Chapter Text
The Blood God was known to, through everything, survive.
An immortal walking the Earth; one set on terrifying and slaughtering those who spent their lives doing the opposite, like some malignant demon. In the end, the name Blood God was fitting. As much as Techno was initially opposed to the name, it grew on him.
Names were powerful. And the more power others believed he had, the more powerful he was .
As a result, his abilities had always been scrutinized.
Some said he was a blood controller. That the heroes had no way to defend against themselves , so his method of killing was derived from taking control; or, rather, bleeding them dry. He liked to aid those theories by spilling a little more blood than what was necessary, painting it on the walls and letting it trail down windows for the neighbors to witness.
Others said he simply had extra-tough skin. Impenetrable by weapon and flame, allowing him the advantage of a shield without ever physically wielding one. That he supported too; wearing extra armor beneath his villain attire and letting the opponents land an extra few hits if a witness happened to be nearby. It was entertaining to see their shocked expressions as weapons rebounded from his arm, leaving nothing but a hidden bruise behind.
But, as assuming as it was to see the media think they landed “concrete proof” about his abilities, there was one that had always been his favorite.
“-people forget that the Blood God could easily be an actual God ,” the theorist had enthusiastically said while on the news. Their eyes gleamed with pride—as though they were let on a secret everyone else was excluded from. “I mean, we’ve seen proclaimed god-sent followers before, especially in villains like Paralysis—thank Prime that man is in prison now—or even in Spectre . Who’s to say that this person isn’t an actual deity? They certainly seem to be immortal. I doubt anyone with superpowers would be able to do what the Blood God has done, especially this unscathed.”
The voices found that particularly funny. Techno did too, until their amusement started to give him a headache.
But, in the end— aside from all of the theories and rumors, all of the faulty attempts to make him appear fightable, if only to give the city hope—Techno’s abilities, for the most part, were very underwhelming.
“It says on your file you have enhanced strength and speed,” Acheron noted from beside him, checking his watch with an emotionless tone. “How much of that is true?”
Techno shrugged. His pink hair, tied in a loose-–and very messy-–braid behind his head, fell down to the middle of his back. He’d finally been able to shower last night, once he’d finally assured himself that the room wasn’t rigged with any mysterious traps, and his hair had already regained its previous shine. Even if the roots were far more grown out than he’d initially allowed, he doubted any more blood would stain it for a long while.
The pink was vibrant against the dull grey of his training uniform—an outfit that, as reluctant as he was to try it on, proved to be much more comfortable than the same clothes he’d been wearing during the entirety of his imprisonment. Pockets lined almost every inch of the lightweight fabric, complete with a sewn-in belt that was perfectly fitted for weapons and any emergency suppressors. Matching grey boots were soundless on the training room floor as they paced along the side of the room, the soles built to build traction without revealing one’s location.
The heroes, as Techno had learned, were much more careful than he’d originally suspected. Everything they created–every uniform, every weapon, every unimportant protocol–carried a purpose; specifically, one that explained how the powered individuals had remained in power for so long.
The training room was a prime example of their intelligence. And, in truth, it was far more magnificent than he could ever have pictured.
The region must have been the length of a football field, if not even longer. Pillars stretched alongside the corners, supporting the ridiculously tall roof, multiple other platforms hung from the ceiling in what he assumed to mimic precarious fighting situations. Stacks upon stacks of weapons lined every wall, perfectly polished blades glimmering with unique enchantments that practically screamed to be tested. Screens were installed on the shelves that held the lethal swords and axes, each listing the details of their specific enchantments and the drawbacks their power held. Directly across from them sat an even larger assortment of weights, all increasingly labeled with bizarrely large numbers and matching warning stickers.
And, as though the excess of options weren’t enough, the floor itself was strange. Numerous textures created a grid along the floor, each region sectioned into squares—ranging from pebbles to grass to a literal pool—, no bigger than Techno’s own room. Even from his distance, he could see areas where flames had torn through the artificial wilderness or a sword had cracked previously flawless tile. In one corner, a hero seemed to be repairing a section, holding their hands to the ground as rock shifted back into its pristine form, void of cracks and char marks. Acheron strolled through it with a practiced ease, noting Techno’s muted awe out of the corner of his eye. Techno quickly looked away.
