End game...
In East Berlin, in a null-zone known for its gang warfare and ignored as thoroughly as possible by government, police and outsiders alike, was a particular apartment block. Sitting outside on the steps of this apartment was a pretty, long-legged girl with black hair and large amethyst coloured eyes. She was smoking a cigarette with a look of occasional disdain and slight confusion; she couldn’t understand why people enjoyed the habit. She persevered because she could shape the blue-grey spoke that spiralled up, shifting the molecules into patterns and so occupying her mind. Also the scent of coarse tobacco went some way to mask the scent of burnt hair, nail and bone that clung to her skin.
Her lips twisted unhappily. Things should not be kept in boxes - they should be allowed to live or they should be killed but they should not be shut in a box.
They had released the ghost-girl from her box; Mercy had held her torn and bleeding mind together as something that was in there with her clawed free and sent a building full of people into a killing fugue. Jenny’s flame had swept through the block, burning out the mental contagion. The ghost-girl had slept like the dead after that, and when they tried to wake her they discovered a dragon lived beneath her skin - a hungry and ill-principled dragon at that.
As the dragon spat barbed tongues at Jenny, and Ekaterina ran for a priest, Mercy realised two things. Firstly that the ghost-girl and her dragon had probably been put in the box by the Angel and that it would have - all losses considered - been more sensible to leave her there. Secondly that rescuing someone from a box did not necessarily set them free, and that even with all the healing in the world, some things were broken and could not be fixed.
The ghost-girl had been broken and unable to control her dragon - Demon the others called it. So Mercy had nudged Ekaterina’s mind closer to that strange external cross-shaped power she seemed so desperately to want... and now Mercy’s clothes smelt of white phosphor, burnt flesh and the stink of charred bone.
She scowled at her cigarette and the winged serpentine smoke that plumed from its tip. She wondered who had put the dragon in the girl and why - and why they had been so stupid as to think a girl would be strong enough to ride such a thing.
Her lips curled in the beginnings of a snarl. A week back at the warehouse there had been that moment of slipped control - of the world going black and red at the edges when she pushed herself too far. Had the Facility scientists placed a dragon in her mind or Dr Penhaligan a dragon in her blood? Would she lose control one day and become a Demon that was put down by prayer and burning or by the likes of Mr Smith? Ekaterina seemed to think so, Mercy knew; to her all psi were only a half step away from total insanity. She threw the last of the cigarette into the gutter with something approaching a growl. If there was a dragon hiding in her then she would fucking ride it and if anyone tried to lock her away or burn her then she would kill them...
She looked up. Erik was standing in front of her, his head angled forward and a little to the side: a rat with its whiskers twitching. She uncurled and stood in one fluid movement, stepping into the circle of his arms and closing her eyes as he snuffled at her neck.
He pulled back a little to look at her, his eyebrows knotted in a frown. *Why do you smell of dead burnt people?*
In the privacy of her own skull, Mercy twitched, wishing more than ever for a shower and clean clothes. *Tell you later,* she promised unhappily.
=====
The air was rushing past her face, causing her hair to stream back as the roof glass shattered around them, catching the new morning light like a snow storm on fire.
Nietzchean was there, Valkyrie standing at his side - good.
Her pupils shrank to pinpricks and then briefly flooded her irises as with a breath she synched herself into killing time. Another breath and a catch was released in her mind: she swept her arms wide and a psi-blade burnt into being in each hand, two swords forged of ultraviolet-white. She smiled, feeling complete again.
Nietzchean and the woman were blocked from view as parts of the building erupted into a giant serpentine head, rising to meet them and swallow them whole...
=====
A building with delusions of draconic godhood was not a match for psi-blades - and fell over entirely when Bombay Sapphire punched a hole the size of an APC through the side of its throat.
=====
Jenny blazed above Nietzchean like a beatific apocalypse. Bombay Sapphire looked displeased as two trucks failed to entirely squash Valkyrie... This was taking too long; Tötentanz and the woman with the gun were fast approaching. Mercy’s cold amethyst eyes watched Valkyrie and her mind calculated speed, vectors and probability in an instant of perfect stillness.
Bombay Sapphire was undeniably powerful, but she didn’t know how to fight. Winning was not a question of wielding trucks and chunks of masonry like oversized fighting staves, all the while shielding the target from the worst of the damage inflicted. What good was that? Winning was a question of knowing exactly where your target would be in three second’s time and - her left arm shot out, blade spinning back with a swift snap into a reverse grip - with the minimum of effort, placing death in their path.
There was a sound not unlike tearing silk and a fine spray of blood as Valkyrie’s spiralling flight path took her straight through Mercy’s psi-sword. Feathers, guts, legs and torso continued their decent, but Mercy paid them no attention: her sight was fixed on Tötentanz now.
