Bet's Princess of Destruction: Chapter 2

The man and I stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. His eyes were wide, flicking between me and the blank wall behind me like he couldn’t quite process what he had just seen.

Internally, I was screaming. I had basically just outed myself as a cape the literal moment I stepped out of my apartment. What kind of luck was that?

But wait. I could fix this.

I had magic now. Honest to god magic. And one of the things that had been unceremoniously shoved into my brain was a variety of spells that were perfect for exactly this kind of situation.

I put on my most charming smile, tilting my head slightly as I regarded the man. “Hey there,” I said, my voice sweet and disarming. “How much of that did you see?”

The man’s eyes went even wider, if that was possible, and he took a hasty step back. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his body tensing as if he was about to bolt. “N-nothing! I didn’t see anything!”

He sounded like he was about to start crying. Great, he probably thought I was some kind of villain about to put him six feet under.

It was a bit weird but honestly understandable. Capes took the whole identity thing seriously. If I was some villain like Bakuda or—hell, even someone like Rune, he’d already be dead or in the trunk of a car to be fitted with concrete shoes.

Luckily, I was neither of those two. I had a much more practical solution to this issue.

“That’s good,” I said, keeping my tone light even as I raised my hand. “But just to be sure...”

Before he could react, I pointed a finger at him, sending a stream of magic directly into his eyes. It wasn’t anything flashy – just a subtle tendril of power that reached out and coiled around his mind like a gentle fog.

He flinched, his body jerking as if to run, but before he could take more than a single step, his jaw went slack and his eyes glazed over. The fear melted away from his features, replaced by a calm that was almost unsettling.

I manipulated my magic, prodding at the edges of his consciousness. It was weird, feeling another person’s mind like this, but the knowledge in my head guided me through it so I didn’t accidentally melt his brain or something stupid like that.

“You didn’t see anything,” I spoke slowly, implanting the suggestion deep into his psyche. “You were just walking to your car, minding your own business, and saw a girl standing by the wall, admiring the view. Nothing strange about that. Certainly nothing worth remembering.”

I lowered my hand and the man blinked slowly, his expression clearing as the glazed look faded from his eyes. He shook his head, clearing away the fog, before his gaze settled on me again. There was no recognition in his eyes, just the idle curiosity of someone passing someone else on the street.

“Nice jacket,” he muttered distractedly, before turning and walking away like nothing had happened.

I watched him go, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Okay,” I said to myself, shaking my head. “Note to self: check the peephole before you open the magic door.”

As he disappeared behind a row of cars, I turned and headed in the opposite direction.

The parking garage let out right next to the Boardwalk, leaving me pleasantly surprised as I stepped out onto a street hustling with tourists and locals alike. A line of stores and tourist traps stretched in either direction, so I picked one at random and began walking, hoping that I didn’t look too out of place.

As I strolled, I kept my eyes out for a newspaper stand or a poster – anything that might tell me when on the timeline I’d been dropped. It was the middle of the day so there were quite a few people around, eating or browsing, and I was honestly surprised at how easy the atmosphere was.

I guess things aren’t always awful. Even in good old Brockton Bay, I mused as I watched a pair of kids battle it out with some light-up toys under the watchful eyes of their parents.

The Boardwalk was nice, I had to admit. The sun was shining, the ocean air was crisp, and the people around me seemed genuinely happy. It was almost enough to make me forget that I was walking through a city that was essentially a ticking time bomb.

Almost.

As I strolled, I let my mind wander back to the knowledge that had been pumped into my brain. It was… a lot. An incredible array of abilities that could easily put me on par with the likes of the Triumvirate, given enough time to master them.

It was a bit arrogant to think, I knew that. But it was also a fair description, all thanks to the most important aspect of my abilities.

They could grow.

Every power in this world, every cape ability, was limited by the constraints of the Shard that granted it. They were tools with set functions, and could only break those restrictions under very, very specific circumstances. Even someone like Eidolon was forced to work within the constraints of his own failing power.

But my power didn’t come from a Shard and thus, wasn’t bound by the same constraints. The Power of Destruction was a bloodline ability, yes, but even that could be refined and strengthened with practice. As could my connection to my conceptual divinity, and all the other little tricks up my sleeves.

I had limits, certainly, but compared to pretty much everyone else on Bet, they were only a stopgap at best. With enough time and effort, I could shatter them.

I just needed time. Time to grow and master the incredible arsenal that had been dropped into my lap.

Though that begged the question: how much time did I actually have?

I was so lost in thought that I almost walked right past the crowd gathered near one of the storefronts. A flash of color caught my eye and I stopped, turning to see what had drawn everyone’s attention.