To the far north of the room, so distant Techno couldn’t make out what the signs above read, mock business rooms, parks, and even living rooms were planted into the wall, crafting perfect demos for utilizing the environment in battle. A copious amount of buttons were placed on the floor in front of them, each glowing a unique color with casing covering them—a casing that Techno already wanted to break, if only to see the extent the hero’s training technology reached. Matching devices lined the weapons wall, a large screen hung over them with a spinning Agency logo occupying the blank TV. And while the room was empty right now, it was easy to tell why some were so eager to join the heroes.
Something like this would be irresistible to the teenagers they brought in. Naive ones who knew nothing about who they were fighting for; the people they were prosecuting without mercy or hesitation. It looked like something straight out of a sci-fi show, not like a mechanism crafted to turn the “superpowered” into weapons.
But, in truth, he still had to applaud the creativity of the designs, even if it simultaneously disgusted him. Regardless, he could only imagine the different training sections they had for unique powers, the thought exciting him like he was a kid back in the orphanage, reading a worn book about deadly sharks. The dangerous atmosphere the room had the capability to produce was enthralling, not just to him, but to the voices within.
A part of him was excited to train here.
Another part of him wanted to grab the closest weapon and cleave it through Acheron’s skull.
The second part was always far more logical.
Techno fidgeted with the hem of his uniform as the Acheron came to a stop in a gravel section, his previous hero attire now gone. In it’s place, he wore a uniform very similar to Techno’s; the only difference being a slightly darker shade of grey and a few patches on the sleeves, each no doubt signs of his importance. His wrist was wrapped in a fresh bandage, a cast hidden beneath, matching the thin bandaging around slightly dull wings.
He didn’t say a word as he pressed a button on his watch–now moved to his uninjured hand, Techno noted with satisfaction–without a glance at the screen; as though he were attempting to be discreet. He glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
Right. He was waiting for an answer, as though he had any right to be questioning him in the first place. Like Techno had to respond.
Fuck him.
“I don’t have ‘enhanced’ anything,” Techno rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need superpowers to kill any heroes. My fighting was enough to take most of them down. And would’ve killed you too, if you forget, Acheron.”
Acheron sighed, pressing another button on his watch. Despite it being the crack of dawn, the hero didn’t seem exhausted; merely exasperated at Techno’s unwavering incompetence. Techno watched him like a hawk, but didn’t comment on it.
“You’ve been a villain for years. To have even learned to fight like that, you would’ve needed an ability of some sort to keep you alive, mate.”
“And if I didn’t?”
“Then you would have to be inhuman. And clearly, you aren’t a hybrid.”
Techno shrugged, if only to be disagreeable. The voices applauded that, their constant surge of death threats occasionally pausing to scream insults at him.
“Besides,” Acheron crossed his arms. “I’ll know the truth soon enough.”
As if on cue, the door they had entered through opened again. Techno whirled around, already tensing into an instinctual fight stance.
And The Captain casually stepped into the room.
The Captain, otherwise known as Hero Number Six. A figure who specialized in public appearances and worked on par with emergency response organizations, always broadcasted with her carefully controlled features pulled taut as she spoke about the number of vigilante-related injuries and how, yes, the Agency had it under control, and, yes , their heroes were fully capable of keeping the public safe. She proved to be the top image of the Agency, every word she spoke carrying the pillars of humanity the heroes were taught to value above all. In the public eye, she fell just below Acheron, even if she didn’t match in rank.
But here, she looked nothing like she did on a TV screen.
No, those didn’t do her confidence justice.
Long, curly hair–the colors split and dyed in a rainbow of colors–was pulled into a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck, nothing like the light and airy buns she wore while reporting, but this time, actually intended for a warrior. A matching iridescent cape dragged behind her, casting metal walls in a shimmering wave of color with each step she took. A few scars dotted her face– scars that Techno was fairly certain they edited-out on TV–that drew her features into a permanent frown, tugging down glowing eyes and a determined set of brows.
