“I am, Soioiades, Demigod son of Soio, Father God of Intellect, the Inquisitive Mind. There is nothing too minute for him to dissect. The microscopic questions of our very existence is the work of light afternoon for him.”

  Rayna stared flatly at the demigod.

  Big and tall as it seemed they all were.

  She was neither.

  Although, she was taller and bigger than she had been before the whole spires and superpowers thing a long time ago.

  She was on the wrong side of fifty, though one couldn’t tell just by looking.

  Frankly, put a present day picture of her next to a college picture of her and even she couldn’t pick which was which.

  The thought of college made her sad.

  She had never finished.

  Sophomore year when the spires had appeared.

  They had made college a thing again, but she never had the time and it was hard for her to go in public without people noticing her. She sorta didn’t want to disrupt the learning for the other students.

  Maybe in another decade or two when her attempts to fade from public notice actually stuck?

  The demigod blathered on and on.

  His deeds, his father’s deeds or some such nonsense.

  They floated high above and a good distance away from her home territory.

  Somewhere over the desert.

  Death Valley.

  The edgy side of her chuckled at the fitting locale.

  Not that she had planned to just kill Soioiades.

  God!

  That was hard to pronounce.

  She raised a hand.

  “Look, Soyaids. I don’t get it. War is the furthest thing from something an inquisitive mind or whatever would be interested in, right? I mean, it’s all just a dick measuring contest. Me have bigger weapons, me have bigger dicks. Me take your stuff.” She shot the statuesque, male model-like golden boy a smile that she tried very hard to make not reach her eyes.

  No, she wasn’t being fair and accurate.

  The demigod floating on ribbons of gold light made male models look like ugly, awkward boys.

  Hell, she decided he made her look like an ugly, awkward boy.

  Not that she cared enough to hold it against him.

  Nope, the war though?

  The killing of her rangers and the murdering of her innocents?

  That she held against him like a red hot cast iron pan right to his perfect cheekbones.

  “Listen, young man.”

  Ha!

  The twitch of those perfect eyelids.

  Cal had told her everything she needed to know about the demigod.

  He was young as reckoned in demigod terms.

  Barely over a hundred, but that still made him twice her age.

  “Isn’t a peaceful exchange of cultures more in line with what a real inquisitive mind would be after?”

  “Once pacified we shall study you and your culture all the way down to the subatomic particles.”

  He actually turned his nose up at her.

  A familiar affection.

  She loved doing the same or she did back in those dark days.

  Nothing better to get a ‘superior’ male off his game than to treat them exactly like they tried to treat her.

  Granted it had never been fair.

  How many rapist cops, rapist gangs, rapists with guns, clubs and knives did she turn into spheres?

  It was a sad thing to say that she didn’t know.

  Cal could’ve helped her explore those memories. Get a full accounting.

  But, why?

  Rapists belonged in the dirt or burned into ash. Forgotten by all.

  In truth her conscience was more bothered not by the fact that she had killed them all, but by how she had done so and how she had presented herself back then.

  It had been straight out of her favorite anime.

  Straight like the edge of a blade wielded by a lord.

  At least she had never gone around in a black trenchcoat and fedora.

  Nope.

  Black hoodies, sure… but that was okay.

  Hoodies were normal clothes.

  Still were.

  Except, these days some had her on them.

  Now, that never failed to make her cringe and die a little on the inside.

  “Are you not paying attention to me?”

  Uh oh.

  Demigod was getting mad.

  “Sorry, Soyaids. I was just thinking about your father, Soyo. You know, with that name I would’ve guess he was the god of farming. Specifically, beans. More specifically, soy beans. Do you have soy beans where you come from?”

  That well-defined jawline tightened.

  Sharp enough to cut glass, as no one said.

  “But, anyways. I was thinking, is there a Mrs. Soyo? You know, your mother. Unless you came out of his head fully grown… did you spring out of his head fully grown?”

  “No!” he snapped. “I was born like any other!”

