Grog_the_Big

Huzzah! Follow-up to The Conscious of a King!

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Heh.

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My sentiments exactly.

The deafening roar of the portal generators filled the room, but Shadow took no notice. Intensely focussed, he moved his arms and fingers through the meditative kata taught to him by his masters. His mind echoed the movements of his body, calling the ancient ninja techniques of manipulating the shadows, pulling every piece of darkness in the room towards his body.

Casting a very large shadow himself, Grog pouted as he watched his diminutive cohort prepare himself for the upcoming mission. “This waiting would be a lot easier IF I HAD A DRINK!”, he howled.

“Alcohol dulls the senses and clouds thought. It is unwise for a warrior to go into battle while suffering from its effects.” Shadow’s clipped, precise English showed that it was not his first language.

“Suffering?!? I don’t know what you drink, but I don’t suffer at all! I’ve lived my life by acquiring only three things: strong foes, strong steel, and strong drink. Look what I’ve accomplished! Not a soul in Paragon can fail to recognize the mighty Grog! Evildoers everywhere tremble at the mention of my name! Even that sissy Recluse has felt the sting of Grog’s sword! All this has come to pass despite my drinking. In fact, I’d say it’s helped a great deal. One stiff swig of my favorite liquor, and all pain is dulled to nothing!”

Shadow remained silent, continuing to work his hands and fingers. His body darkened noticeably. As he finished his kata, he spread his arms, and welcomed the shadows to his body. Now, he was shrouded in blackness, perfectly complementing his camouflage. Tendrils of night writhed over his body. He relaxed his posture, and turned to face Grog. “I’m ready now.”

Grog ambled over. “You sure this stuff is going to protect you?”, he asked. To test, he poked a meaty finger at Shadow’s chest. The finger slowed, and was very nearly halted as the tendrils of shadow interposed themselves. Grog withdrew his finger, then, more from impish curiosity than concern for his sidekick’s safety, poked a few more times. Each time, the shadows interposed themselves, sometimes wrapping around the finger to pull it away from Shadow’s body. Grog grunted in satisfaction.

“It will suffice”, intoned Shadow. “With practice, the magics will become stronger.”

“Then let’s get started practicing. Into the portal, squirt!”

“You haven’t said where we’re going yet.”

Grog grinned. “A land of shadows. You’ll feel right at home.”

With that, the duo strode over the platform and into the swirling ball of light. All faded to chaos. Strange sights and sounds danced in Shadow’s mind. The realms of possibility stretched before him, finally resolving themselves into a world of darkness. Bare trees with twisted limbs dotted the land. Tombstones sprouted from the broken ground. Overhead, a moonless night sky shrouded the scene. It was creepy enough, but there was another element that caused the hairs on the back of Shadow’s neck to stand up. It was as if the world itself was evil, and all the laws of this universe were arrayed against him.

Shadow suppressed a shiver. “Where are we?”

Despite the darkness, it was easy to pick out Grog’s expression. He looked bored, as if he had done this a hundred times before. “We’re in the evil world. You know how Statesman and Positron and those bums are supposed to be the good guys?”

“Bums? The Freedom Phalanx?”

“Yeah, them. In this world, they’re evil, and rule this world’s Paragon City with an iron fist.” He leaned close to Shadow and smiled an animal grin of excitement. “We’re going to pick a fight with Chimera, the evil Manticore!”

“Can we defeat such a foe?”

“Sure we can!”, said Grog, a little too loudly. “I’ve done it dozens of times before! But, before we can get to him, there’s a few others we have to fight. His minions use those piddly swords like you’re carrying, and they’re the ones you’ll be studying most. They’re all over the place.”

“Shouldn’t we be less conspicuous, then?”

“Pfft! We’re here to fight, not sneak around! Follow me, little buddy. I’ll make sure you get a real close look at their technique.” Grog clanked off into the night, his armor glowing from all the magical wards. Reluctantly, Shadow followed, though he kept his distance. Grog was guaranteed to be spotted first, and Shadow did not want to get ambushed himself.

It wasn’t long before Grog stopped and, most surprisingly, crouched behind a large boulder. He waved Shadow closer and pointed into the darkness. “See those pantywaists over there?”, he asked.

Sure enough, there were men moving in the night. They were dressed in dark clothes, similar to the kind Shadow wore, and they carried katanas as well. “Yes, I see them”, Shadow answered. “Who are they?”

“Your first lesson.” Grog reached over his shoulder and produced his enormous sword from thin air. “And now Grog does what Grog does...” -he paused for dramatic effect- “...second best!” With that, he teleported into their midst. A mighty grunt followed by an anguished cry told of the fate of one of the men. As Shadow moved to join the fight, another opponent flew up in the air, then crashed back down, unmoving: Grog’s second victim. Shadow drew his sword and slashed across the kidneys of one of the foes. The blade did not go in far; these men seemed to have some protection from his sword. The return cut was not deep, but Shadow felt his own blood begin to seep through his clothes. The two combatants split off from the main fight, too intent on each other to bother with Grog and his collection of adversaries. Each man hacked at the other. It was inelegant, and only literally sword fighting. Shadow was used to felling foes in only one or two hits, not prolonged fights. His adversary appeared equally unschooled in sustained combat. In the end, Shadow’s marginally superior agility and attack speed proved superior to body armor, and his opponent lay unconscious at his feet. Exhausted, Shadow collapsed to his knees.

Finally able to pay attention to his surroundings, he noticed the din of combat had died away. Heavy boot steps in the soft earth told him that Grog has emerged victorious. Shadow wondered how he could have survived fighting all those men while he was nearly slain by a single foe.