Her presence was joined by a set of twin swords hanging on her back, the handles wrapped with a deep red grip, matching the red patches on her uniform; some identical to Acheron’s own, others unique.
The heroes inclined their heads to one another in greeting, the Captain’s gaze lingering on the injured state of Acheron, but she didn’t bother commenting on it. Instead, her eyes snapped to meet Techno’s, unflinching despite the way they mutely glowered, structinizing him in the same way all of the other heroes were clearly trained to. Whether as a method of intimidation or a true attempt of insight, the villain couldn’t decipher.
“Blood God,” she inclined her head in the same way Acheron had to her. Her voice was level as she spoke, empty of the same apprehension that the elder spoke with. “I would say it’s an honor, but it's truly the opposite.”
The Captain was surprisingly formidable in person, even if her height did fall short of his own. He smiled in the same way he had when guards had shown up at his door that morning, each roughly grabbing him by the arms and dragging him to the training room. It was not a look of humor, but of speculation.
I know you and I’m not afraid, his face read. But, rather, “The honor is mine,” was his only clipped response.
A scarred face matched his grin, a few strands of rainbow-colored hair falling in front of the hero’s face. There was silent anger there, as there was in everyone’s face when they confronted the person who’d killed their friends–perhaps even their apprentices–but the Captain’s was more disguised than most. She was more calculative than the Number One Hero, but Techno could still tell she was itching to punch him in the face.
He could hardly blame her, but then again, the feeling was mutual.
“Very well.” The hero cleared her throat, breaking the eye contact. She began walking to the stack of weights only a few yards away, but the room projected her voice far enough to be clearly heard. “According to Acheron, the Agency suspects that your powers are enhancements more than actual…unique abilities, like some others may assume.” She didn’t bother to read the size of the weights before picking up a set of two, each bigger than her torso. Her arms didn’t dare waver as she approached them yet again, not a sign of struggle evident in her form.
She stopped a matter of feet from Techno, dropping one to the side and letting it roll without bothering to halt its course. Instead, she looked at Acheron, a silent message in her gaze.
“I don’t have abilities, I’m afraid,” Techno said tonelessly, though he narrowed his eyes at the rocky-textured weight. “And I can’t pick that up, despite how much the Agency is determined to believe I need powers to kill half the heroes in this facility.”
From here, he could easily read the bright red ‘four hundred’ labeling the side, contrasting to the scary ease that the Captain picked it up with; the same ease that she now used to hold it at shoulder-height. She didn’t show any sign of disconcertion at Techno’s casual remark.
“I know you can’t,” the hero shrugged, cocking her head to the side. And she didn’t try to make him.
Instead, she threw the entire weight directly for Techno’s head.
And suddenly, there was an object that could easily crush his skull barreling for his head with enough force to tear through the floor.
Techno didn’t think before he acted, even while he felt time slow down around him. His hands reached out before he registered anything, grappling around the rough edges of the weight for purchase as gravity swung it down to his neck. He regained a hold on it just seconds before it hit him, the hundreds of pounds landing in his grip easily, his knees only slightly buckling as he caught it just as deftly as Captain had thrown it; just milliseconds before it smashed his brains into a pulp on the granite floor.
His breath fell out of him in a single gasp, his arms momentarily burning before the voices numbed it to a dull, distant pain.
For a moment the room was quiet.
The next, Techno tossed the weight onto the floor with a muffled slam, uncaring for the pebbles that sprung up from the force. A few hit the Captain on the legs, but she paid them no mind, too busy fighting the small smile building on her face. Acheron studied him with an equal amount of humor, arms still crossed even as the sudden burst of adrenaline faded from Techno’s body.
“Interesting, that lack of powers you have,” the rainbow-haired hero shrugged, as though she hadn’t almost just killed Techno with a simple attempt to prove him wrong. Gone was the previous tension in her face, vanishing with a simple display of the powers that had earned her the title ‘Captain.’ “A shame you were lying. I was almost hoping that Schlatt’s little hunch was wrong, but alas.”