A woman in a porcelain mask was orchestrating a small army of stuffed animals, making them dance and tumble for the entertainment of a group of children. The kids were enraptured, laughing and clapping as a giant teddy bear performed an awkward pirouette, while a stuffed lion tried and failed to do a handstand.

That must be Parian, one of the few capes that got their power and didn’t immediately decide to go out and punch people in the face. I lingered at the back of the crowd, watching as the Rogue made a stuffed rabbit hop between the children, letting them pet it before it bounded away. The parents looked on with fond smiles, happy to see their kids enjoying themselves.

It was… nice. A reminder that even in a place like Brockton Bay, there were still moments of simple joy to be found.

I watched for a few more minutes before something else caught my eye. A small stand set off to the side, tucked between a pretzel cart and a souvenir shop. It was covered in an assortment of knickknacks – keychains, magnets, shot glasses – but what drew my attention were the postcards.

Postcards with dates printed on them.

I ambled over, trying to look casual as I flipped through the rack. Most of them were typical tourist fare – pictures of the Boardwalk, the ferry, or the giant oil rig in the distance. But each one had a printed date in the corner, a date stamp that would at least give me a ballpark for where I was in the timeline.

Which was… January, 2011.

“Uh-oh.”

I stared at the postcard, my heart sinking. January, 2011. That was only a few months before canon.

Did Taylor trigger yet? I tried to remember the exact timeline, but my knowledge was frustratingly spotty. I knew the broad strokes but none of what I remembered included exact dates.

It didn’t matter anyway. Even if she hadn’t triggered yet, I had arrived far too close to stop it. The Locker incident happened in the middle of a school day, and I didn’t even have a name to put on my new face, much less an identity that would get me into Winslow without being escorted out by whatever passed for security in that school.

“Hey, you gonna buy something or just stand there blocking my stand?”

The voice yanked me out of my thoughts. I blinked, looking up to find the vendor glaring at me with an expression that suggested I had personally offended him by existing in his general vicinity.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, placing the postcard back in the rack. “I was just browsing.”

“Well browse somewhere else,” he scoffed, gesturing vaguely behind me. “I’ve got other customers waiting.”

I glanced over my shoulder. There was literally no one else at his stand. The closest people were a family buying pretzels two buildings down, and they didn’t look like they had any interest in overpriced postcards and novelty keychains.

The vendor didn’t seem to care about the obvious lie, his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for me to leave.

“You know, for someone whose business relies on tourists, your personality could use some work, buddy,” I commented, putting the card back. I walked away before he could say anything.

I found a bench near the edge of the Boardwalk, overlooking the water. The Rig was visible in the distance, its forcefield shimmering faintly in the afternoon sun. A pretty view, but I ignored it as I tried to organize my thoughts.

Okay. January, 2011. What did I have to look forward to, assuming everything went as planned?

My mind raced through the events I could remember. Taylor’s trigger and subsequent debut. Lung. The Undersiders. The bank robbery. Leviathan’s attack on the city. The Slaughterhouse Nine. Echidna. And then… everything else.

Being dropped this close to the start of canon had some advantages. I could prevent some of the worst damage before it happened with a few words with the right people, but that came with its own set of risks. The butterfly effect was a very real concern. If I changed too much, what little information I actually had would quickly become worthless.

Then again, was that really such a bad thing? Most of the future I knew was awful. Deviating from it might not be the worst idea.

I tapped my fingers against my knees. One thing at a time.

The biggest thing I had to worry about was the inevitable end of the world. Specifically Scion going off the deep end and deciding that the best use of his godlike power was to wipe out the human race for funsies.

That was the endgame. Everything else – the gangs, the Endbringers, the Slaughterhouse Nine – was just a distraction compared to the golden idiot’s eventual breakdown.

And the trigger for that breakdown? Jack Slash. The charismatic monster who would whisper the right words at the right time and set off the apocalypse years ahead of schedule, if Dinah’s predictions were to be believed. Scion was destined to go off the deep end, but that man definitely wound the clock forward a few years.

Meaning that if I wanted to have more than a few years to prepare for Gold Morning, Jack Slash had to die. Preferably before he waltzed into the Bay himself.

“Because that’ll be super easy,” I muttered, watching the waves crash against the shore.

I’d read stories where the main character disregarded Jack as a non-threat, treating him like a joke because his power was simple on the surface. Those people were idiots. There was a reason he had survived for so long, and it wasn’t just because he had the Siberian on speed dial.