Grog walked up to Shadow, and crouched down beside him, chuckling softly. “When will they learn not to trifle with Grog?”, he asked no one in particular. Shadow looked his mentor over, and was shocked to see that he was as fresh as the proverbial daisy. The armor was undamaged. Though it was covered in blood, it was obvious that none of it was Grog’s. Even Grog’s face, exposed under his horned skullcap, was unscathed. It was hard for Shadow to imagine that he could learn anything from this excursion, not because Grog’s fighting was so different from his, but because the adversaries proved so taxing that he would surely perish in this merciless land.

Grog reached into his belt and produced an extra-large medpatch. “Here,” he said, handing it to Shadow, “Take this. I doubt I’ll need it against these losers.”

As the medpatch infused Shadow’s body with medical nanobots, knitting his flesh back together, Shadow asked, “Is this what I’m to learn? Get a different sword and start wearing plate mail? I barely survived fighting even a single opponent!”

“Ahh, don’t worry about it,” Grog replied, dismissively waving his hand. “My armor is very strong against swords, clubs, and the like. They were the most common form of attack back in my day, and the wards imbued into the armor reflect that. Also, I’ve been doing this longer than you have, so I have more techniques at my disposal. Next time, just stay close enough to watch, but don’t join in. We’ll take a moment after each mob to discuss what happened. When you feel you’re ready, or see an opportune moment, you can join in then.”

And so it went. The pair scoured the graveyard, leaving a train of broken bodies and shattered steel in their wake. Shadow noticed, eventually, that Grog was not without technique. He kept his blade in constant motion, parrying attacks as well as meteing out punishment in kind. While he was slower than Shadow to complete an attack with his gargantuan sword, each hit was frequently enough to finish a man off in a single stroke. Grog also explained that one of the wards in his armor provided greater protection for each opponent in melee, and also kept the attention of foes on Grog alone. Armed with this knowledge, Shadow began to participate more and more as time went on. He started with finishing off wounded adversaries, then picking off those who would not close with Grog, and finally fighting side by side with the mighty warrior.

After much blood had been spilled into the earth, Grog and Shadow arrived at a stone bridge. Across the bridge, surrounded by more of the same men they had been fighting, lay a mausoleum. Grog paused and squinted at the building.

Shadow looked between the building and Grog. “Do you see something important, Grog?”

Grog grunted, then replied, “Yes. I see him. Chimera is in that group.”

Shadow peered across to where Grog had been looking. Soon, he could see him, too. There, dressed like Manticore, only in bluish-grey instead of blood red, stood the arch villain. The distance between Chimera and his observers still could not disguise the sadistic look on his face, nor diminish the glint of evil in his eyes. If ever there was an adversary who needed to be slain, there he stood.

Grog stood, and produced a flask from his belt. He took a swig. Immediately, his body glowed with a greenish light, and the look of superhuman vitality came to Grog’s face. “Ahh, yeah, that’s the good stuff!”, he exclaimed.

Shadow stood as well. “You didn’t need that before. Why now? Are you concerned about losing?”

“It’s unlikely that the two of us can bring him down”, Grog pronounced gravely.

Confused, Shadow shot back, “You said you had beaten him before!”

“I did. I have. But he’s very dangerous, and I had many more heroes with me those other times.”

“Then why should we persist? We’ve inflicted a lot of damage today. We should just leave, and let him discover for himself who is behind today’s attack.”

“No. I will not retreat until my sword is stained with his blood!”

It became clear that Grog would charge no mattter what was said. Shadow resigned himself to that fact. “Can we survive the attempt?”

“Is your medical transporter still working?”, Grog asked by way of an answer. It was not what Shadow wanted to hear.

Shadow sighed and resigned himself to the pain. “Before we do this, there’s one thing I’d like to ask.”

“Hmm?”

“What do you do first best?”

“Drink!”

“I should have known.”

Grog vanished, reappearing in the middle of the mob. While he bellowed insults at Chimera, gathering all attention on himself, Shadow sprinted across the bridge and began to cut down Chimera’s bodyguards. While the lesser men were felled easily, Chimera stood his ground, taking Grog’s hits with no ill effects. Shadow joined the fray, slashing with his own sword at percieved weak spots. It was not enough. Chimera lept into the air, spinning his own sword, and landed while still twirling his weapon in a flourish. The attack was utterly deadly, and could not be avoided. Shadow was knocked back, his abdomen slashed open. Badly wounded and on the verge of passing out, he tried to stand and help Grog.

“Hit the hospital!” commanded Grog. “Get clear!”

It shamed him to do so, but Shadow complied just before he blacked out. He regained consciousness in one of the Peregrine Island hospital’s medical reconstruction tubes. He slumped out onto the floor, overcome with shame and grief. He had abandoned a fellow hero to the hands of an arch villain, choosing to save himself over protecting his companion. He sat there a while as other heroes appeared and left, contemplating how he could best honor Grog’s memory and atone for his own disgrace.

“WOOOO! WHAT A RIDE!” A familiar voice boomed through the hospital wing. Shadow stood and rushed to discover the source of the exclamation. Not far away, he found the mighty Grog stepping out of a reconstroction machine. Grog waved his fists in the air in unmistakable triumph. “Another victory! Grog’s reputation grows!”

“I’m glad you aren’t dead!”, said Shadow.

“What? That wimp, kill me? Hah! As long as these marvelous resurrection platforms still work, no man can kill the mighty Grog!”

“And what’s this about a victory? Chimera still lives!”

“But so do we. We can always come back for another round later. I’d call that a victory, wouldn’t you? Besides," Grog explained as he produced some pieces of equipment scavenged from Chimera’s defeated minions, “I can do a lot with these. I might even sell them for beer money!”

Shadow shook his head. Grog was still Grog. As long as he could fight, drink, and pillage, he’d be content.

“So”, asked Grog, “How are you? What did you think of the experience?”

“It was...educational. I did learn a great deal, despite the savage beating I took. I think I have some insight into new techniques with which to dispense justice on the criminals of this city.”