You almost killed me , Techno wanted to say, but, upon realizing how stupid the words were, immediately withheld them. It was embarrassing, how much a simple action had left him feeling lost. How quickly he had been defeated by two heroes, even if they were each in completely different ways.
For fucks sake, he was supposed to be killing these people, not letting them throw weights at him so they could win their small victories. He was supposed to be murdering and slaughtering like the voices called for, not listening to their pipe dreams of rehabilitation and peace . Not speaking to the number six and one heroes with a trace of civility. Not any of this.
He was supposed to be killing in the night, laughing with Tommy and Wilbur during the day-
He silenced that thought before it could progress. Truly, the number of times their names sprung up in his head was beginning to annoy him, especially after they’d equally revealed their true colors as traitors . As the same people he needed to kill, if only to appease the rampage within his mind.
But, as the Captain had so eloquently said: alas .
That didn’t mean his ego wasn’t wounded, however.
Techno grit his teeth, saying nothing as the Captain smiled at him. He had long learned to admit his defeats, and this was a battle he wasn’t meant to win. He would reclaim his victory when he had the opportunity to finally kill the hero, but today was not that day.
The Captain, unaware that Techno had just mentally signed her death warrant, continued.
“But at least that proves you do have enhanced strength and speed, which the Director will be pleased to know,” the Captain nodded to Acheron. “I assume he falls underneath Class B when it comes to strength, but a higher level on speed, based off of his reflexes. Maybe even heightened vision or hearing, but I doubt a certain someone will make testing that convenient for us.”
Acheron nodded with a careful look in his eye, one that the villain couldn’t piece together. “That leaves a matter of combat advantages to rule out, so unless you want to-”
His voice cut off as the sound of the door opening rebounded across steel walls, locks sliding into place immediately after. (By now, Techno was willing to tear off his ears if he didn’t have to listen to the obnoxiously-loud sound of excessive locks again. As if they needed to remind him that he was trapped more than he already knew.)
To the side of the room, footsteps approached. These were far from the same silent gait that Acheron, Captain, and Techno all walked in; rather, this individual had no need to be stealthy.
Which was ironic, considering the woman that appeared was, in every meaning of the word, a ghost .
This woman was a corpse. It was evident in the wispiness of her dark hair–the starlings flowing behind her back like they were submerged in not the earth of a grave, but in water–, the way her half-translucent skin practically shone underneath the light, casting the bruises and splatters of blood permanently residual on her pale form in a bright light. Stains of red and purple specs drained from her open neck, muscle and bone evident through the gory tear that proved her death was a thing of the past. It was a ghastly sight, but one that the villain was well acquainted with.
But he hesitated at a single detail, one buried beneath the wave of gore and sorrow that her very prescence radiated.
Her head appeared to be half-severed, with a deep gash running across her throat, drawn with multiple thin lines, as though the weapon she’d been killed with was too dull to do enough damage on the first try. It was a brutal way to die, but one the others in the room seemed adjusted to.
But…
Something inside of Techno told him it reeked of familiarity. He couldn’t place what it was, or where it came from, but it was there; radiating through his blood with an achy feeling of dread .
The consequence , the voices murmured, as though in discussion with themselves.
The mistake.
Your mistake, one added.
He told them to shut up.
The ghost’s approach was brief, but with the sudden confusion wrapping itself around Techno’s ability to properly think, it felt like she teleported next to them. A welcoming smile was plastered over gaunt features, grey and dreary from bloodloss, yet strangely warm.
The voice was a sweep of midnight breeze; wispy from a faint echo in the room. “Sorry I’m late,” she greeted, smiling faintly–and oddly enough–at Techno . “I had a few last papers to finish up before I could get through security, and those grouchy secretaries were convinced I was violating protocol again. For existing, apparently.”
Her glassy eyes bore into his soul as they flitted across the room, the same, identical grin never faltering as she gently patted Acheron on the arm, inclining her head to Captain–a gesture that Techno had decided was a hero-form of greeting, or some other code he didn’t have the authorization to understand. The ghost’s very entrance made the room feel colder, goosebumps rising over everyone’s arms, though the elder two seemed unfazed by the temperature distortion. To them, it seemed, talking to the dead was nothing out of the ordinary.
