“A damned is on the loose, hero,” Operative Gale Force says, “And I can’t stop him without your help.”

  …What?

  “Why me?” I ask, the first thought to come into my head just spilling out, “Why not some other reaper? I know at least Jonathan is in town.”

  “I’m supposed to handle this one alone,” He replies, “No backup. It’s a test of my skills, to see if I’m qualified. I’m… not technically a reaper. Yet.” That takes me aback, even more than the general weirdness of him asking me for help. This guy’s just a rookie? He’s already at a level where I’d consider him a mid-level hero, even from what little I’ve seen. Knowing that, what must the veterans be like?

  Then, of course, I chastise myself. I’m not entirely in the dark as to what the veterans are like, Jonathan is one. For all I know, that’s been their standard this entire time and this guy’s actually a total weakling. It does paint a terrifying picture of what this shadow organization is truly like, but given how Nightingale is aware and somewhat involved, maybe it’s mostly made up of city champions and the like. Maybe they’re so monolithic because they just recruit powerful people, and not necessarily because they’ve been hiding some serious heavy hitters from the public all this time.

  “So you can’t let the other reapers know, okay, but then haven’t you already fucked up? They’ve hinted pretty heavily that they have some way of watching me, I don’t doubt they’d use it to at least keep tabs on Hecatoncheires for strategic purposes,” I argue, knowing full well how petty it is to be grilling Gale Force for the details of their information network while he’s actively asking for my help.

  “They just commandeer the city’s regular information networks,” Gale Force explains as though it should be obvious, “Here that’s some bird guy, I can tell if he’s watching and he hasn’t been. It’s not a subtle power, if you have the right tools to pick up on it.” Birdkeeper is in on this? I guess he is way too old and involved to have not been at least somewhat let in on the decision. Plus, it’s not like anyone sane seriously tries to hide such a big secret from him, it’s not possible. That’s not even mentioning how this guy just casually suggested the old spymaster is unsubtle, which aside from being plain wrong by any normal person's standards, is also rather rude of him.

  “And so what, you just don’t have anyone else to turn to? Not a single person who can help you besides me?” I ask. It’s a valid question, and though it may come off a little harshly, I am kinda tired. I get to be mean when I’m tired.

  “…Yes,” Gale Force replies, saying it as though the very word pains him beyond measure. After a moment of me staring blankly at him, his face goes red.

  “Don’t give me that look! I have friends what aren’t just more reapers. It’s just that my options are limited in that regard,” He snaps at me, which, to be honest, I find hilarious. Did this guy spend his entire life training to be a reaper? Come to think of it, I wouldn’t actually be all that surprised if that were true. Maybe reapers these days go through some weird assassin training program.

  “Let me guess, you use the plural there because you’re counting me,” I tease. At least, I thought I was just teasing, but after a second of him not responding I suddenly realize I was right on the mark. This man really is that much of a loner.

  “Holy shit, seriously?!” I exclaim, trying very, very hard to keep from laughing. It’s just so nonsensical that, through all the weirdness today, this is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Then I come to my senses, and abruptly sober up, clearing my throat to hide my chagrin.

  “Ahem, I guess… I guess you really do need my help,” I say, suddenly feeling rather insufficient.

  “Well?” Gale Force presses, rather angrily. He is pretty fun to tease, all things considered.

  “I won’t kill anyone,” I assert, confident in that stance. It’s a line I simply refuse to cross, regardless of the scenario.

  “I don’t need you to,” He agrees, “I just need someone who can take some of the heat off me, so to speak. I lost because I couldn't get in close, not because I’m too weak to cut a man’s head off." The rather fun implication there being he is very well-versed in decapitation - or an overconfident weakling who’s spent too much time fantasizing about things he could never pull off, but I doubt a person like that would ever be involved with the reapers.

  “Also, I want compensation,” I press, not ashamed to take advantage of him in this way, “Not money or anything like that, but information. On reapers. I’m tired of constantly being blindsided by the weird and dangerous shit you’re doing.”

  “That would be a serious violation-” He begins.

  “You just admitted to being able to tell if you’re being watched, genius. What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” I cut him off. Not entirely sure what ‘they’ I’m referring to, but that can wait. I am bargaining for more information, after all.

  “Fine,” He concedes rather grumpily, “I’ll give you five questions, answered honestly and to the best of my ability.”