“Good!” Grog slapped Shadow on his arm, nearly dislocating the shoulder. “You can share your insights with Castle. He’s over in Portal Court. Not a bad trainer, or so I’ve heard from others. He arrived on the island long after I needed his services. Or, you could return to a more familiar face to practice what you’ve learned.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Grog, you’ve been a great help. Perhaps I could buy you a drink as repayment?”

Grog smacked his lips.

Mentor

The ferry to Peregrine Island bumped gently into the dock. Ropes flew off the ship, securing it in place so the passengers and cargo could disembark safely. Cars and trucks slowly offloaded one by one while the more exotic passengers, the superheroes, exited as they pleased. One of their number, unnoticed on the trip to the island, swung himself up onto the dock and stole away into the shadow of a nearby building.

He was swathed in dark, baggy clothes which blended perfectly with the shadows. They were also printed with a disruptive camouflage pattern so that even if you saw them, the observer would not recognize the man as such. Head and face were covered, leaving only dark eyes and a narrow band of pale olive skin showing. A neutral gray bandolier crossed his chest, and a sword hung in a scabbard on his waist. There was no mistaking the man for anything other than a ninja, but due to his clothes and choice of surroundings, he went unnoticed and unrecognized.

The ninja looked slowly about him, making sure he would not be overheard, then touched his left hand to his ear.

“Shadow, calling Grog. Can you hear me?”, he whispered.

“WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS?!?”

The booming response made Shadow flinch. Since joining the supergroup known as The Forgotten Legion, he had heard the grating voice of Grog singing in the base, usually as he was propped up at the bar. Thus far, Shadow had avoided close contact, as he was too busy to carouse. Getting the full effect of Grog’s voice straight in his ear made up for the earlier shortage of exposure, and then some.

“Oh, wait, I was expecting you, wasn’t I?”, continued Grog, louder than he needed to. The slight slur in his voice told of what he had been doing before the call.

“Yes, this is Shadow. You agreed to show me some new swordfghting techniques. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember, but I thought your name was Kage-Shadow!”

“’Kage’ means ‘shadow’. I am called both Kage and Shadow, depending on what language you speak, but the city’s computer will not record both names”

“Whatever you say, youngster. You in Peregrine Island yet?”

“I am. Tell me where you are so I may-”

The sickening lurch in his stomach was accompanied by a flash of purplish light. The sick feeling intensified as he realized what Grog had done. Shadow was now crouched in an open air restaurant. Bright sunshine beamed down from a cloudless sky, illuminating him for all the world to see. The tables were occupied; indeed, the restaurant looked full of people, all pointing at him and chattering over the new arrival. His special clothing was of no use, and neither was his years of training in concealment and stealth. The humiliation was almost more than he could bear.

Standing before him was the culprit, a massive, burly man in European-style plate armor. Purple tendrils of eldritch energy writhed over its surface. Shadow followed the crackling energy up, up, up into Grog’s face, which could only have come from Hyboria. That same face wore a smug grin and the remnants of his meal.

Grog looked down at the still crouching ninja. “Excuse me, I didn’t realize you were in the middle of something.” He waved at the front door to the restaurant. “There’s a place inside for you to finish your business.”

Shadow reddened under his mask. “I was trying to remain unnoticed.”

“Hah! It doesn’t seem to be helping!” chortled Grog as he sat down, clearly oblivious to Shadow’s intent. He waved to the waitress and bellowed, “Wench! Fetch another mead for my friend!”

“We’re out of mead, Grog! And it’s ‘waitress’, not ‘wench’!”

“Oh, right. I get confused and forget. This world is so strange.” The grin on his face showed the lie in his words.

The waitress stomped off. Shadow discretely coughed, bringing Grog’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“So, you wanted to learn about swordsmanship?”

“Yes”, Shadow replied, “I had heard of your prowess, and wanted to learn some new techniques.”

Grog stood back up. “Let’s see your sword first. Then I’ll have some advice for you.”

Shadow drew his sword. Not long after he broke the spell that had enslaved his mind and deposited him in Paragon City, he “acquired” his katana from an unsuspecting street thug in Galaxy City. Though Shadow thought of it merely as a tool, not a work of art like some of his countrymen, he took great care in maintaining it, and it had served him well.

Grog sneered derisively. “Oh, you’re one of [u]those[u] people! I can’t tell you how many of those girlie swords I’ve seen here. Those things look like they were designed by weak-wristed, skinny, prancing fairy elves, not by stalwart men! Feast your eyes on a real weapon!” He reached behind his back and drew his sword. An enormous slab of jet-black metal inscribed with glowing red runes appeared in his hand. It was nearly as long as Shadow was tall, and the blade was as wide as a man’s leg. There was nothing subtle about Grog’s weapon, and Shadow immediately began to doubt the wisdom of contacting Grog for advice. Clearly, there was no way a weapon that large could have any technique behind its use.

Grog sighed as he compared his sword to Shadow’s. “Well, if you insist on bringing a toothpick to a sword fight, I’ll try to make the best of it. I do know a place where you can learn to use that effete sliver of steel. Stay here, and I’ll summon you once the arrangements are made.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”, Shadow asked, giving voice to his doubts. “If our fighting styles are too dissimilar-”

“Bah! You question the mighty Grog’s competence? I’ll have you know that I’ve earned the highest possible award for mentoring heroes. See?”, Grog said as he produced his hero ID card. “It says right here. Grog the Big, Parry Diggum.”

“Paradigm”, corrected Shadow.

“Whatever. There isn’t a higher award for mentoring, so don’t worry, pip-squeak. You’re in Grog’s hands now. All is well. Hold my drink while I’m away.” Grog unceremoniously thrust his tall glass of dark beer into Shadow’s hands, then vanished in a flash of purple light.

Shadow awkwardly sheathed his sword while still holding the mug. Just as he finished his task, the waitress walked up and tapped on the table.