But that knowledge that this wasn’t meant to be scary–for fuck’s sake, that word made him seem weak –didn’t distill the weariness the voices held. Like they were afraid of not only the woman, but the reaction Techno would have to it.
And she really did seem familiar. But for some reason, no matter how much he scanned her face, pinpointing the dark hair and once-bright eyes, his memory didn’t heed any clues.
“Kristin, it’s nice to see you,” Acheron greeted with noticeably more joy than he had the Captain. Techno narrowed his eyes. “And no worries, we all know the security has increased of late. I know Puffy had to show at least three different badge numbers before they finally let her inside, but, well…” A glance at Techno. “The Agency has decided it’s a necessity.”
The woman–Kristin, apparently, which meant that the Captain must be the one he called ‘Puffy’ –followed his gaze to the villain.
A translucent eyebrow was raised. “Well, that’s what I’m here to test, isn’t it?”
“Correct.” The Captain cleared her throat. “I already… tested the strength division, and his reflexes fall up to par with Schlatt’s–pardon, the Director’s – predictions. I’ll leave the fighting measurements for you to determine, since you’re the expert and all, but if you encounter any setbacks make sure to contact me. I’ll keep an eye on the both of you from the sidelines, but I trust you to keep the villain in line.”
They spoke as though Techno wasn’t there. A part of him was infuriated by it–that part being the voices–, but the other part was oddly…thankful. The attention was diverted from enough, just barely granting him the room to form a plan. Or, at the very least, piece together what ‘testing’ entailed, and why a corpse was the one performing them.
Kristin smiled again–the same, faintly haunting expression of joy. It felt wrong to see such a joyful expression on such empty features. “Of course. Today will just be the basics, since none of us have fought him in person quite yet, but I assume we’ll be able to progress past the first few requirements fairly quickly.” She looked at him again with that same, unblinking warmness. “I’m sure by the end of the week, we’ll be able to truly put him in training with a few other rehabilitation candidates. I’m sure Ranboo and Tubbo will help out with that, but…” she paused, expression pinching together, as though in frustration at herself. Acheron shot her a sympathetic look, but for what, Techno couldn’t decipher. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe the overwhelming influx of information hitting him at once, but there was a definite connection he was missing. Some reason that figuring out the Number One Hero was abruptly so difficult . “That’s for later.”
She cleared her throat, shaking her head like the abrupt bout of concern was nothing but a flyaway hair, face shifting into the previous pristine image.“I’ll continue with what the Director has planned for today and keep the two of you updated. Ph- Acheron, you’ll be taking over after the testing is concluded?”
A bristle of bandaged feathers accompanied the hero’s quick nod. “He’s staying on our floor at the moment, so if you ever need to speak with him-”
“Ask one of you.” Kristin finished.
Another nod. Captain followed suit, inclining her head to Kristin with a wisp of rainbow shadowing the scar on her face.
“In that case,” she assured. “I’ll be watching from the cameras. Don’t be afraid to ping me, no matter what.”
“Of course.”
With a flick of her luminous cape, the Captain–Puffy–set for the door. Acheron followed suit, patting Kristin lightly on the shoulder as he exited, though his hand simply phased through her shoulder, her nature as a ghost proving one of its first faults.
And so, Techno and Kristin were left alone. By now, the hero that had repaired the other end of the room had vanished, the issues boots just as silent as Techno’s own.
The woman turned back to him, this time, her smile fading ever-so-slightly, as though she was disappointed. Or worried. Or both, which was more realistic.
“Alright then,” she clapped her hands together, the sound echoing weirdly around her, twisting around in the same invisible bubble her voice was trapped in. “Let’s begin.”
***
The heroes, Techno was quickly learning, took a very hands-on approach to testing.
Or maybe that was just Kristin.
The rules to their fights, as Kristin had initially introduced a matter of hours ago, were simple:
- All injuries would be healed after the battle. In Techno’s case, he had already bandaged up a thick tear on his shoulder from Kristin’s quick assault with a fucking halberd, the hole in his uniform still stained with the remnants of blood and the echo of Kristin’s unwavering smile.