  While he isn’t giving me all that much to work with, I decide it’s the best I’m going to get. I stick out my hand and he shakes it, and just like that I’ve bargained for another opportunity. The only question now is how far it’ll get me - and if I’ll live to take advantage of it.

  “Let’s go hunt a monster,” I say.

  —

  To my surprise, finding the former villain Hecatoncheires ended up being the easy part. Gale Force had known since before I first met him where the damned had holed himself up, and some ability-related detection of his allowed us to find the man with ease.

  Still no idea what his power might be, with all these clues leading in different directions, but it’s probably elemental. Those types of powers can have all kinds of weird alternative uses most people don’t consider. Best guess is it’s metal-related, given the swords, but that doesn’t explain everything. I suppose it would be too obvious to expect it to be wind, even if that is what his codename immediately implies.

  The actual location we’re at is some maybe abandoned, maybe evacuated warehouse located by the land-facing edge of the port. We’ve climbed on top of a dumpster to peer in through a cracked glass window and observe Hecatoncheires.

  I’ve taken the time to change out of my dress, taking a quick detour into the Bowl to covertly grab my supersuit from my locker and slip into it. I may have been able to fight Alpha in a dress, but I’m not risking it for someone who might be as strong as the Hellhound user, or even worse. It didn’t take much time anyways.

  Hecatoncheires himself is a unit of a man, tall and burly, with exceptionally long arms, though that may be associated with his ability. And when I use the plural for arms, I don’t mean just two, I mean at least six, in his idle state. As we watch, I see him use hands for multiple miscellaneous tasks, including, at one point, eating a sandwich. The extra ones stand out a ton, being pitch black and completely bare, not to mention their egregious sizes. It’s a strange, almost comical sight.

  “How durable are you?” Gale Force asks me in a whisper.

  “Resistance to dying is my greatest quality,” I reply back in a similarly hushed tone, not even risking looking at him, in case the turn of my head tips Hecatoncheires off.

  “Good,” He replies, ignoring my phrasing,“Then I’ll be relying on you to take the big hits and distract him. I’m fast, but a bit of a glass cannon, so I’ll instead prioritize damage. The two of us should be more than a match for him, so long as we’re careful."

  “Understood,” I respond, trying my best to stay professional in the situation and not tease him for being squishy, “Do we move in now, or wait?”

  “We can go if you’re ready,” Gale Force responds. I nod, and we take positions, with Gale Force standing and appearing to meditate, likely readying his ability, while I loop around to the front of the warehouse. By the time I reach the entrance, he’s out of sight, but I catch a glimpse of his sword blade flashing in the window and I decide that’s as good of a signal as any.

  I’m no amateur, so I don't stop to introduce myself or anything. I just rush in, charging down Hecatoncheires as fast as my legs can carry me - which is pretty darn fast, even in this cramped space - angling for the element of surprise.

  Instead I’m the one surprised, as I barely manage to screech to a halt before a trio of massive palms slam down in the spot I was about to be in, cracking the plaster floor with their sheer weight and pressure. A blow like that might not have killed me, but it certainly would’ve hurt. A warning from Superhuman was the only thing that saved me.

  “Nice try, little mouse!” Hecatoncheires cackles as he retracts his limbs, “But the last one was much faster than you!” Two more limbs, smaller but longer than the last, shoot out towards me, and I block the corresponding pair of palm strikes. Both are about as strong as my blows typically are - a rather concerning prospect.

  Then all of a sudden the window shatters, and my eyes barely catch a blur of movement streaking towards Hecatoncheires. A massive wall of limbs comes up in response, and though it stops him, I see Gale Force slash through three arms as his sword blow comes down, each at least average in size. Then he flips, pushing off of air to leap away and landing on a pile of crates, frowning as he looks down upon the aftermath of his failed assault. I note only his short sword is drawn, the other still sitting comfortably in its sheath, his left hand never leaving the hilt.

  “Two! Oh, how fun,” Hecatoncheires says, his voice edged with malice as though he is very much not having fun. Limbs begin to sprout from his back in multitudes, filling the space behind him as he prepares to take us on.

  “Remember the plan!” Gale Force shouts, and it takes serious effort not to snap back at him that there really isn’t much of a plan. Instead, I charge forward, accepting blows where I can and backing off when I can’t, engaging in a deadly dance with Hecatoncheires. I see Gale Force in my periphery, occasionally fending off arms with sweeps of his short blade as he leaps from crate stack to crate stack, searching for an opportunity to strike. I can see how his efforts were stymied before: this foe is one particularly well suited to handling melee types.