Jack Slash was a master manipulator. He’d been running circles around capes for years, turning allies against each other, predicting how people would react before they even knew themselves. His Shard gave him an almost precognitive edge in combat against other capes, to the point that it seemed like he knew what you were going to do before you did.

And that wasn’t even getting into the rest of his little family. Shatterbird alone had a kill count that probably exceeded the thousands and Bonesaw, despite being a literal child, could likely kill entire countries if she decided she didn’t want to be a ‘good girl’ anymore.

Still… that wasn’t to say I couldn’t do anything. The Slaughterhouse Nine were dangerous, yes. Arguably the most dangerous group of capes on the planet. But they weren’t invincible. They’d been driven off before. Killed? Not entirely. But they’d been beaten.

Out of everyone outside the Triumvirate, I was probably the most equipped to finish them off for good. My powers were more potent than most in the world simply because they weren’t being artificially limited by an eldritch space crystal latched into my brain. Jack Slash couldn’t manipulate my Shard because I didn’t have one, and I doubted Crawler would be able to adapt to a blast of pure entropy turning his slimy body to ash in a nanosecond.

Senjutsu could disrupt the internal functions of Bonesaw’s creations, potentially cure the various plagues she’d cooked up, and even find Manton in whatever hole he decided to crawl into. The rest – Mannequin, Shatterbird, and even Hatchet Face – would be non-issues with my magical arsenal.

But could I do it?

I glanced down at my hands. A small notion of will caused a flame to jump from my fingertips and crawl up the back of my hand. It settled on my knuckles and rose, taking the form of a tired cat curled up into a ball.

It opened its mouth, letting out a silent meow, and I smiled slightly at the sight before it quickly fell back into a frown.

I just got here and I’m already thinking about hunting down a gang of serial killers who murder cities for fun, I thought, making the fire change shape again. It’s funny. I don’t think I was suicidal before I wound up here.

But really, what was the alternative? I could hang around Brockton Bay, play their little games and be a hero or villain or whatever else took my fancy. It wouldn’t change the fact that eventually, shit was gonna hit the fan one way or another. Unless I stopped it.

I blinked as a ball rolled beneath my legs underneath the bench, brightly colored and clearly brand new. I watched it go, vaguely noting that it was heading straight for the edge of the pier where the railing had a gap.

I reacted before I even realized what I was doing, reaching out with a hand and sending an invisible stream of magic toward the roaming object. It stopped just inches before it could tumble over the edge and into the ocean, and I leaned over to grab it.

It was a simple thing. A cheap rubber ball with a cartoon whale painted on the side, the kind you could get at any dollar store. But for a moment, I just stared at it, turning it over in my hands.

“I’m so sorry!” a voice called out, and I looked up to see a woman hurrying toward me, an apologetic smile on her face. “She just threw it right out of her stroller. I don’t know what gets into her sometimes.”

Behind her, a little girl of maybe four or five was tugging at her mother’s hand, trying to get free. She had pigtails and a dress with little flowers on it, and her eyes were fixed on the ball in my hand with the desperate intensity of a child who had almost lost their favorite toy.

“It’s no problem,” I said, holding the ball out as the little girl finally broke free and ran up to me. “Here you go. Be more careful, okay? You almost lost it to the ocean.”

The girl took the ball from my hands, clutching it to her chest like a precious treasure. “Thank you, pretty lady,” she said in that shy voice that little kids used when talking to strangers.

I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s no trouble, really. You two have a good day, okay?”

“You too,” the mother said, already steering her daughter back toward the stroller. “Come on, your daddy said he’s almost here. And no more throwing your toys, young lady.”

I watched them go, the little girl chattering excitedly about ice cream and pretty ladies, the brush with tragedy already forgotten. The mother laughed at something she said, pushing the stroller with one hand while holding her daughter’s hand with the other.

They were happy. A mother and daughter, out for a nice day on the Boardwalk, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s company. They had no idea what kind of world they were living in. No idea that somewhere out there, monsters in human skin were cutting a bloody swath across America and would eventually make their way here. No idea that a golden god was a few whispered words away from ending everything they’d ever known.

I thought about the little girl and how she would grow up in this world, assuming she got the chance. What would happen to her when the Nine paid Brockton Bay a visit?

My hands curled into fists on my knees. The doubt that had been creeping through my mind evaporated.

Yeah. I was doing this.

I didn’t know if I could stop the end of the world. But I knew that I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing when innocent people like that little girl were counting on someone, anyone, to keep them safe. I’d figure out the details later. I’d train, grow stronger, make a plan, but one thing was for certain.

Jack Slash was going to die. And so was Scion.

And I was going to be the one to kill them.