- The fight only ended after someone’s weapon was discarded. Whether through actually breaking it or disarming them, Kristin and Techno had each attempted a plethora of methods. And though their current score for victories was dominated by Techno–with him winning fifteen total games, and her winning eleven–, his hands still shook from the force that she practically shattered his fingers with while jabbing the spike of a lucerne hammer–which Techno hadn’t seen a hero use in years–directly for his unprotected hands. Even now, he felt near collapse, both from a mix of exhaustion and shock that Kristin wasn’t the Number One Hero herself.
Two rules. Two simple rules, each of which were proving to be Techno’s living hell. In a matter of time, he was drenched in sweat, hands blistered from the variety of weapons he’d fought with–half of which he’d never even seen before, much less knew how to use –and his bones sore from exertion. The thought of fighting more–of having to defend himself, because if he didn’t, Kristin would harm him–made him want to collapse into a heap on the floor, his tired state overruling any last tethers of pride. Being beaten eleven times had a habit of doing that to someone.
But, despite that, he found himself beginning to favor Kristin over the other heroes. Maybe it was her lack of death stares and attempts to psychologically break his mind apart, or it was the mutual respect they held for one another while fighting, but Kristin…didn’t seem that bad.
Even if there was something he felt he was forgetting. Something the voices insisted on dwelling over, as though they’d forgotten Techno could hear their hushed whispers and vague speculations.
And then there was the fact that Kristin was friendly . She spoke to him with ease, even while in the midst of a fight. Her words were unriddled by human tire and a lack of breath, calm even as she viscously aimed for his heart with every jab and feint.
“Distrubute your weight to your right foot,” she commented with a clang of swords, sparks flying through glassy, almost doll-like eyes. “It gives you more leverage when you press forward. Like this -”
-a gasp breath of air as Techno nearly fell to the ground, clutching his wrist where the sharp tip had nearly lethally cut him. Kristin offered a hand, and the villain took it after a few seconds of hesitation, allowing the hero to swiftly pull him back to his feet. “You know, the fact that you’ve never fought with a mace is starting to show. Carry yourself with more confidence, especially when you are unfamiliar with the environment-”
“-Nice swing. If I were alive, I wouldn’t be anymore.” She smiled as Techno’s axe sliced through her torso, swinging up just in time to knock her own, matching weapon away before she could retaliate-
In the end, it was a confusing experience. But the training went by in a blur, faster than anything had in days, and to be entirely honest, it felt nice to just fight again without the pressure of voices screaming at the base of his skull. The loss of bloodshed–a consequence of fighting Kristin and her seemingly immortal state while incorporeal–almost lost their interest entirely, too engrossed in solving the mystery of Kristin that they were so determined to dredge up.
Their distraction was beginning to affect Techno, too.
Which returned him to his current predicament.
Another swing of a dagger was sent straight for his neck, the ghost moving fluently as air with every twist and lunge. Her singular corporeal hand–which had grown more colorful than the rest of her body, as though it gained life with her sudden ability to touch–tightened around the simple handle, nails digging tightly around the worn leather as she feinted again. Her movements didn’t make a sound, but the glint of a dagger as it neared his heart was enough to spring the villain into action. Techno deftly ducked, reaching out for her arm, intending to latch onto her wrist and twist it to disarm her, before realizing his mistake.
Kristin smiled as his hand immediately passed through her arm, a sudden cold making his arm go numb.
He took a stumbling step back, tossing his dagger back into his dominant hand in an instinctual reversion into defense. His back foot dug into the poolside behind him–nearly sliding against the stray droplets of water that clung onto the smooth tile–but he managed to regain purchase just in time as Kristin moved again.
Air hissed by his ear as Techno dodged. If he’d been a millisecond slower, a dagger would have been planted into his skull.
But he was adjusted to Kristin’s sudden attacks by now. With her, she could upheave the course of the fight with a simple move; using Techno’s strength against him, pushing him into another square of unfamiliar terrain, or, worst of all, switching from corporeality into intangibility faster than he could blink.
That was another thing Techno had learned in the last two hours: Fighting a ghost was not fucking easy.