His spears exploded against her shields with the force of a Coalition E-canon bombardment, and she knew that his weapons were as powerful as her blades - if not better. She focused on his golden mask and caused him to seizure with a thought. Sprinting now she closed the distance between them: sidestepped to the left and turned a half pirouette, her right sword raised to block, her left driven down and forward to lodge six inches deep in the front of his skull. She wrenched the blade out with a sweeping gesture, cutting further into his corpse and turning to concentrate at last on Nietzchean. She tried to cast her scathing mental eye on him and short-circuit his nervous system but failed as a gold and black spear almost pierced her shields and the force of it jagged a bruise up her spine. She spun, blades crossed in a parry and caught Tötentanz’s spears as he tried to drive them through her neck. Her teeth gritted; she took back her earlier thought that the psychics of this world weren’t up to much - it appeared Skull Boy was just overly resistant to death. She raised her left sword in anticipation of Tötentanz’s next strike and slashed down her right: the blade scored his chest but the wound healed itself almost as soon as it was inflicted.
From the corner of her vision Mercy saw Jenny reach out and take Nietzchean’s hand and stand at his side, her flames no longer burning him.
Zieth mon ecassa-te, she swore.
They had run out of time.
=====
Her strangled plea to Bombay Sapphire to kill Skull Boy NOW was not entirely successful. It would seem that when it got down to it, Bombay found killing almost as distasteful as Jenny did. But she did lift Tötentanz in a bubble of force and fling him across the city, which worked well enough, Mercy supposed.
A look froze Jenny; from there it was two steps, one sword stabbed down and the other slashed across. The first blade stuck in Nietzchean’s chest, pinning him for an instant as the second blade severed his head from his body. Mercy allowed herself a moment to watch Nietzchean’s head bounce and his body topple before turning to face Firebird.
She dived into Jenny’s mind; Firebird had no shields and no training and little defence even when she turned her thoughts to flame. They were not flame right now, they were falsely white and ordered, full of eagles and lightning bolts and crooked crosses. Mercy scythed through, searching for a piece of Jenny - a thought a memory - anything that Nietzchean hadn’t rotted entirely. She found them: memories of Jenny’s team mates from her own world, team mates who were not Arian, not pure and in one case not even heterosexual. Mercy grabbed them and held them tight, feeding them all the strength she could before releasing them like a storm of chaotic sparks.
From the corner of her eye and the corner of her awareness she saw that someone had thrown a large plane at Bombay Sapphire.
The sparks did their work, burning the propaganda and allowing Jenny to return to herself, her mind once more ablaze.
Mercy looked to see who had thrown the plane; a building or so away there was a woman hovering in a whirlwind of metal shards - her next target.
=====
She leapt; should she miss or fall she trusted both her reflexes and the legs Penhaligan made for her to save her from injury - it was only five floors after all.
The last orbiting fragments of metal impacted on Mercy’s shields as she sliced through. One sword moved in a vertical arc, sweeping away any resistance, its twin was spun forward a split second after to bite into the woman’s flesh where her shoulder met her neck.
Gravity did the rest.
As she continued to fall through the haze of blood Mercy’s arms opened and her feet aligned themselves for the impact to come; it was a supremely graceful gesture, like a gymnast at the end of their display.
Bombay Sapphire - still locked within her unassailable bubble of blue - was staring with an expression lodged somewhere between horror and disgust. Mercy felt neither emotion - the silly bitch shouldn’t have been throwing planes and trying to kill them - besides, the execution had been perfect, something pleasing in itself.
====
Jenny had burnt Nietzchean’s remains to ash and ensured the sniper who’d been lamped with a truck hadn’t died. Now (with unconscious gun-girl in tow) they flew across the city to where Elek called for them with the news that Ekaterina had fallen.
Mercy wondered if it had been Lee or Stone or someone new and whether Ekaterina was still alive...
And then as they skimmed the city streets she saw light glint off the ruined golden mask of Tötentanz. Surrounding him was a small crowd of White Nights, several swarming Rats and a number of still bodies.
At that point Mercy stopped thinking about the others entirely.
=====
There are times when being flown through the air at over seventy miles per hour is not fast enough.
=====
You are precious to me, she thought fiercely. You are becoming part of me, you complete me as my blades complete me. I do not want to lose you. I will not stand to lose you. If you are dead then I will make every and any one responsible weep blood until their hearts are dry of it... Es S’fallaen dah - I have said, it is so.
Is that love, Erik?
=====
Mercy did not share Tötentanz’s belief that he was unstoppable and unkillable. No one was unkillable; they were simply more resistant. With a couple of Rats gnawing at his legs and innards, a psi blade being twisted in his heat and another in his brain, Mercy was willing to concede Tötentanz was the most resistant target she had encountered.
He turned out however, not to be able to cope with the above after Elek grew spider mandibles and began to necrotize and consume his flesh.
The others appeared to be perturbed by this. Mercy didn’t really understand why. Tötentanz was dead and Erik wasn’t.
That was all she cared about.