“Excuse me, whoever you are, put the beer down!”

“You misunderstand”, Shadow explained, “I’m merely holding it until Grog the Big returns.”

“No, this is one of Grog’s ‘clever’ schemes to take his drink to go. Believe me, if you keep holding on to that glass, I’ll never see it again.”

Shadow set the glass down on the table. “I don’t see how he’s going to take the beer away when he isn’t-”

One sickening lurch later, Shadow found himself in the basement of Portal Corp’s facility, facing Grog. The mighty warrior looked down at Shadow disapprovingly.

“Kage - Shadow? What did you do with my beer?”

“I set it down.”

“NOOOO! CURSE THAT SERVING WENCH! SHE THWARTED ME AGAIN!”

((Everyone knows about how Sidekicking gets the lower-level hero mad XP. Why does it work? A short explanation in a short story.))

That's sweet!

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“Amadeo, you fool! That’s Synapse! That’s Synapse!” Paul rushes forward.

And that’s when the lightning strikes.

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Oh, snap! Hee hee!

This kind of reminds me of a pulp detective story, except our steely-eyed hero isn't heroic at all! Maybe more like stories from Sin City. Either way, off to a great start.

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And there’s something naggingly familiar about that smile of his …

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*sniff sniff* Is that ozone I smell?

I love how this is developing.

Shades of Things to Come

The Warriors: a modern criminal gang with archaic weapons. They had a piece of the action on the Striga Isle docks, and fought with the Family and the Council for every illegal dollar they made. This particular crew was rolling a barrel of high explosives onto a dolly, doubtless to destroy some building of their foes. Each man carried a crossbow, backed up with a sword, axe, or mace. As they worked, they had no idea that the nearby shadows watched them, and plotted their demise.

The first gunshot alerted the gang to their peril, though it was too late for one of their number. Out of the shadows sprang a woman in a bikini, spines poking through her skin. She dove into the mob as a second woman fired a grenade from an oversized assault rifle, scattering the Warriors. Before the mob could reform to face the threat, the ground opened up underneath them, snaring their feet in some sticky field of dark energy. The Warriors fought where they stood; some drew their crossbows and fired at the shooter, others swung on the spiny woman. Crossbow bolts and melee weapons pierced, cut, and smashed, causing massive trauma. The shadows moved closer to the mob, and drained energy from the Warriors to sustain the two female combatants.

Exhilarating! Do it again!

“Shut up.”

With the Warriors own life force used to regenerate the women’s wounds, the fight could have only one outcome; the criminals were defeated in short order. While the spiky woman planted teleport beacons on the unconscious criminals, the shadows faded away, revealing their source: a man in a grey suit. The bikini-clad beauty finished her work and retracted her spines, while the other woman replenished her ammunition. They turned to their third companion.

“Thanks, Night Shift!”, gushed the scantily clad heroine, “That was a close one! We couldn’t have done it without you!”

“The cover you provided was invaluable. We couldn’t have gotten that close without it”, chimed the gunner.

“Glad I could help, Splinter Girl, Gun Bunny”, he replied, tipping his weathered fedora at each by name. “Think I’ll call the bomb squad while you report back to your contact.”

“Actually, we gotta go”, said Splinter Girl, spreading her hands in apology. “But thanks for your help! We won’t forget it!”

Night Shift frowned, but said, “No problem. Take care, ladies.”

Splinter Girl turned and dashed off at highway speeds. Gun Bunny rocketed high up into the air and out of sight. Night Shift stood quietly and watched them leave.

You are the reason they survived that fight, yet they so easily abandon you! Imbecile! They’re using you! They should be serving you, not the other way around!

“Pipe down!”, Night Shift commanded.

Fool! I am the source of your power! Who better than I to advise you?

“I don’t need your advice.” Night Shift vanished, then reappeared instantly far down the street. The process repeated until he stood at the gangplank of a large container ship. He strode onto the ship-

And straight into a wall of rough-looking sailors. The biggest of them rumbled, “This ship is protected, so you can take the Don’s demands and shove ‘em-“

“No, hey, I’m one of the good guys.” Seeing their disbelieving sneers, Night Shift slowly reached into his coat, produced his ID, and handed it to the sailors’ spokesman. The salty sea dog looked at it, showed it to the nearest sailors, then handed it back.

“You don’t look like one of the good guys”, he grouched, slightly less hostile.

“I don’t do Spandex or bright colors”, Night Shift replied. “Is that a problem?”

You’re not going to take this from the likes of them, are you? This transport is supposed to be at your disposal!

Night Shift tried not to wince. It was true; the cargo ships plying the waters between Striga and Paragon City were supposed to provide passage to registered heroes without charge or questions. It pained him when the voice was right.

The sailors eyed him curiously during the internal monologue. Their spokesman piped up, “If you wander around dressed like a Mafia hood, you’re gonna get treated like one.”

Night Shift deadpanned, “I thought the sunglasses were a dead giveaway that I’m not a Mafia hood.” He gave the barest hint of a smile. Snorts of laughter rippled through the mob of sailors. It wasn’t very funny, but at least he’d diffused the situation. The mob dispersed to resume whatever tasks they were doing before he walked on board, leaving only the spokesman and Night Shift by the gangplank.

Night Shift was scrutinized once more. “We’re heading to Independence Port. Is that a problem?”, said the sailor, echoing the challenge Night Shift had laid down moments before.

“Not if you can spare some coffee.”

“It’s lousy.”

“I wouldn’t take it any other way.”

Finally, the big sailor smiled. “Sure. This way, Night Shift”, he said, gesturing to a door in the superstructure.

“Call me Rick. I only use the hero name-

We both know you’re not a hero!

