Chapter 34: Silver (Patreon)

The world seemed to shift beneath Terry’s feet, too many things happening at once for his barely-superpowered mind to track.

Aura’s flared, the wind of superhuman movement ruffled his hair, voices cried out in panic, anger, surprise.

“Lady! Amplify me!”

That was Dancer’s voice, no longer filled with good-natured mirth or that low, dangerous tone he’d only shown Terry. Instead, it was filled with command, warping the air and the aura in the ballroom with this immutable demand. In his gut, he knew that Lady would obey, that the world would fall into line before the grace and unyielding power of Dancer’s aura.

But Terry’s body shifted, dragged through space so sudden and fast his stomach rolled. Without understanding how, he found himself beside Lady, whose eyes were saucers, her mouth gaping open in terror.

His mind was slow to process why, but then time seemed to return to normal speed, and all the supers in the room stood frozen, a bizarre moment stretched out into the tableau before him.

Silver’s hand was wrapped around Lady’s throat—a loose, easy grip, but a grip nonetheless. Dancer stood where he’d always been, halfway across the room, his face pinched tight in a scowl. Nearby, Hopper had ripped a hole in space, her expression wary as she prepared to pass through to safety. Tinker was on the opposite side of the ballroom, now encased in a full suit of Artificer armor that had materialized from nowhere. Despite the battle form, his gaze was inquisitive, even fascinated, as he fiddled with his bionic eyes and stared toward Silver, Lady, and Terry.

The moment lasted for less than a blink, then a voice cut through it all, powerful, commanding, and terrified.

“Get your fucking hands off my son!”

Terry turned to see his father in full bone-armor, Skol and Hati growling at his side, their hackles raised. Beside him, the Emperor had also donned his armor, his scythe in his hands. But his burning green eyes seemed more subdued, bordering on annoyed, rather than afraid or angry.

In a flash of awareness, Terry realized Dancer’s stranglehold over him was gone. The message he had queued up in his mind had sent of its own accord.

[Terry]: Dad! Help!

[James]: You’re okay, son! This fucker just walked into a viper’s nest. We’re gonna get you back safe. Promise.

As he read his father’s reply, his eyes went wide.

[Terry]: Not from Silver! From Dancer! He tried to force me to reveal my Skills. His aura felt like it was going to kill me!

He sent the message, his eyes glued to his father’s, waiting for the recognition to register. The surprise, the quick glance toward Dancer, confirmed that he’d understood where the danger lie—or at least, that there was more than one dangerous foe present.

Silver’s face had never shifted in the few seconds that had passed, his small smirk flashing confidently as he regarded each of the powerful supers gearing up to take him on.

“Everybody calm down.” His voice was smooth, calm, like he were mediating a sibling’s dispute rather than facing down a handful of S- and A-ranked supers. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

The Emperor strode forward, his blackwood scythe held loosely in one hand. “Then why are you here? Announce yourself and unhand the girl.”

Silver glanced toward Lady, whose face was beginning to purple. He pursed his lips and relaxed his grip. “Sorry, dear, don’t know my own strength sometimes.” Her eyes flicked around, looking for help as Silver leaned in close. “Don’t do anything rash, yeah?” He nodded to emphasize the point.

She echoed his nod, her movements erratic, tinged with terror. Silver flashed her a beaming, white-toothed smile and let her go. Lady immediately recoiled, taking five frantic steps backward before rushing over to the safety of Tinker, who didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

During this, Terry had been watching his father, wondering how the man would react. He’d been glancing toward Dancer surreptitiously, then toward his own father. Terry got the impression a private conversation had been going on while Silver had been talking to Lady.

A moment later, a message rolled in.

[James]: I told the Emperor. Try to get away from the S-ranker. As soon as you can, shield behind the patches.

 

They can't possibly be considering a fight with Silver? I’ve seen what he can do, how fast he moved. Even if the S-rankers took him down, none of the A-rankers stood a chance of walking away from that clash, let alone me…

[Terry]: Dad, he’s the one that saved me from the draugr. You don’t need to fight!

[James]: He’s the interloper, Terry. Your grandfather has to defend his territory if challenged. All we can do is try to get to safety if it goes down that way.

Silver’s grip on Terry was loose, more of an anchoring than a tight hold. He felt that he could slip away if he wanted to—though he knew Silver could move faster than he could even track. But there was something about the man that comforted him—a familiarity in his grip that put Terry at ease. Maybe it was some sense of obligation from Silver saving him from the draugr. Maybe it was because the super had saved him from Dancer’s grip. Whatever it was, he felt it in his bones—Silver was one of the good ones.

The tension in the air was electrifying, each powerful super angling to either flee or engage, depending on their rank and powerset. Silver regarded the Emperor from behind his own mask, their eyes locked in what appeared to be almost a silent struggle—like children playing at a staring contest.

The frustration and annoyance suddenly boiled up from nowhere and he ripped out of Silver’s grip, turning to face the man. He kept his body close, hoping his presence would prevent the first blow from the amped-up supers.