  “Okay, great!” She shot him her best smile. “How about you introduce me? Me and your mommy can talk, you know, really get things done cause as everyone knows it’s us women that really run things.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “You’re mocking me and I won’t be mocked by a mortal child. I was going to extol the virtues of service to my father, but clearly you need that smug arrogance beaten out of you first.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Okay. There it is. Hiding it behind those boyish good looks, but it always comes out when things barely don’t go the way you imagined in your simple little mind.”

  “I’ll—”

  “Whatever, dude. I’ve heard variations of what you’re going to say thousands of times. Teach me a lesson, show me the proper order of things, make me a sandwich, bitch, whore, slut, blah, blah, blah. It’s sad to say, but for me, all that language lost their impact decades ago. So, lemme tell ya sumthin’… I don’t gots the time to humor you, kid. Your people are killing my people and I can’t stop that until you’re out of the way. So, leave or die.”

  He smirked.

  “I will give you one thing though. I’ll make it quick.”

  She didn’t really want to go all the way, but the demigod’s profile wasn’t good.

  On the plus side, it meant that she wouldn’t feel too guilty.

  The only thing that gave her pause was her family and their reactions.

  Fed wouldn’t judge one way or another. He supported her regardless.

  Her dad would only care about her safety and such, but behind that warm gaze she just knew that it hurt him inside to know that his baby girl had killed a person again, evil notwithstanding. Despite, what she had told him repeatedly, he still took it as his own, personal failing. As if he was around to keep her from killing.

  Cal would say nothing or say the exact thing she needed to hear to make it not feel as bad as it could and, maybe should.

  She could picture Remy’s face on the spires messaging system. The tightness around the eyes. The clenched jaw. Anger. Not at her or what she had to do, but at the idea that she had to do it at all. Then he’d relax and tell her that he was glad she was the one remaining.

  Eron would tell her ‘good job’ and maybe high five her or do some stupid hand shake-slap thing he made up on the spot. Then he’d clumsily take her out for ice cream like she wasn’t a grown ass woman.

  Her mom would be the worst about it. She would just be so super sad about it and cry.

  “Insolence must be taken in hand.”

  As last words went, she was sure the demigod would regret them had he time.

  She generated a microscopic black hole right above Soioiades golden helm.

  The spaghettification was as quick as it was disturbing to watch.

  She had never done it to an actual person before, just monsters or monster that looked like people.

  Hopefully, it was painless.

  Then again she remembered that theory about how time slowed down the closer one got sucked into a blackhole.

  The demigod vanished with one last faint pop of golden light.

  Rayna got rid of her microscopic singularity and turned her gaze back to her territory.

  …

  She turned her comms back on.

  Had to mute it to give the demigod her complete focus.

  She thought several very bad words.

  The Americans had sent their worst terrorists after innocent people.

  Berserker Company.

  The good news was that rangers, guardians and ordinary people had already managed to kill most of them.

  The worst news was that the Berserkers had killed hundreds first.

  Soldiers and fighters talked in terms of things like kill ratios and such.

  She knew that they only did that to push themselves away from the emotional toll it’d take if they acknowledged the cosmic truth that said those ratios involved lives.

  It was easier for the weak-minded to think of lost lives in terms of numbers. That way they never had to confront the fact that their lives and those of their loved ones could just as easily have been included.

  The last few Berserkers were on the run.

  Not to escape, but to murder as many noncombatants as possible before their deserved ends.

  She flew faster, breaking through several walls of air as she split the relative quiet of the desert night.

  Death Valley receded quickly.

  The beaches of Southern California loomed larger with every blink.

  Blood-soaked American soldiers killed her rangers.

  Her rangers killed American soldiers.

  Harpies swooped down to attack, but she left them behind for later.

  A handful of bloody trash managed to kill the last ranger defending the emergency shelter.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  One rushed to the steel blast doors with a disgusting head in his hands.

  He never got the chance to do whatever it was he wanted with it.

  Rayna acted quicker than a snap of the fingers.

  Gravity fields around each Berserker crushed them into tiny spheres of blood, flesh and bone.

  “No more Berserkers,” she said into the comms. “Clearing the sky.”

  She had more empathy for the harpies.

  The winged-armed women fought and killed, but they didn’t do it with cruelty.

  So, instead of killing them, Rayna gathered them in her gravity fields as she flew.

  Angry glares greeted her along with razor feathers, spells and other nonsense.