“-when I have to”, finished Night Shift, not quite smooth enough to escape notice. He walked to the door to open it, and caught his reflection in the porthole. A hardened face stared back at him from behind wire-rimmed sunglasses with opaque amber lenses. Fringes of his short hair, prematurely bleached to silver, poked from under his fedora. Most people thought he looked like a cop, a fed, or a Mafia soldier (only in Paragon). He saw a black shroud, inky tendrils wrapping themselves around him. He saw a man who was a prisoner in his own body.

I’m the prisoner, and don’t you forget it!

It was a miserably slow trip back to Paragon City, made more so by his stowaway’s continual harassment. He eagerly left the ship as soon as the gangplank reached the shoreline. Striding between huge cargo silos, Night Shift kept an ear out for signs of trouble. It didn’t take long; in this so-called City of Heroes, there was a depressingly large number of criminals. He heard the unmistakable sounds of a shakedown, and moved to intercept.

There’s too many of them. You can’t yet control the power needed to fell them all.

“There’s someone in trouble, and I can help.” It was a flimsy rationalization; at best, he’d only succeed in giving the victim a head start on running away, but he hated it when the voice was right. Fighting its suggestions was almost a reflex.

Think clearly! You’ve been leeching off powers you cannot comprehend, incrementally learning their depth and utility.

Night Shift slowed. The voice was making sense, else he’d taken too many hits today to think straight. “Where’s this sudden change of heart coming from?”

I have not changed. You are the vessel which brought me here, so I cannot survive without you. You have learned to use some of my power, but taken up a cause which could kill you if you are unprepared. I have more power at my command, much more than you have sensed thus far. It will be enough to let you triumph.

Night Shift had worked as a cop, then detective, then private investigator. Hundreds of people had tried to hustle him, and now his stowaway was taking its turn.

“You’ve been holding out on me?”

Circumstances have changed. This self-destructive lifestyle has forced me to take action-

A chill shot down Night Shift’s spine.

-to save us both. I have more power, but you are unable to channel it safely. Let me take control. I’ve been studying your body; I can unleash my full power without harming your delicate flesh. Your foes will fall before our combined might!

Night Shift’s gut froze. He suspected the voice wanted control, but for it to declare it so openly…

What say you?

He sprinted around the corner and hurled a blast of utter darkness at the nearest mobster. As one, the mob turned on him and drew their guns.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?

“You want to help? Cough up the power, and make it snappy! Or, I’ll take us both out.”

Whatever the reply, it was lost when the first shots were fired. Bullets and shot spun him around and knocked him off his feet. The muscle moved in under cover of the guns and started working him over. Through the savage beating, Night Shift took comfort in knowing he would be freed from the hopeless struggle for control over his own body. Death would release both him and his stowaway.

He never got the chance. Purple death scythed through the Button Men. Gunmen and muscle alike, they never stood a chance; in moments, their unconscious bodies littered the parking lot. A short woman in purple clothes and purple spiky hair walked over to Night Shift’s broken body and kneeled down.

“Take this”, she said, pressing a green med-patch into his hand. As soon as it touched his skin, his wounds closed, and his energy returned. It did nothing to relieve his despair.

“A real angel of mercy would have let me die”, he growled.

KILL HER!

“What was that?”, inquired the woman.

“I said-“

“No”, she interrupted, “the other thing. The one about killing me.”

“I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t… you heard that thing?”

KILL HER NOW! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HORROR SHE REPRESENTS! IF YOU ONLY OBEY ME ONCE, DO SO NOW! SHE MUST-

“Be still, little brother.” At the strange woman’s command, Night Shift’s other voice fell silent. It took him a while to realize it; he had struggled with the voice for over a year, and it was a strange sensation being alone again. The feeling of solace was overwhelming. He took a moment to compose himself before speaking.

“Whatever you did, can you make it permanent? I don’t know how I could pay you back, but I’d be willing to spend a lifetime finding a way to make it up to you.”

“That’s…I can’t keep him quiet for long, and I don’t know how to remove him. I’m sorry.” Through the purple aura surrounding her, her eyes mirrored Night Shift’s pain.

Night Shift wanted to collapse. The prospect of resuming his 24-7 struggle for dominance was more than he could bear, especially now, contrasted with this, his last moment of clarity. “Then could you point me to the octopus? I have a few things I’d like to say to Lusca.”

“What kind of hero would I be if I just let you get yourself killed? Especially when I’ve found one of my own inside you?”

He blinked in surprise. “What are you? Where did this thing come from?”

With an otherworldly grace, the little woman walked to the curb and sat down. “They call us Warshades, but that just means I’m bonded with a Nictus, a being from another world. We’re a partnership, two beings in the same body. It comes with a few strings, but mostly I wield its powers as if they were my own. I can sense one inside you, though the powers you showed are a little different from any others I’ve seen. If it’s not too much trouble to tell, how’d you find yours?”

Night Shift picked himself up off the asphalt and dusted his suit, without success. “I didn’t go looking for it, it got forced on me.”

“I’m sorry”, she whispered. Ever the observer, Night Shift picked out something in her voice. She wasn’t comfortable with her… Nictus?…, or her partnership wasn’t voluntary, either. He was about to inquire, when she piped up again. “You get it here, or-“

“No”, replied Night Shift, “I thought someone in The City of Heroes could help me with my problem, so I came here to find a way to get rid of it. Azuria said I needed to go do hero stuff to learn to deal with the problem. I thought she meant I’d find a way to purge the thing.”

The woman smiled faintly. “Azuria’s normally well informed, but in this case she only knows part of the truth. First, you’re bonded, so there’s no purging for you. I wish she had been more specific about that. Second, the reason she had you do hero stuff was to mold your Nictus into a more benevolent being. You’ve felt some urges to do… unsavory things?”

“Yeah. Well, more like a constant nagging than an urge, but, you know. Stealing and eating souls; I don’t go for that sort of stuff.”