Especially when that ghost happened to be a highly-trained superhero set on testing his limits in battle.
Techno grit his teeth as he nearly careened backwards into the swimming pool, stepping forward if only to grant himself distance from the uneven flooring. The dagger in his hand was scratched from a particularly fierce swing of Kristin’s blade, a bruise forming on his ankle from a kick he’d been far from expecting, his hair falling in front of his face and half blinding him. He swung again, aiming for the ghost’s tangible hand, but she met his strike. The hero was thrown a few steps back from his strength, stumbling over the rocks scattered amidst artificial grass, but caught herself before she fell completely.
In turn, Techno pressed his advantage. His knife went swinging for her own weapon, intent on cutting off a few of her appendages if it meant his victory. Kristin ducked to the side, thrusting her knife up at the attacking arm.
The edge caught on his sleeve, and Techno ripped himself away before it pierced skin. A small tear lined the monotone grey stitching of his uniform, but he didn’t pay it mind.
A third thing Techno was learning: Kristin was much, much more difficult to fight than Acheron.
As though to prove the rueful thought, Kristin practically teleported in front of him, dagger swinging yet again for his own. Her leg kicked out, suddenly human again, but Techno had anticipated it, sidestepping the advance and rebutting with his own weapon. His dagger glanced the hilt of the hero’s, catching on the rim, and, in one sudden twist of his wrist with unhuman strength, flung it out of her hold.
The weapon hit the nearby concrete with a terse clatter, rebounding through the training chamber as it skidded to a halt.
Kristin froze.
Techno smiled in victory, and she untensed, meeting his grin with identical enthusiasm. It was a gesture that shouldn’t accompany being beaten, but Kristin seemed to be an avid defier of everything Techno expected her to be.
In fact, in this one room–the one that the heroes had pristinely crafted to be their own, intended on catching vigilantes and villains alike to ruin their lives –Techno had begun to practically forget where he was. Who he was fighting with. It felt like he was sent back in time to a few years ago, fighting in an eccentric center he’d found online with a room of strangers and wooden swords. That camaraderie had disappeared with time–and with his increase of violent outbursts–but for some reason, this simple sparring was enough to bring back a wave of nostalgia. The adrenaline and pride, but without the actual need to hurt .
No matter how wrong it was. To ever feel an ounce of happiness while imprisoned.
A glorified cage, Techno , the loudest of the voices mocked. That’s what you’re in.
He forgets himself.
Who he is.
Don’t be such a fool. Don’t follow the footsteps of the others before you.
Techno swallowed, flexing his hands as Kristin silently went to retrieve her discarded dagger. The blade still glowed with fading enchantments–the abuse the weapons had suffered diminishing the once-bright glow–but was cracked on the side from the force of Techno’s swing. She hummed in approval at the sight.
“You’re stronger with these than you are with the spears,” Kristin noted as she approached him, nodding her head to the storage wall of weapons on the side of the room. He followed her out of habit, dagger loosely held by his side. “I suppose a lighter weapon allows for more controlled strength, but you are more effective with someone larger, like the axes we tried.”
“You act like you’re surprised by that.”
“The news reports lied about your abilities. Who’s to say that they lied about your weapon of choice too?” She paused, inspecting the wall before them. “Though it is tempting to see how naturally using a longsword comes to you.”
Techno tensed, muscles already sore from the prospect of yet another fight. She waved off his look of concern, shaking her head with a light grin.
“Don’t worry. That will wait until tomorrow. I’m sure Phi-Acheron, I mean, would rather you progress through the rehabilitation without too much exhaustion.”
“We’re doing this again tomorrow?” He asked carefully, gently setting his dagger back onto its proper place on the wall, small handles secured around it with a tiny click , ensuring it wouldn’t fall or be placed in the wrong spot.
It was funny, how acquainted he’d gotten with this room in a matter of hours. The walls, the weapons, the terrain and the casual figthing without fear of death, all felt entirely too natural .
Sure, the first time Kristin had fought him, listing off her rules in front of this very fall, Techno had been tempted to grab one of the weapons and run for the exit, consequences be damned. But the reminder of what waited just beyond–the heroes, the fighting, the knowledge that he would only wake up in another prison cell–was enough to staunch any hopes of rebellion.