  All their attacks simply orbited her like insignificant space debris circled the sun.

  “Your war’s over. You are all officially my prisoners. After a— God willing— short imprisonment period you will be returned to your world of origin or if you’d rather not fight, kill and die for a bunch of pretend gods, you can go to your world of choice or maybe even stay here?”

  She didn’t mention that only those that didn’t do war crimes would get those options.

  The war crime-ing ones would get trials.

  The punishment would depend, she guessed, on what their victims ultimately wanted.

  It was all too complicated and a pain in the butt for her, which was why she was going to do her best to keep her distance from the process. She had to trust it, you know?

  Next, she plucked the few remaining American soldiers like they were harmless ladybugs swarming all over her picnic basket.

  They got the same speech, minus the sending them to other worlds.

  The monsters did not get the same speech.

  They got smooshed into the ground or flung into space.

  “It’s clear. Only monsters left. It got rid of the worst ones. Gonna take these guys to jail. Then I’m heading back. Hang in there. Call me if another emergency pops up.”

  She waited for the affirmative response before muting her side of the comms so she could sigh and curse.

  She’d much rather watch over her home than fly all over everything north of Mexico taking care of all the crap the demigod had set loose, directly or indirectly, at every little settlement that had the balls to tell him and his American lapdogs to fuck off.

  What she tried not to think about was the little Boy.

  The tiny devil of doubt whispered things in her ears.

  Bad things.

  Unspeakable things.

  The thought that for all their powers they had failed plenty of times before.

  That sometimes evil won.

  Aystin Black.

  Approximately six months into puberty.

  No class.

  Yes! Superpower!

  No! Weird superpower.

  He could shot green eye beams that did one thing, but with infinite possibilities, theoretically, that is.

  He was also stronger, faster and more durable than any toothpick-thin twelve year old had any right to be.

  Not that it helped him currently.

  Real battle wasn’t at all like in the media he consumed.

  Not at all like the training he had to take.

  The training that his parents argued about.

  Mom thought that it was the bare minimum.

  Dad hated the idea that Aystin was being prepared to do violent things.

  Both closed ranks when it came to his dream of joining the rangers.

  Not a chance.

  He tried settling for the SCSDF, but nope.

  Not okay with them either.

  He knew better than to suggest adventuring if those two were nonstarters with them.

  Well… it wasn’t all bad.

  He could always wait till he hit adult age to do whatever the ferk he wanted.

  Bullets punched through the brick wall he had just scrambled over like a squirrel with, well, a squad of American soldiers on its bushy tale.

  Aystin’s eyes were bright.

  Green to be exact.

  The power he had about three months worth of practice with.

  Brick bits showered on his head as he pressed himself as low to the damp, unpleasant smelling alley ground. It was just like his mom’s stupid dog whenever Joshua rolled around in the mud.

  “Ferk it,” he muttered.

  Why did he think it was a good idea to sneak away from his parents right before they had entered the emergency shelter so that he could ‘help’?

  He had, like, three months of training.

  Those first couple of training sessions with Mr. Cruces were awesome and Aystin felt like he had learned a ton.

  Almost like the ten hours or so was actually more like ten weeks.

  No, that wasn’t the problem.

  His real problem at the exact moment and situation he had stupidly ran into was that Mr. Cruces gave him body armor that would’ve made the bullets nothing to worry about and it was still in his closet back home.

  Ferking rules were going to get him shot.

  Parental controls?

  What kind of dumb idea was that?

  He loved his mom and dad, despite the ways they tried to keep him being a lame, weak, loser, weirdo.

  And they were way too strict about the bad words.

  It wasn’t like he was doing actual curse magic, which some of the kids in his school tried to do.

  Fortunately, the teachers were on to that and could easily counter the one in a hundred attempts that actually did anything more than make another kid sneeze or itch like crazy for a few seconds.

  The fart curse was really bad and funny, though.

  For some reason the teachers never did anything about the smell.

  He guessed they were punishing the curser too by forcing them to smell it with the rest of them.

  However, he questioned his parents’ wisdom in not authorizing him to wear the armor on account of not wanting him to get any ‘bad ideas’.