  As I dodge a larger swing, I notice Hecatoncheires preparing something, several of his hands rummaging through a crate behind him. For a moment I’m panicked by the notion of fighting all these arms with weapons, but I reset quickly with the realization that most of his power comes from the raw size of his larger limbs, making conventional weapons not much of an improvement. I try to peek past him to look for potential explosives or anything else he might actually be able to make dangerous, but the same tangle of limbs that keeps me from reaching the damned holds me back.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I search for openings, finding myself at a loss. I’m in no danger of losing, not yet, as unless I take a direct hit from one of the larger limbs I’ll be fine, but at this rate I’ll tire out and slip up before we can end this. Hecatoncheires’ attacks are rather basic - less like fighting a dozen strong people and more like fighting one strong man with a bunch of exceptionally large weapons - but they are powerful. I can dodge and weave all day but I’ll get nowhere.

  Hands crash down in a cascade, forcing me back, but I catch Gale Force slipping through, weaving between the limbs like a bird flying between trees. He picks up speed, approaching Hecatoncheires, but my hair begins to stand on end as Superhuman warns me not of my own danger, but of his. I catch an ominous glint of metal from far behind the damned and immediately fear the worst.

  “Watch out!” I holler, praying I’m not too late. A second later Hecatoncheires’ arms split enough for me to rush through and I do, pushing forward as his back arms swing around to hurl something. Gale Force has slowed at my warning and, seeing what he cannot, I grab his shoulder and hurl him to the side.

  I barely make it, as not one heartbeat passes before those suspicious limbs behind Hecatoncheires accelerate too fast for me to track. All of a sudden a rain of horrible blows comes out of nowhere, falling on me like a storm of bullets, tearing apart my suit and even my skin, a horrible feeling I haven’t experienced in years. I stumble back, bleeding in several places but miraculously none of it immediately seems to be serious.

  It’s Gale Force’s turn to save me as a blur and rush of wind swiftly transport me out of the path of a blow I would never have been able to avoid in time. He deposits me behind a crate stack without making a sound or even checking if I’m okay and turns back to a fight, as I assess the damages.

  Honestly, it’s not that bad. I’m not just telling myself that, either, it really could’ve been much worse. I’m scraped up and I feel like shit but the attack, whatever it was, seems like it was more blunt than sharp. Maybe closer to bullets than I originally thought? Whatever it was, I was tougher, and I survived. Not sure if Gale Force would’ve though, best to keep that in mind.

  I take a few deep breaths and launch myself back into the fight, transitioning from standing to running in a single fluid motion to avoid giving Hecatoncheires any unnecessary advantage. I see Gale Force trying to get in close once more, but being repelled by the same attack once more, this time opting to dodge. At least he’s learning.

  Time for me to learn too, so I don't end up dead. Looking from a distance, I get a much better view of what the damned is actually doing. The glint of metal and the peculiar arm motion convince me he’s throwing something at us, which could be anything from small rocks to a bunch of razor blades, but I’d be willing to bet somewhere in the middle. Scrap metal would be my guess, but it was strong enough to scratch my skin - if only a little - which would make it some unreasonably tough scrap metal. Synth variety, perhaps?

  I’m busy dodging a pair of slam attacks as the thought flows through my head, and immediately I want to think up countermeasures but I honestly can’t. As blows fall all around me, I come to realize Hecatoncheires’ strategy is actually pretty sound. Assuming he can keep it up all day, I’m not fast enough to reasonably get in close and Gale Force is too squishy to take a metal throw and even with his speed is unlikely to dodge the sheer spread of one at close range.

  “I don’t think we can get in close like this!” I shout out in concern to my reluctant partner, “I just can’t find any holes in his guard! Any ideas?” I block a smaller swing, feeling my bones rattle under the impact.

  “My Aunt Carol used to say ‘if an opponent’s strategy is good, use it!’” Gale Force shouts back at me. Ignoring my obvious concerns as to who the fuck Aunt Carol is and why she’s been giving him combat advice, his words immediately sound rather unhelpful. Abilities have so much variety, even with similar properties copying someone else’s path is a terrible way to improve. That’s like saying I should copy Jonathan just because he’s strong.