“That’s an unreformed Nictus. When bonded, the two eventually merge personalities and powers. When you do good, the Nictus adapts to that lifestyle. Probably, the reason you’ve had a rough go of it is because you’ve done the hero stuff, but your heart wasn’t in it.”

Night Shift scratched at his chin, slightly embarrassed. “I just wanted it gone”, he rationalized, lamely.

“That’s OK. You must have helped a lot of people, but it’s the thought that’s important. If you continue to just go through the motions, you’ll be fighting with the Nictus forever. You’ll only find your… redemption if you want to do the right thing for the right reasons. You have to be a hero, body and soul.”

There was that catch in her voice again. He learned to read people as a cop, and the slips in her speech were painting a picture. Not a totally clear picture yet, but she had saved his life, so it’d be rude to interrogate further.

Night Shift grunted. “Hmph. So that’s it? I just gotta be a good guy?”

“That’s about it.” The woman stood. “I’m not spouting this to give you false hope. I’m an example, proof, if you will, that your incompatibility is only temporary. Trust in your own good heart, and you will triumph! I did it, and so can you!”

It was the best news he’d heard in a while. “Guess I’ll have to pay a visit to Azuria, straighten her out”, he said.

“And then?”

“Then it’s time to go be a hero.”

“That’s the spirit!”, gushed the little woman. She turned away, making like she was about to leave.

“Before you take off, tell me your name”, Night Shift asked.

She back at Night Shift looked over her shoulder. “Sweet Little Lies.”

“Sweet Little Lies”, he repeated. A sly smile broke out on his face. Half accusing, he quipped, “There’s a story behind that name.”

She smiled slyly back. “Another time, hero. I’ll see you around.” She teleported away in a purple flash, not too dissimilar from his own method of travel.

Night Shift could feel his stowaway- no, his partner beginning to stir. In a moment he’d be able to teleport again. First he’d heard to Atlas Park. Afterwards, he’d have some thinking to do. The top of Atlas’s globe seemed a good place to ponder life in his home. For the first time since he arrived, he began to think of Paragon as just that; his home.

“The City of Heroes”, he muttered to himself, smiling broadly now. “Who’d have thought that I belonged here?”

Grog the Big

((Just where do Warshades come from? The Council *I miss The 5th Column* can't have a monopoly on them, can they? And how, exactly, does one reform a Nictus? One man finds out in this short story.

Splinter Girl and Gun Bunny are names I just made up. If you happen to play them, know that I have no idea who you are, so I'm not deliberately taking a shot at you. Sweet Little Lies was volunteered by Sint, who has, sadly, left the game.))

[ QUOTE ]
If only I could find out who took my pod from the desert of ash...

[/ QUOTE ]

D'oh!

I'm really digging this, Samuel.

Grog the Big

Crystal da Silva poured yogurt, some frozen strawberries and blueberries, a banana, and one heaping scoop of protein powder into her blender, then whipped it up. Once creamy smooth, she poured half the mixture into a glass. Opening the overhead cabinet, she pulled out a small flask labeled in writing Not Of This Earth. She pulled the stopper and sprinkled a measured amount of silvery powder into the remains of the smoothie, mixed it up again, then poured a second glass. She stuck a straw into each glass then exited the kitchen for her living room.

Quantum Storm sat on the couch in the living room of the apartment she shared with her partner in justice, feet propped up on the coffee table, one eye on the fashion magazine in her hands, the other fixed on the celebrity gossip show playing on the television. Crystal walked up and handed her the second glass. She took it, glanced disapprovingly, then handed it back, saying, “It’s not very cold.”

Crystal made a face and snatched the glass from Quantum’s hand. She brought Quantum’s smoothie close to her chest while holding her own glass away. With a crackling sound and halo of blue-white light, the temperature around Crystal’s body dropped dramatically. She handed the frost-covered glass back to Quantum, who accepted it this time. Crystal walked over to the other side of the couch and sat down. She pulled a textbook out of the end table, set her drink down, and began to read.

Quantum rolled one eye over to glance at Crystal. “Did you remember to add my supplement to this drink?”

Without looking away from her book, she answered, “Yes, Xaxa, I haven’t forgotten your need for platinum.”

“Hmm.” A brief silence passed, then, “Are you sure your educational efforts are necessary?”

Crystal closed her book and stifled a yawn. “No one’s been able to explain why I can do the things I can do. The accident shouldn’t have affected me the way it did.”

“Why concern yourself with the matter?”, countered Quantum. “There are others on this world who would be better suited to such investigations.”

Crystal leaned back on the couch, resting her weary head. “I’m worried about the changes I’ve been through. For example, this flying thing is totally new. You can control gravity and the weather, so it’s no surprise you can fly. I don’t understand why I can. For another, the injuries I received over the last two days would have taken weeks to heal when we first started working together, but the bleeding has already stopped, and I’ll be scar-free tomorrow. I also noticed the ice doesn’t protect me as well as it used to, and I’ve used all sorts of treatments to try and return it to it’s previous effectiveness.”

Quantum regarded her for a moment. “You are less protected than you have been?”

“M-hmm”, Crystal affirmed.

“Yet you still put yourself in danger?”

Silence.

“Did you hear me?”

Crystal’s head lolled to the side, her eyes closed. Quantum frowned, then went back to her magazine and TV show.

The auditorium was packed. A representative from Crey Industries was there as part of Career Day, presenting one of the many R&D projects. The man activated the machine, showing how it could flash-freeze any produce you placed inside. He opened the door, but ice shot out, freezing him solid. The ice spread quickly, soon filling the room. Students and teachers froze solid as they fled. The ice came closer. Escape was impossible. She watched, helpless, as the ice surrounded her, filled her. She looked through the ice, seeing her friends stop in their tracks, screaming, ever screaming…

Crystal bolted upright, still hearing the scream in her head. No, not in her head; the screaming was real. She smelled smoke. Turning to Quantum Storm, she asked, “Xaxa, have you been making popcorn again?”