  Mr. Cruces had said it was for emergencies.

  An enemy invasion seemed like a textbook emergency to Aystin.

  The loud pops stopped.

  Bits of brick stopped falling on him.

  He stupidly risked a peek through the fist-sized holes.

  Instinctive reaction due to training saved him.

  He activated his power.

  Nature beams.

  An unofficial name given by Mr. Cruces.

  The spires called it something else, but Aystin didn’t trust the spires like his mom and dad taught him.

  Green light poured out of his eyes, turning the burst of bullets that would’ve torn his face open into falling tree leaves.

  Oak from the look of them.

  The beams kept going, hitting the American soldiers.

  Sadly, they didn’t turn into leaves.

  That would’ve been cooler.

  Instead, their guns or body armor and clothing turned into tree branches.

  Rough bark underwear must’ve hurt, but it was far from ending the fight.

  The thing was Aystin couldn’t control what his eye beams did.

  Plus, they had a cool down that grew progressively longer the more tired he got.

  And he was really tired.

  So, all he could do was get up and run down the alley.

  Running like a rabbit with wolves on his fuzzy little heels until he realized that the Americans weren’t trying to shot him in the back anymore.

  Running right into a monster that was five times his size with five times as many mouths as him with five times as many teeth, which were all about as long and sharp as the useless fighting knife on his belt.

  Thanks to his mom and dad for not allowing him to carry a gun like all his friends.

  Luckily, his power had recovered enough so he hit the scary thing with his green glare, which encased it inside a dome of thorny vines.

  Then he ran some more, until a battered ranger squad at half-strength had finally tracked him down.

  Harsh words were had.

  Well, he had them from the rangers, then his parents when the supercool men and women brought him to the emergency shelter.

  Thus, Aystin was grounded indefinitely.

  He wasn’t even mad.

  Upon self-reflection, he got it.

  He had been very, fucking stupid.

  …

  Corporal Stevens.

  First and middle name classified. Sealed under a general’s orders.

  He had run afoul of a witch a while back.

  Had assassinated her mother, also a witch.

  They had refused the generous offer to be welcomed back into the warm American embrace.

  They would’ve gotten the daughter too had a bunch of other witches not shown up in a tornado of black feathers and the mocking caws of the demonic ravens they no doubt fornicated with under the full moon.

  Long story short, a curse had landed on his face a few months later.

  Would’ve eaten him up from the inside in a very painful and gruesome manner without the counter spell from proper American witches.

  Unfortunately, his side wasn’t quite as strong, leveled or just plain skilled.

  Thus, no more first and middle name.

  The curse was bound to them and locked away in a folder placed in a safe somewhere.

  He didn’t know, didn’t care as long as he got to keep living.

  The whole thing had left a bad taste in his mouth like pure garlic.

  It struck the confidence for a vampire to get worked like that by simple witches.

  Which was why he was glad for the chance at some payback.

  His small, special forces kill team was on the hunt.

  A small coven of witches said to have ties to the ones that curse him.

  Whether that demigod intel was any good was another question.

  He had doubts.

  Those guys set off his bullshit alarms every time he had ever interacted with them face to face, which could, to be fair, be counted on one hand.

  The coven had set up in a sprawling Spanish ranch-style home in some hills with a nice view down to the beach a few short miles away.

  Rumor was they had all sorts of orgies, but not the fun kind.

  The kind with blood, piss and shit. With devils and demons and spirits.

  He didn’t know the truth of those one way or another, but he hadn’t ever seen devils. As for demons and spirits. He had fought and killed some, the latter, obviously. The only demon he had ever laid eyes on was in a vid recording of a slaughter. He had decided at that moment to stay away from demons until at least Level 50.

  “Moving into position. Find us a way in, corporal.”

  He could hear the disgust in Lieutenant Commander Janson’s voice.

  Bible thumpers didn’t tend to like him on account of the vampire thing.

  Or, it might’ve been the Black thing.

  The lieutenant commander did have a lot of double lightning bolt and iron cross tattoos.

  Vampire Stevens didn’t bother responding.

  He was only loosely under the regulars in the chain of command.

  The shadows split as he dived into them.