“Silver, what’s going on?” Terry demanded. “I appreciate you saving me, but if you don’t explain in the next three seconds, I have a feeling some itchy-trigger fingers are gonna go off, killing me and anyone that isn’t an S-ranker.”

Silver’s eyes widened, his smile faltering for the briefest second, then returning even brighter.

“I appreciate your spunk, kid.” He turned his gaze toward Dancer, then the Emperor, then in a circuit as he regarded the room. “Like I said, I didn’t come here to fight.” His eyes cut back toward Terry now, pinning him in place with its weight. “I mostly came here to congratulate my grandson on his Awakening—” Terry’s breath caught in his throat. Silver seemed not to notice, his eyes tracking over the room again. “—and to say hello to old friends.”

With that, he reached up and pulled his mask off, revealing smooth skin, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. Terry gasped at the familiar features.

“Gunny?” the Emperor asked with a hint of surprise. “You’re alive?”

Silver shrugged casually, turning to lock eyes with Dancer before replying. “Back from the dead, you could say.”

For some reason, Terry’s mind couldn’t process everything at once. His grandfather’s recognition of the man, the name he used, the feeling of impending violence not quite dissipated despite everything. All he could think about were those words: my grandson.

“You’re mom’s dad,” he breathed.

Silver looked from Dancer to regard Terry with a sad smile.

“Penelope’s my daughter, yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything last time?”

Dancer’s voice cut across the room, causing Terry to flinch in surprise. “You’ve met each other before? Why am I just hearing this now?” That last question had been directed toward the Emperor, but Silver’s eyes never left Terry’s, anchoring his gaze despite the resurging terror he felt at Dancer’s words.

“Didn’t know you from Adam, kid. Like I said, been gone a while and got thrown into the shit. By the time I done did my research, you were safe and my Quests were pulling me away.” His gaze finally left Terry’s, sliding up toward Dancer with silver fire flickering in his eyes. “Looks like I came back in the nick o’ time.”

“Terrence, I asked you a question.” The aura in the room flexed and Terry’s head whipped around toward Dancer. The older man’s hands were clenched into fists, his eyes opaque balls of violet. Terrible power surged off the man, enveloping the entire room in a suffocating ocean of aura.

Terry’s grandfather didn’t react, his scythe still gripped loosely, his eyes burning embers behind his bone mask. But to his aura sense, the Emperor appeared in his mind like a rock weathering the storm, his aura held tight, a lone island defying the ocean. At his side, James held out his hand, gripping his father’s arm and combining their auras to keep from being dominated. Whipvine, Mesmer, and the other revenants joined them. Around the room, the other lower ranks were doing the same, connecting with or hiding behind their S-ranked leaders.

But the regular people weren’t so lucky. Those that had been too stunned to flee were now being buffeted by winds they couldn’t see. They lay curled up on the ground, clutching their heads, some even seizing before the onslaught.

Terry saw them suffering and felt his blood surge. Though he knew his power wasn’t even in the same realm as Dancer, that Silver’s aura was shielding him even now, the rage blinded him. The need to act infecting his entire body.

He took a single step forward, then stopped as a hand gripped his shoulder. He looked back to see Silver’s face—his mother’s face, though more masculine—staring back at him with that easygoing smile.

“I got this one, kiddo.”

Before Terry could respond, Silver blurred. In a blink, he was standing before Dancer. The waves of aura roiling off the man suddenly surged, turning to focus on Silver. They crashed into him and Terry felt himself holding his breath, waiting for the strongest S-ranker’s power to tear Silver apart. But as the waves converged, they didn’t seem to hit Silver, but rather absorb into him. The smile faltered, turning into a grimace, but his body stayed upright. The normies in the room stopped convulsing and Terry watched as they stumbled to their feet and fled. The powerful supers who had been bombarded by Dancer’s aura found themselves released from his grip, unharmed and clearly confused.

The man they had been ready to fight was now intercepting the leader who had been flexing his power over them. Terry understood the conflicting looks they were casting toward each other.

Through gritted teeth, Silver spoke.

“You…were always…a bully, Disco.”

The strain of his voice was mirrored by the sweat now beading down Dancer’s forehead. Though Terry couldn’t understand the battle being fought now, it seemed clear that it wasn’t a one-sided affair.

Dancer snarled, his hands clenching into fists at his side.

“And you…never knew…when you were…beat, Gunmetal.”

Gunmetal…holy shit! The revelation that his other grandfather was the long-dead super, Gunmetal, didn’t have time to percolate. There was a shift in the aura fluctuating between the two men. Silver closed his eyes, his face smoothing, like the pain had dissipated. To Terry’s aura sense, Dancer had been trying to drown Silver, suffocate him in aura the way he’d been doing to Terry earlier. But now, some sort of blockage released and the aura appeared to enter Silver’s body. He watched it pass through, turn, shift, then begin to cycle in a familiar pattern—a pattern stamped into his brain from hours of traumatic pain.