“Only that one occasion. I was about to wake you; I don’t understand what that noise means.”

Crystal listened. It was coming from the hallway, not the apartment. She hopped up off her couch and went to the door. She opened the door, and was assaulted by a wall of smoke. Quickly shutting the door, she cried, “The building is on fire!”

Quantum levitated off the couch as Crystal ran to the window. She leaned out, ready to get on the fire escape, and saw a group of Hellions wheeling barrels of flammable chemicals toward the building. She pointed at them and yelled, “Hey, you! Cut that out!”

Incensed at the interruption, one of the Hellions tossed a Molotov cocktail at her. Crystal ducked back as the bottle shattered on the fire escape in front of her window.

She turned back to Quantum. “There’s a bunch of Hellions burning the building! You get our neighbors to safety while I distract them!”

“It’s a good thing I washed my hair.”

“Yeah, it is”, said Crystal. She whipped the wet towel off of her head, and sucked all the moisture out of the room, forming a thick layer of ice over her entire body. A moment of concentration later, and her hands glowed with the destructive energies granted her that fateful day. She flew out the window and dropped down next to the largest group of Hellions she saw, delivering a double overhead smash that sent one of them flying.

One of the gangsters, a Blood Brother, pointed at her and yelled, “It’s Shining Crystal!”

Crystal grimaced; she was a little embarrassed by the nickname the press gave her. Still, it was appropriate, considering the ice refracted and magnified the glow coming from her hands until she could light up an entire city block. She pointed back at the gangster and shouted, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Blood Brother!”

She learned early on nothing got a criminal’s attention more than being chastised. As she planned, the entire gang turned on her as one and attacked. The roar of the gunfire temporarily overcame the roar of the burning building. Bullets and shot impacted into the ice; most were stopped, but a few slipped in far enough to hurt. Crystal waded into the mob, targeting the ones with the incendiary devices first. Her fighting technique wouldn’t have impressed anyone, but the energy aura around her hands made it effective nonetheless. Gangsters staggered about, stunned, or were sent flying. Those who fought back found they could barely control their bodies; the chill coming off of her caused uncontrollable shivering, weakening blows and slowing movement and reflexes.

It took some time, but Crystal managed to dispatch all the gangsters in sight. She stood over their supine forms, feeling proud of herself, when she heard a guttural voice roar, “Feel the burn!” She turned just in time to catch a fireball to the face. Flash and sizzle; the ice melted, and she went down, covering her face. “Fire beats ice, you shoulda known that”, the voice taunted.

It was true; she had almost no defense against fire, but since fire-wielding villains were so common, it couldn’t be helped. Fighting the pain, she stood again and faced her attacker. As she feared, it was one of the Damned, a leader of the Hellions. Crystal pulled more ice from the air to cover her face as the gang leader looked her over. “I’m gonna enjoy thawing you, cold fish!”, he boasted.

“I’m only cold on the outside”, Crystal replied as she rushed him and swung for his head. The Damned ducked, then blasted Crystal in return. She collapsed again.

He stood over her, swaggering. “You’re a hottie! Sure I can’t warm you up?” The hot/cold puns hurt almost as much as the burns. She desperately tried to pull more ice over her wounds as she turned to face him again. His hands, wreathed in flame, came at her.

The sky opened up, and a cold rain fell. Ice quickly coated the ground, and the Damned went sprawling. Crystal looked up to see Quantum Storm descending. The freezing rain continued, snuffing fires and preventing the Damned from recovering his footing. Crystal took advantage of his state by giving him a hefty punch that lifted him off his feet. With timing developed over the months they worked together, Quantum Storm hurled a rusty car at the airborne Damned, knocking him halfway to the Copper District and out of the fight.

Through the ice Crystal smiled at her partner. “I thought that junker would never get cleared out”, she quipped.

“I’m equally surprised I found a use for one of your primitive Earth conveyances”, Quantum replied, not quite joking.

“Where are our neighbors?”

“Safe”, Quantum replied. “I moved them to the roof of the next building over.”

“That’s good.” Crystal sighed. “I guess we should see what we can salvage.”

“I’ve lost a home already, Crystal. We’ll manage. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to consider moving to the residences of Founders Falls-“

“Oh, you!”

Crystal da Silva unlocked the door to her small apartment in south Steel Canyon and staggered inside. Normally she could be described as statuesque, but today she resembled one of the statues in Perez Park rather than those of Atlas Park. A normally uniform sky-blue bodysuit now resembled the American flag over Fort McHenry as pale skin and ugly red streaks showed through the abundant rips and tears in the material. An icy blue tiara barely held back a mane of orange-red hair that hung limply as if it, too, were utterly exhausted. The white and blue boots looked ok if one could ignore the coating of mud, and if one wasn’t aware they once had heels. She crossed the spartan living room, unlocked the window, and banged twice on the fire escape with her hand. A moment later, her partner Quantum Storm flew into the living room-

And straight into the one bathroom they shared, closing the door behind her. The same bathroom Crystal had hoped to use. “Xaxa!”

“You address me?”, she replied from the other side of the door in her peculiar accent.

Crystal sighed, knowing the result of past arguments with The Princess. “Yes, I do. Is the first aid kit in there?”

“Remind me again of it’s appearance.” The sound of running water could now be heard.

“It’s small and white with a red cross on it. If it’s in there, would you please pass it out here?”

“I have found it. Avert your eyes, and I shall pass it out.” The bathroom door opened just long enough for the object in question to float outside and gently land on the floor. Crystal slowly, painfully, picked it up and headed towards the kitchen. She turned on the faucet in the sink and began to scrub at the more easily accessible wounds. Her arms and shoulders were covered with cuts, abrasions, and bruises, and the knuckles on both hands had been scraped raw from punching two days worth of Trolls and strange rock creatures while pursuing Atta, one of the Trolls’ kingpins. She cleaned and disinfected the wounds, wrapped her maligned hands, took a moment to tidy up after herself, then headed to her room to change. A few minutes later, she emerged, having shed her costume for sandals and oversized Paragon City University sweats, and discovering new levels of pain in the process. The bodysuit did not survive the transformation; Crystal left the apartment with its ragged remains clutched in her fist, destined for the dumpster.