He had hoped to simply get through this. To survive the training; hopefully, this time, without a four-hundred-pound weight being tossed at his head.
Now, he hated that a piece of him was enjoying it.
He hated that a part of him enjoyed the ease of it all, and maybe that was his deprivation from normalities speaking, but he had never felt so…in place .
That is, not anywhere but with Wilbur.
For fucks sake, it had been two hours.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the matching click of Kristin’s dagger being placed in its proper spot, the enchantments immediately regaining their alluring glow as it was charged by the lapis in the wall. She glanced over at Techno, as though checking to ensure he hadn’t managed to slip the dagger into his pocket in the millisecond she’d looked away, but her paranoia was proved false.
“We will return tomorrow,” was all Kristin said. She turned to look at him, glancing at his injured shoulder and the red slowly seeping through the hasty bandage. She made no comment on it but-
But the concern in her eyes was familiar.
Very familiar.
Where had he seen that look before?
And suddenly, Techno’s heart sank.
“Oh, did you fall, honey?” The woman at the orphanage asked gently, effortlessly taking his hand in hers and squeezing a rare comfort into his scraped palms. Techno mutely nodded, sniffing heavily as pain ignited in his knee. Her eyes peered down at him, shining with sympathy as she inspected the bloody cut on his knee.
“That’s okay, see? I have some bandaids that will fix it up in no time.”
The woman held her hand out to display a box of different colored band aids, all bright and cheery with smiley faces in the middle. Techno slowly reached out and retrieved a red one, making her smile.
He knew that smile. That smile that seemed engraved.
“That’s a pretty color,” she patted his head, squeezing his hand one more time before quickly unwrapping the bandage and pressing it onto his knee. She took a careful moment to smooth out the edges, ensuring they would stick, before giving him another warm smile, pearly white teeth visible.
That smile had a difficult time disappearing.
“Alright, how about you go back and play with the other kids? Let’s not let a little bruise get in your way of fun,” the caretaker held out a hand, standing up and brushing off her jeans.
Nobody in the orphanage had survived. That was what the news reports had said.
For a long moment, she still held his hand, hesitating before pulling Techno into a brief hug. “Have fun, little one,” she whispered, briefly brushing over his blonde hair. She released him almost immediately, and Techno scrambled off back to the awaiting group of kids.
Nobody lived.
The mistake, the voices whispered, as though in a near-silent taunt. For once, Techno realized, it was like they were afraid of the realization.
But Kristin- Kristin had lived. The one with a bloody cut running its way across her neck, barely slicing enough to do enough damage from the dull edge of safety scissors.
Kristin had survived. The caretaker from the orphanage, the one who had gently helped him when he fell.
Did she recognize him?
Did she know?
That he had killed her? That he was the reason she was dead?
How the fuck was she alive?
“The guards will take you back to your room, as I’m sure you know,” Kristin hummed, unaware of the internal turmoil that Techno’s realization had just caused. His hands shook as he quickly balled them by his sides, blinking rapidly to displace the sudden tightness in his throat, making his eyes glisten for reasons he didn’t have the time to think about. “And I’m fairly certain you’ll be seeing Schlatt this evening, or the evening after. You’ll be seeing…someone…”
The ghost’s–the murdered’s – face pinched in confusion. “I forget. Sorry about that, but I’m sure Acheron or Captain will inform you regardless. After that, though, you should be free on most afternoons, unless the Director or Acheron decide they have something for you to do. I know the higher-ups have been discussing a sort of…meetup within the rehabilitation program, so they can build the bonds they’ll need while working as a hero team, but that might be in the far future.”
“Alright,” Techno said quietly. Kristin either didn’t notice how his voice caught, or she didn’t deem it worth mentioning.
“Alright then,” she echoed. A smile was still on her face, but this time, it made Techno feel sick to his stomach. “I’ll go notify the guards to take you back to the SBI floor.”
He nodded, and with a chorus of invisible footsteps, Kristin left.
The consequences of his actions, all fit into one ghost.