Silver was using Dancer’s aura to body temper…

Dancer seemed to feel the tide shift as well. His eyes went wide, his mouth gaping open. A thread snapped, the taut energy between the two men releasing with a sudden tear. Dancer stumbled away, his hand clutched to his chest. Silver stayed in place, but kept his eyes shut, the excess energy poised to tear his body apart if he didn’t properly direct it. Dancer seemed to recognize the moment of initiative.

“Strike now! While he’s distracted!” The words weren’t accompanied by aura like before. They sounded hollow, weak, devoid of import or substance. The lesser ranks seemed to want to obey on instinct; Surf stepped forward, then stopped when he realized Tinker hadn’t moved. Rocket scowled and crossed his arms,  while Hopper eyed her still-open portal with a look of longing.

Only the Emperor moved, his scythe held tight now in his hands. Terry’s eyes widened at the sight.

“No!” he cried, rushing to intercept his grandfather. Before he could interpose himself, his father was blocking him, holding him back. “Dad, no! Don’t let him!”

James looked down at his son, his bone mask dematerializing to reveal the face beneath. There was no fear or trepidation in those eyes. Instead, he regarded Terry with a steadying, confident look.

“Peace, Terry, peace. Your grandfather knows what he’s doing.”

Terry wanted to buck against his father’s grip, rip out of his hands to save the grandfather he’d only just started to get to know. The Emperor strode up toward Silver, too fast for Terry to break free, to do anything. That scythe hung heavy in his hands, the Emperor’s feet moving implacably, unstoppable, the grim reaper himself arriving to dispense death.

His heart clenched as waited for that scythe to pass through Silver, waited for it to cut that sole remaining tie to his mother. He wanted to scream, to cry out, but he felt removed from his body, a helpless observer, weak and impotent like always.

As the Emperor stepped before Silver, the man’s eyes opened and a soft smile touched his lips.

“Hey, T-Bone,” Silver breathed, his voice husky, laced with pain.

“Gunny,” the Emperor replied. Then he moved and Terry’s breath caught.

But the scythe didn’t pass through Silver, didn’t even move at all. It remained clenched between the Emperor’s hands as he turned to regard the room, before finally locking his eyes on Dancer.

“The party’s over.” His voice boomed out, creating a ripple of shock among the remaining supers. “Hopper, please escort those without transport back to their homes.”

Hopper nodded agreement, creating a series of portals with a flicker of aura. The other supers were more than happy to extricate themselves from the room, rushing toward their designated portals with enthusiasm bordering on panic. Only Tinker and Hopper maintained the dignity of their rank, stepping toward their portals casually.

“You host the best parties, Terrence,” Hopper said with a dazzling smile.

Tinker hesitated at his portal, turning one longing look toward the remaining supers. To Terry, it looked almost like regret, as if he were dissappointed he couldn’t study the powers fluctuating through the room.

With a sigh, his Artificer armor retracted and he stepped through his portal. Hopper was last to leave, flashing Terry a wink before disappearing.

Only the supers of Wichita, Silver, and Dancer remained.

The Emperor regarded Dancer through his bone mask, his eyes flickering embers, his scythe held at the ready.

Dancer’s face congealed in a snarl, his nose furling, his teeth bared.

“I would think you’d know better than to make an enemy of me, Terrence.”

Those cold, flickering flames regarded Dancer for a moment, then flicked over to Terry.

“You attacked an F-ranker at his own Awakening party. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“You know our deal—” Dancer started, but the Emperor’s voice cut across him.

“Worse than that! You attacked my grandson! Did you think I’d let that lie? Did you think there would be no consequences?”

Dancer snorted, the contempt writ clear across his face. “You’re quite brave with Gunmetal here. Wonder where this spine was for the last thirty years, hm? I control the western hemisphere, Terrence. Did you forget? Your backwoods bumfuck little town is an afterthought of the coalition I’ve assembled. Beg for forgiveness now, and maybe I won’t have it crushed out of existence.”

Terry was reeling from the shift in Dancer’s personality, so starkly different from the public persona the man presented. But judging by the cold look on the Emperor’s face, this wasn’t the first time the powerful S-ranker had flexed his power over the Free-City of Wichita.

The Emperor took a single step forward, his scythe held threateningly. Dancer’s eyes widened, his demeanor shifting in an instant.

“Don’t you dare.” The words sounded weak, even to Terry’s ears.

The Emperor took another step, nearly in range. Dancer’s aura flared out, but it was clearly drained, weaker than it had been a minute before. Terry’s grandfather faltered for a moment, then took another step.

Panic flashed across Dancer’s eyes. “You won’t last the day! Stand down, Terrence. Stand down and I’ll forgive this insult.”

“Death is inevitable,” the Emperor whispered.

The scythe arced back, slow and inexorable. Dancer’s aura flashed once more—not directed toward the Emperor this time, but outward, like a piercing clarion call to some unknown place. As the scythe began to arc forward, a man appeared at Dancer’s side, his eyes widening in surprise as he took the room in at a glance. As the scythe came for both the men, the newcomer’s aura flared bright and quick.

As the Emperor finished his swing, it passed through thin air.

Where Dancer had been a moment before, now, there was nothing.