  Except, it really isn’t, in a way. Because just before I’m about to dismiss his suggestion as complete nonsense, my mind starts going in a very strange direction. I’d said before how Hecatoncheires’ individual arms aren’t much stronger than mine - he just has way, way more of them. What if me copying certain aspects of what he’s doing isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility?

  That’s when it hits me: not the outstretched palm that I narrowly avoid but an idea that may be genius and may be stupid but is definitely worth trying anyways. I leap backwards maybe a little bit more forcefully than I intend, temporarily stepping out of Hecatoncheires’ range as I begin scanning the floor. I’d seen it earlier, so where…

  There it is! I stop low to the floor as I rush forwards, scooping up in my hand the twisted chunk of metal that looks an awful lot like an ingot torn forcefully in half. It’s part of the barrage Hecatoncheires threw at me earlier, and, with a motion I hope is at least somewhat similar to a baseball pitch, I hurl right back at him.

  Turns out, all you really need to be an MLB pitcher is supernaturally enhanced strength, eyesight, and reflexes, because for someone who hasn’t seriously tried to throw a ball in years I strike Hecatoncheires with startling accuracy right in his solar plexus. Maybe there really is a good reason to keep SAU kids out of organized sports.

  The damned doubles over, retching, and in the moment of opportunity Gale Force doesn’t hesitate to rush in. He blurs, moving fast enough even I can barely track him and he passes through the tangle of limbs to slash at Hecatoncheires. He doesn’t go unnoticed, but the tangled barrier of arms that sprouts from the damned’s back to defend him is too little too late, and Gale Force’s sword cuts mercilessly through expendable limbs and into the damned’s flesh.

  The wound is shallow, but opens up the damned from shoulder to waist, spilling his blood in bright red droplets across the floor. It’s not immediately lethal - probably was repelled by his ribs away from any major organs - but he’ll bleed to death if left untreated. Not to mention, the man’s howl proves it has to hurt. He flails wildly, sending arms in all directions, forcing both Gale Force and I to retreat.

  Then he runs.

  I’m not sure why it startles me - the last damned I fought did exactly that when cornered - but it does. I watch, stunned, as Hecatoncheires smashes open a window and crawls out of it like a massive, fleshy, eldritch spider. It isn’t until his arms disappear entirely and Gale Force follows him up to the window that I’m kicked back into action.

  “After him! Cut him off!” He shouts urgently, proceeding to disappear through the window as well. I turn and run out the front entrance of the warehouse, looping around to where the window was and finding Gale Force racing around to the opposite side of the building. I follow, pushing myself to my limit to keep up. We run for just a few moments, most of that time with me being unable to see either of the men I’m chasing.

  The chase ends with a shout of fear, as I turn the corner to see Gale Force paused, sword still drawn, and something much worse. Hecatoncheires has found someone, a civilian, and has wrapped the man up in so many hands I can see little else but the victim’s face. The damned is wild eyed, his captive sobbing like a scared child, and I look on in horror.

  This whole scenario went from a four to an eleven in the span of what must’ve been no longer than a minute. Before it felt like little more than fighting a villain while teamed up with another hero - a situation I know well and can handle - but now I’m face to face with a brutal reminder that the damned don’t play by the same rules. Why would they, when death is their only way out regardless of what they do?

  “Stop!” Hecatoncheires shouts, “Or I kill this guy! I’ll do it!” The former villain’s voice is shaking, reeking of pain and fear. His eyes dart between the two of us and his captive, and I can actually see his grip growing tighter as the hostage whimpers.

  “Okay,” I say, calmly doing my best to project passiveness, “We’ll stop. There’s no need to do that. We can work things out.” The lines are ones that have been drilled into me for captive situations: always promise the world, you can take it back later if you need to and keeping the unstable murderer happy is often the best way to keep things from escalating.

  “Like I believe that! You’re reapers, you’re going to fucking kill me!” Hecatoncheires screeches. His hostage starts muttering something that I can’t quite make out, but from the tone sounds an awful lot like prayer.

  “Homines moriuntur,” Gale Force whispers, and, for a single, terrible moment I watch him step forward, raising his short sword in his right hand, and slowly, carefully, beginning to unsheathe the long blade with his left.

  Then adrenaline finally does something useful and I snap out of it, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him back to face me. It seems to startle him, as though he’d never expected me to interfere with what he was doing.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss at him.

  “Putting down a rabid dog,” He confidently says back, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sheer unabashedness of it stokes my surprise into anger

  “You’re gonna get a civilian killed!” I whisper-shout at him.