Upon her return to her apartment, Crystal noticed Quantum had finished her shower but not yet emerged from the bathroom. She knocked impatiently on the door. “Xaxa, please, I’d like to use the bathroom, too.”

“A princess must look her best, and my hair is not yet fit for viewing. If I’d known of its condition, I would have returned here yesterday! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Between the fatigue and Quantum’s obsession with her hair, Crystal’s self-control was rapidly slipping away. “We were in the middle of something important, Xaxa, and your hair looked fine to me. If that’s what’s keeping you in the bathroom, please leave; I know you have enough things in your room to properly attend to your appearance, and you’re keeping me from the shower.”

“I’m not yet presentable!”

Several words popped into Crystal’s mind, all of which she better than to utter aloud. She gritted her teeth, turned her back to the bathroom, and shouted, “You can leave now, I’m not watching!”

The door opened again. The willowy, platinum-haired beauty that floated from bathroom to bedroom didn’t look unfit for presentation. Once Crystal heard the door shut again, she staggered into the bathroom and began to clean herself up. Her untreated wounds mixed with dirt from two days worth of cave crawling to color the water in the drain a muddy red. She cleaned as quickly as she could, knowing that the longer she stood under the stream of water the greater the risk of falling asleep.

It wasn’t long before Crystal emerged from the bathroom, clad in her sweats, towel around her hair. She didn’t feel clean, but there were more important things to do than attend to personal comfort; Atta was still loose, and she’d need to regain her strength before she could confront him. Crystal went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets for an energy bar. She had just pulled one out when Quantum Storm exited her bedroom. She, too had changed her clothes, but unlike her roommate she wore a shimmering, dark purple wrap skirt adorned with a jeweled belt. Her upper torso was covered with tightly wrapped fabric of the same color. A winged crown with integral half-mask covered her face and head, and supported a ponytail of silver hair that shone like polished metal. The effect was striking, regal, and she looked every bit the princess. She strode into the kitchen, placed her hands on her hips, and haughtily arched an eyebrow at Crystal as she produced a second energy bar and handed it to her.

“No”, Quantum commanded.

“I know it’s not up to your standards, Xaxa, but we need to keep our strength up if we’re going to catch Atta.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not just refusing the food, I’m refusing any more adventures until certain needs are met. We’ve been battling criminals for two days straight, and it’s time to rest.”

Crystal froze in mid-bite and looked at her partner in justice, trying to see if she was joking. To Crystal’s knowledge, Xaxa had never made a joke before, but being an alien one couldn’t be certain. She decided to clarify: “What was that?”

“Did I misspeak? Or are you not paying attention? I stated that I will not leave this residence until I am rested, and neither will you.”

Clearly, Quantum wasn’t trying to be funny. “Xaxa, we’re so close to finding Atta, but he may vanish if we don’t move quickly! Eat up, get something to drink, and let’s go!”

“NO!” Quantum’s eyes flashed with imperial fire as her hand shot out to point at Crystal with the same emphasis that might be given while ordering an execution. Her silver hair floated and spread to surround Quantum’s head with a sparkly halo. The kitchen darkened, a cold wind began to blow, and distant thunder rumbled.

Crystal had faced hordes of zombies, uncountable gangsters, witnessed human sacrifice, and even endured her roommate’s tantrums before. Still, the effect was powerful enough to derail Crystal’s thoughts of hot pursuit. “Think of all the harm he’ll cause if he’s not caught! We could end his crime spree today, why won’t you finish what we started?”

“Can you recall the accounts of his power? If you faced him now, do you think you could defeat him?”

“We have to try!”, Crystal pleaded.

“No, we do not,” declared Quantum, as she slowly returned the room to normal. “We have to succeed. Self-sacrifice without the possibility of victory is suicide, not heroism.”

It was easy to write off the Talazkian moon-princess as vain, self-centered, and empty-headed. While she was vain, and frequently self-centered, she was never stupid. Neither was Crystal, and her partner’s words forced her to take her exhaustion more seriously. She was truly exhausted in both body and spirit, remaining awake more from habit than by desire. Crystal examined Quantum, and found signs of the same fatigue that she felt. Alien or not, she was her partner, and any further super-powered shenanigans would endanger them both for no reason other than stubborn pride. Without taking her eyes off Quantum’s, she put the uneaten energy bar on the kitchen counter. “One night’s rest. We go back out tomorrow morning.”

Quantum’s nose wrinkled in distaste, but she agreed. “Very well. One night of rest.” As she turned and walked out of the kitchen, she intoned over her shoulder, “I’m going to the living room to watch the video receiver. Join me there after you’ve made one of those blended drinks for me.”

Her ire rising again, Crystal threw her own half-eaten bar on the counter, bent down, and, with trembling hands, fetched her blender from the cupboard. Through gritted teeth, she muttered, “Now I know why they call them Controllers!”

((48+ month player *waves badge* but I've only recently started following the CoH forums. This is mostly due to the City Scoop's plugs for fan fiction. I've enjoyed the works of Blue Battler, Mr. Grey, Ziggy3k, and others, and thought I'd test the waters with some of my own.

This first one is my oldest. Ancient CoX vets like me will probably pick up on the reference to the Resist/Defense nerf of I4. Should give you an idea of just *how* old the piece is.))

((Fantasy's not my thing, which is odd if you look at my avatar. But I love reading about goodly characters like Grumblethump. He was so endearing! Thanks for posting this, Ziggy.))