L'appel du Vide (Call of the Void)
Chapter 4: Iron Willed
Metamorphosis, in the flesh and the soul.
!NOT PROOF/BETA READ!
enjoy!
wc: 3.3k
You stared down at him, silent and still. Dawn was mere hours away. You knew you should rest. You knew you needed the reprieve. And yet you couldn’t help but stare at him. Asleep, on his back, looking almost human. Sane. Not a monster. Not nightmare made flesh.
You gritted your teeth, your eyes falling from his smooth face to his neck, to his carotid thrumming and pumping with blood. Oily hatred swirled in your gut as you imagined slitting that artery open and spilling that red life essence everywhere, until he went limp. You imagined the fear and panic filling his cold eyes, imagined the power that would consume you as you watched him die—
You blinked, swallowing thickly.
And found Sinister awake and staring back at you.
Your heart stilled in your chest, the hairs on your arms raising as his eyes narrowed. Almost as if he could read your mind, see the ill wish written for him lingering there. He didn’t move, though, staying in his spot in the king-sized bed. The distant flames still burning the city sent flickering red light dancing along his bare chest and face, a sickening effect to the darkness already present there.
You flinched when a hand shot out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist. Sinister jerked your arm, your body flailing after it, as he laid your palm against his throat, right above that pulsing artery. Your body flared with the pain from the prior day as he jostled you, but you couldn’t pull away. No, you wouldn’t dare.
A beat passed, you all but straddling Sinister now, frozen under his gaze.
“Give it your best shot,” He hissed cooly, eyes twinkling with cruel amusement. And, instead of rage, you felt devastation, aching and tearing through the fire that once roared in your head. Until you were numb. Until your shoulders slumped and your gaze fell. Sinister released your wrist, letting it fall from his body.
“Lay down, savvy,” He purred, eyes greedily tracing the bite marks he’d left on your body. “Only a few hours before the others come hunting for you.”
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You awoke drenched in sweat and throat sore from screaming, throwing yourself from your bed so harshly you’d nearly embedded yourself into the concrete wall.
It took a few minutes of intentional breathing and grounding before your heart rate slowed. Before your body realized you were safe, free, and far from his clutches.
Sinister was gone. Most likely dead.
Worlds away—no, universes away.
And you? You owed Cecil a new wall.
You eventually made it to the bathroom, hands gripping the sink counter as you stared at your reflection. And you wondered. For the first time since all this had happened, you let that sobering thought settle in your mind.
Who were you?
Nothing but what had happened to you, it seemed. The consequences of others’ actions. You weren’t even really a person anymore, you realized. You had no hobbies, no drive, no goals. None other than living, you through with ire.
Self-loathing began to creep into your bones, dripping with self-pity.
You were a tool. A weapon. A second chance.
Cecil was building you, shaping you, and making you into something strong. And usable.
And yet, it still didn’t make you anyone. You realized you alone would have to find that sense of purpose.
You huffed, leaning down to splash cold water upon your face. Yes, it was true that what had happened to you was devastating and wasn’t at all your fault. But this? The after? What happened to you now, and what you did, were up to you.
You groaned, raking your hands down your damp face.
“God, this was so much easier before I got involved with boys.”
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“It doesn't make sense,” you groaned, staring daggers at the scientist.
“It’s not supposed to,” Sinclair droned, moving around his lab. “It shouldn't make sense, it doesn't, and it won't. It's simply happened. You, my dear, are one fucked up, muddled version of serum cocktail surprise. That viltrumite blood in you didn't help either, more a catalyst than anything.”
Your breath caught. Catalyst.
“You are Mark's catalyst.”
Now it seemed he was yours.
You pushed the thought away as you strode down the hall to training. and then to therapy. And then maybe you’d venture into the library—or, archives. Anything to put your incessant whirling mind to good use.
You studied, spent weeks in that insufferable lab with that god-awful doctor. Testing, training, therapy. Rinse, repeat. Until you were itching to see any walls that didn't belong to the US government.
You passed goals and ran laps around world records like they were nothing more than suggestions, surprising even Cecil as you progressed. And all the while, you knew he used those tests and training to sort out your weaknesses as well as hone your skills. And that never left your mind, either. No matter how icky it felt, you knew it was rational.
Five months to the day you’d gotten your powers, a breakthrough was achieved.
Doctor Sinclair leaned over a microscope, its findings projected on a screen behind him. The lab was quiet, the exhaustion apparent among the lab techs within. The assistants leaned up against the various terminals and tables, sweat-soaked but pleased with their work. You’d learned to ignore and push out the tedious human noises that used to overwhelm you and bore into your brain. You could hone in on heartbeats if you wished now, instead of being bombarded with them.
You shifted from one foot to the other, ears trained on the Doctor before you.