  It would only be a simple, cautious look at first before he—

  “Portents and promises, hmm… blood and biscuits, hmm… Ah! He wakes!”

  Corporal Vampire Stevens tried to surge into violence, pushing the vitae into speed and strength or celerity and potence as it was written in his stats page.

  “Tut, tut, young one. Mind your surroundings.”

  Nothing.

  He failed to move.

  “Bound in chains of silver and salt.”

  “The latter is more metaphorical. It’s more of a salt circle, but that’s a gross oversimplification. The ritual circle is quite intricate and precise by necessity. Otherwise you have the levels to just kick it away. And that would be the true tragedy considering how long it took me to draw. Do you know how hard it is to draw precise, intricate patterns with salt?”

  He couldn’t see anything except blurred movement, like he was staring into a shower door’s frosted glass.

  Chains tinkled as tiny stars flashed in front of him.

  “Hmm… no effect. I shall try the Star of David next.”

  The witches, he presumed, seemed to be bustling around him.

  Humming what sounded vaguely like a children’s song that his grandmother used to sing to him.

  He tried to yell at the offensive appropriation.

  “None of these symbols are working.”

  “Maybe he’s an atheist?”

  “You have to believe too.”

  A third voice.

  Older, wizened, cracking with effort and pain.

  “Let’s get this over with, ladies. Before questions are asked.”

  His supernatural senses instantly picked up the soft surge of magic.

  Night given tangible form for a moment.

  Suddenly, his eyes could see again.

  He scanned what he could, but caught nothing.

  Outside of his salt circle everything was black as the shadows.

  Shadows that weren’t responding to his desperate calls.

  The witches stood in front of him.

  Four of varying heights and sizes, but smallish women all.

  Their pointy, wide-brimmed hats cast their faces in shadow as well, only revealing eyes and teeth made all the whiter by the contrast.

  “Nice trick. Seen it before. Ain’t that scary. Wh—”

  “The place you attempted to invade. Our home here in this land. We are witches of Wytchraven’s Coven, but you already knew that. A ritual for you and one other. Justice. Now. That should answer your five questions.”

  The ancient-sounding witch smiled. It reminded him of his grandmother, which further made his blood boil. But, instead of strength and power there was nothing.

  “Forewarned is forearmed. Your coming was prophesied. A small etching in the greater relief for all but one.”

  One of the other witches stepped forward.

  “Vampire,” she spat. “You thought you could come in the shadows again? Stab us in our beds? We, I, was ready this time, you weak-willed leech! We followed you from the moment you crossed the walls. The only hard part was not getting you mixed up with all the other supernatural creature class-types running around out there. I want you to know, leech, that you were doomed the moment you murdered my mother. Favors given and favors called. Don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence that you were the one sent on this Quest?”

  She cackled, sending shivers up his spine in a way that rarely happened after he passed Level 30.

  He was a vampire. He was the one that made other’s spines crawl.

  “Before you die, I want you to know that someone on your side betrayed you.”

  “Tut, tut… remember, ethical harvesting. Corporal Stevens is still a human being and as such deserves some level of respect, regardless of his unsavory and unethical actions over the years.” The chubby-looking witch laid a hand on the angry one’s shoulder. “It took quite a lot of negotiating to get this opportunity. We do not want to make Mother Raven look bad, do we?”

  “Before we start, leech, I want you to know that no one’s coming to your rescue. The traps that caught you killed your entire team.”

  Corporal Stevens couldn’t see the witch’s face, but her hatred sounded too genuine.

  He was sure that she was that one witch that got away after he had killed her mother.

  “I just did my job. Do your worst. But, I’m not begging or apologizing. You wouldn’t take it anyways. Not that I would if one of you killed my grandma.”

  “We’re going to use every part of you. But for things better than mindless assassinations. Your teeth, nails. Your blood. Your bones we’ll grind to dust. Even your skin. A witch must be ethical and use every part, after all.”

  A feral grin split her shadow-shrouded face.

  Teeth as bright as a full moon in the night shined down on him.

  “For my mom.”

  It sucked to be ritually harvested for parts, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

  At least the witches kept their word and weren’t sadistic about it.

  Kill or be killed.

  He had lived by that motto and so he died by it.