Season content notes: violence
Crisp lines of grey-suited faceless ones stood ready for orders while the pink terror birds milled about and ruffled their feathers. Prince MourningDagger swept his gaze over the legions in his throne room from behind the monster skull mask he wore as a helmet. The room gave the appearance of being infinitely large despite fitting in the castle, and it held thousands of his minions.
Poniard and Falchion flanked him, their armor and livery crisp and flawless. His lieutenant knelt before him, and MourningDagger scowled. “And you learned nothing of the source of their power?”
“No, highness,” his lieutenant answered, “They don’t seem to know themselves.”
“Hm.” MourningDagger looked out across his legions, the gathered forces of countless conquered worlds. The greys and terror birds were only a fraction of the horrors he could bring to bear on a planet. This was not the first world to resist him. Not even the first world to challenge him. But few had as effective — or as mysterious — a defense.
A defense that, though his lieutenant claimed it was weak, had successfully imprisoned MourningDagger and a large number of his forces inside the damned shield that held the castle. Its shimmering, purpleish-gold power taunted, a constant reminder that this world had not fallen yet. Now, his enemies had fortified the shield he’d thrown so many resources into weakening. He’d lost forces to the task, certainly, but there were more where that came from.
But the lieutenant… Not only had he managed somehow to escape MourningDagger’s hold and fled to his enemies, but when MourningDagger finally recaptured him, he had learned nothing useful. He had no information for his time with the pathetic children. Not even names. Only what they called themselves in battle, and that would hardly be of use.
The clawed gauntlet covering his hand scraped against the stone armrest of his throne. Even the rustle of the terror birds quieted. All present knew not to disturb the Prince during his brooding. That he would win in the end was inevitable. Five children, no matter their magical abilities or powers, could not hold out against him. All he needed to do was take them out and…
Yes. That was it. He signaled his second in command to step forward.
Barely six feet tall and slight, Colonel Falchion stalked out of the darkness of the shadowed throne and his brown eyes shone with a cruel delight and hunger. His long fingers caressed the black-bladed sword MourningDagger had granted him as though it were a lover he could not bear to part with. Falchion’s silken voice held a lilting purr as he said, “How may I serve, my liege?”
“We must lure these pests out of hiding,” MourningDagger growled.
The lieutenant, still under MourningDagger’s eye, deliberately stilled, not wanting to give away any of his thoughts.
“Destroy them one by one,” MourningDagger continued, “You will take charge of the hunt. Bring me their heads, Colonel Falchion. I want them to decorate my trophy room.”
Falchion brought his mailed fist to his shoulder in a proper salute. “My honor, highness. I will have these pests for you before the moon turns.”
Mourningdagger stood and his legions rose as well, cheering and hailing him. Before him, forgotten, his lieutenant closed his eyes and sagged in despair. Falchion was coming for the team, and the lieutenant — no, the team’s Mentor — knew he’d never be able to warn them in time.
A plan. The team needed a plan. Unfortunately, while they scrambled their brains for anything resembling a plan, an alert went up about another attack.
“Should’ve expected it,” Mobb groused, “Of course, MourningDagger is going to have a tantrum after we got in his face.”
Astaroth nodded and golden light exploded through the room as the team triggered their transformations. Their civilian clothes exploded into glittering golden ribbons and reformed.
Mobb became Guns with her signature camouflaged fatigues and the magazine-less rifle.
Blade became Heals, the glittering ribbons reforming into his field medic gear with so many pockets of supplies it should be impossible. The neon vest let anyone who needed aid see him immediately.
Quickmoon settled to eir feet with eir greatsword strapped to eir back. Loose black pants tucked into calf-high boots, and a netted helmet tucked itself into a competitive swordsman’s padded tunic.
Salem’s track suit hugged her tightly, emphasizing the runner’s build, and giving that aerodynamic boost the helmet helped with.
Last of all, Astaroth’s robes fluttered into being, runes decorating the trim, and the golden shimmer retracted, now only covering Frontman’s face. He held out his hands, ready for the teleport. “Let’s go.” They joined together and a moment later, they were gone.
Captain Poniard was tearing up a five-way intersection in the middle of the city. Surrounding her were a mix of greys and pink ostriches, lifting and throwing cars, chasing people, knocking over streetlights, and causing general havoc. With a golden flash, the team appeared among them and Frontman immediately yelled, knocking the nearest monsters down and getting the attention of the rest. Sword moved in to tank the next rank of monsters. “Guns,” ey said, “Go high!”
Guns bounded up a fire escape, finding a perch out of the fighting. She knelt and immediately lay down cover for the team as Frontman and Sword waded into the enemies.
Speed began racing through the chaos, retrieving bystanders and racing away with them, following Heal’s directions to the nearest safe location.
From her position, Guns could see the entire intersection. Something struck her as wrong. She took a second look and asked through the team’s magical comms, “Where’s the rest of them?”
“What?” Frontman asked, using the word to blast a group of greys.
“The rest. Poniard never attacks without a couple dozen, and I’m seeing maybe fifteen here. Where are the rest?”
Sword took half a second to check the enemy count on eir helmet display. There were around fifteen monsters plus Poniard. “Guns is right, something’s off.”
Any further thought was cut off by a sudden surge of the enemy creatures. Almost as one, the monsters left off what they were doing to surround Frontman, Sword, and Heals with Poniard urging them on. Oddly, they didn’t immediately attack, instead seeming to hold back just out of reach of Sword’s greatsword.
Before Mobb could wonder what was happening, she heard a voice behind her, “Looking for us?” She whirled to see Colonel Falchion, flanked by a dozen furry monsters they’d never seen before.
Falchion’s sword flashed down. Guns tried to roll away, but the blade was faster. It stabbed through her leg, pinning her to the roof.
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