back.

And I’ve got momentum.

So come at me, world.

Let’s see what you’ve got.

 

---

 

“I… I can’t do this. It’s too brutal,” I groaned, slumping further into the couch like it might somehow swallow me whole and spare me the suffering.

Across from me, Selene grinned with all the smug satisfaction of a cat who’d just watched me walk face-first into a screen door. “Is the Magnificent Miss Momentum too weak for this opponent?”

I rolled my head to the side and stared at her in abject betrayal. “I… I can’t do this! Why won’t they just talk? Every conflict in this godforsaken movie is over the tiniest misunderstanding! A thirty-second conversation would fix everything! But nooo, instead we’re stuck in an endless loop of brooding and yelling and meaningful stares! This has been dragging on for two and a half hours!”

Selene didn’t even blink. “We did that awful creature feature last night,” she said with a shrug, barely containing her glee. “Now it’s your turn to suffer.”

The fact that she looked so proud of this arrangement almost made me regret falling in love with her. Almost.

It had been a few weeks since the whole Apex debacle. Time enough to let the city start healing. Time enough for me to stop being swarmed by reporters every time I was out in my superhero getup. Time enough to rediscover the small joys in life—like how Selene gets a crinkle by her left eye when she’s holding back laughter, or how Gran leaves passive-aggressive notes on hacked billboards if I forget to call her.

Apex himself? He was human now. Just a man. A man who screamed and raged and still tried to proclaim he was the rightful ruler of Earth right up until they tossed him into the most ordinary, mundane prison imaginable. No powers. No parole. No sympathy.

The trial had been short. Public opinion had been loud. Very loud.

And the SCU? Oh, they were in damage control mode. "Rogue branch," they said. "No connection to federal intentions," they said. But everyone saw the streams. Everyone saw what they really were. No amount of carefully worded statements could unring that bell. Dismantling was underway—but it’s government. There are always shadows behind shadows, strings left dangling. We’re watching them closely. Gran is watching them even closer.

Then there’s the serum.

Umbra still had it—this glowing, sealed vial that pulsed like a bottled storm. Everything Apex had stolen. All the power he ripped from others, now compact and inert, humming with potential and danger. She’d held it out to me once, offering it without pressure, just… wondering.

And I’d said no.

Because I didn’t need it. I don’t need it.

Yeah, it’d be tempting—to fly, punch harder, maybe not break my ribs every other. But I beat Apex without it. Me. My powers, my grit, my ridiculously high pain tolerance and complete inability to stay down. If it was enough to stop him, it’s enough for anything.

Let someone else chase perfection. I’ll stick with what I’ve got.

I’m the ultimate punching bag. And honestly? I’m good with that.

“Selene,” I said, as yet another overly dramatic orchestral swell blared from the TV, “if you love me, you’ll fast-forward.”

“Nope,” she said, popping a kernel of popcorn into her mouth without looking away from the screen. “Suffer, hero.”

“Babe, this is a violation of the Geneva Convention.”

She smirked and leaned in close, lips brushing my ear. “So was the way you rearranged Apex’s face. Fair’s fair.”

I groaned again, sinking even deeper into the cushions.

Love hurts. But at least this time, it was only emotional.

“If you get through this, I’ll reward you.”

My head snapped up like someone had yanked on a string. I blinked, squinting suspiciously at Selene. “How?”

Her smile turned wicked. Dangerous. A promise and a threat all at once. “You don’t really need to breathe, so… how about I spend an entire day using your face as furniture?”

I stared at her. Just… stared. There were no thoughts. Only static and gay panic.

I was Ivy Reid. Full-time mechanic. Part-time S-Class superhero. Longtime sufferer of ALS—Apocalyptic Lesbian Syndrome.

And I was living my best life.