  “And if we let him go, he’ll kill hundreds more,” Operative Gale Force turns the rest of his body, his blade now facing me and not the damned, “I won’t let you stop me.”

  “Dammit, reaper, what is wrong with you?! Killing a damned is one thing, but if you do this, you’re basically killing an innocent person as well! That makes you just as bad as them!” I’m fully shouting now.

  “Not if I save more people in the process!” He screams back.

  “Murder is still murder!”

  “Murder you tacitly allowed by even being here!”

  “I won’t let innocents die!”

  “Then you’ll die with them!” He readies his blade, and I fall into a fighting stance. Neither of us will back down, and so we both charge at the same time, each ready to fight for our own version of what’s right.

  Except we never get the chance, as the damned we’d both been ignoring is rather disinclined to sit around and wait for us to figure out if we'll kill him or not. Pouncing on the opportunity of us bickering, Hecatoncheires outstretches his arms, executing a simultaneous attack on both of us. Gale Force dodges, while I’m unceremoniously pushed into a wall. The damned then launches himself at full tilt past the new gap in our line, still carrying his hostage in extra limbs.

  Time slows to a crawl. Neither of us wants him to get away, so we both start after him, but the sudden shift in priorities leaves us both a little slow to respond. I can already tell I’ll be unable to track Hecatoncheires down if he wants to hide - and likely he does - and while Gale Force might do better, I can’t let him be the one to reach him first.

  And of course, that’s the exact moment when everything goes from very bad to near apocalyptic.

  With the wrath of the heavens themselves baked into their steel, four large, golden blades plummet from above. They come crashing to the ground with enough force to lift up the pavement in a wave, severing arms, cleanly separating the hostage from the damned, and, with one terrible strike, slicing Hecatoncheires clean in half.

  Dust and debris rises with a fury, obscuring my vision as the force of the impact sends waves I feel from a dozen feet away. I stumble as the ground shifts, but keep my footing, as I dimly see Gale Force swiping his blade meaninglessly at the cloud. Or so I think, for a second later a gust clears it instantly, revealing the horror it had previously veiled.

  Arm parts are scattered everywhere, already dissolving into smoke as the ability that gave them form releases its hold. At the center, a single golden blade as tall as a tree and shaped like a textbook parallelogram sits at an angle where the damned was. And still is - partially - as half his body now leans on the blade, innards pressing up against it, blood pooling out around. The other lies on the ground, split organs squirting blood and pus and all manner of horrible things out into the night air.

  I vomit. More than once. The sight is simply the most gruesome thing I’ve ever encountered, even with adrenaline I can’t handle it. Yet, at the same time, my eyes are drawn to it, like when you drive by a car wreck on the highway and can’t help but turn your head to look as you pass. I vomit again at the mere thought.

  I dimly register the sight of Operative Gale Force kneeling before this gory vision, as though it were his god and so he must pray. As I recover, I realize he’s not bowing to the shrine of blood that is the blades, but to something above it.

  Then they retract, shrinking as they rise into the air. My eyes follow them without thinking, and I can’t help but stare at what I see.

  Hovering there is Jonathan Alston, the Wings of Freedom himself, grandest hero of the USC. But he’s not a hero here; he’s an executioner. A reaper.

  Four blades, that’s all it took. Four blades and half a second to eviscerate a man that gave two mid-level SAUs so much trouble. Heaven and hell, this man is inhuman. And I thank every goddamn star in the sky he’s on my side.

  Except he isn’t, is he? As the realization crashes through accompanied by a million other thoughts, I feel fear settle deep within me. He knows I’ve been interfering with reaper work. He probably saw, or at least heard, me arguing with Gale Force. He just killed fucking Hecatoncheires before I even had time to register he was even there.

  “Well,” The angel of death quips, cold eyes staring down at me, “I must say I didn't expect I’d meet you like this not once, but twice. And so soon after what should’ve been the last time I ever had to bother dealing with you.”

  I say nothing.

  “It seems you didn’t quite understand how little I actually wanted you to be my problem,” Jonathan continues, the casual nature of his tone far more dangerous than his anger.

  “Let’s just say I’m not exactly pleased with this development,” His emphasis chills my blood. I try my best to stand tall, to look confident. I can tell it fails.

  “You, Ms. Gardner, are in a lot of fucking trouble.”