“I have your blood here, Miss Fawn. After many hours toiling in this stifling lab, I’ve managed to pick apart and separate your DNA and examine it. It was what we thought all along. The serums administered are the culprits. Firstly, the GDA serum was administered to duplicate your DNA, promoting healing. But after Angrstrom injected you with the variants’ blood, the serum then began mutating your cells… and theirs. Morphing until they combined into one monstrous new thing. Not, of course, at all unaided by the nanites in your bloodstream from that ring, Rudy—Rex? Oh, whatever the hell he goes by now—the ring he made.”
And though it didn’t make sense, it was enough of an answer to cease the incessant ‘why’ that had roared in your head all these months.
“Okay, that kind of explains the basics. But where does the frequency thing come from?” You asked, your arms crossed over your chest. Your muscles rippled with the movement, honed and firm after months of building them.
“That, I am even less sure of,” The doctor sighed, leaning back to stare at you. “That you are affected by it is one thing, all Viltrumites are, but that you can wield it? That’s another thing entirely. You, Miss Fawn, are somehow capable of creating and wielding frequencies as shockwaves and physical shields.”
You merely nodded, glancing down at one of your palms as it unfurled… As if you could see the power roiling there under your skin.
“But as for where that power came from? I have no scientific explanation.”
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You huffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face, eyes locked on the ceiling above as you pushed up. The manufactured weight set groaned as it lifted with ease, five tons hovering above your body.
light work.
a warm-up, really.
You managed twenty reps. Then forty. The eighty, and one hundred, and two, and—
At five hundred, you noticed the shift beside you, the slight push of air as the training room door opened. You heard the gears whirring within his body as he approached from the floor above.
Taking a deep breath, you locked the bench press back into place before sliding off the bench, wiping the thin sheet of sweat from your brow. Donald merely dipped his chin once as a greeting, continuing down the staircase onto the training floor. You didn’t give him one back, turning to grab a water bottle on the table against the far wall.
“Now that Cecil has honed me into this great weapon, do you know if he plans to actually ever use me?”
Donald cocked his head—you heard it—his eyes tracking your movements.
“You are the one who wanted to remain secret, Miss Fawn.”
You snorted, swiping a bottle, untwisting the cap, and downing it.
“Yeah, six months ago, when I was still weak and broken and…” Your brows furrowed, throat going a bit dry as you glanced downward. “Not this.”
“Savannah,” Donald began, softer this time, and that tone made your stomach turn. “You’re not a prisoner here. You are free to go wherever and whenever you wish.”
You blinked, movements choppy as you turned to face him. And confusion flowed through your veins. Not at the statement—no, you knew you were free—but at the thought of actually leaving. Of what that life would be like.
Here? Here, you knew your purpose. A weapon. Something to be used and wielded.
Out there? On your own? Could you face that?
You were silent, long enough that Donald cleared his throat.
“We are on no timeline but yours, Miss Fawn. As to your first question, I have actually come because of that.”
You straightened, steeling your spine and pushing that darkness that lingered far, far away. You nodded, silently urging Donald to continue, face now void of any emotion.
You strode through the halls of the Pentagon, earning a wide berth from everyone else except for Donald. You tried to ignore the way they balked, reminding yourself that their reactions meant nothing.
You were finishing tying your hair into a braid when you reached the monitor room, two broad-shouldered guards parting for you both as you pushed through the doors. The room was alight with low chatter, high tensions, and biting cold air. The last was most likely engineered by the white-haired man with his eyes glued to the main screen. Chilly environments kept humans awake and alert, and cool when tempers and panic rose.
As for the low chatter and high tension? You could only assume it was due to the scene unfolding on the biggest screen on the far wall. A scene that made your heart skip a beat.
The sight of his Blue and Black suit, midnight hair, and olive skin struck deep and low within you, almost knocking you off balance. You barely blinked at the dinosaur-man he had by the throat. You reeled yourself in, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you forced yourself to focus on the Director.
Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark—
“Sir,” You almost whispered, before clearing your throat and raising your chin. Cecil turned instantly, his discerning gaze nearly too unsettling.
“Hey kiddo,” He began lowly, as if he knew. You didn’t tremble, though, calming yourself through the many techniques you learned over the past few months.
“What is it you need, sir?”
Cecil’s gaze passed between you and Donald, lingering on the latter for a millisecond longer. It was barely imperceptible, but you saw it—or more, felt it—the nod that Donald gave.
It seemed to be enough for Cecil as he glanced back at you.
“I’m sending you out, kiddo.”
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A mission—a real mission. Your first mission. You tried not to fly down the halls to your room, where Cecil sent you to prepare.
“Everyone else is disposed. Security is tight, risk low. If you think you can handle it—“
“Yes,” You’d breathed before he could finish speaking.
You zoomed through your apartment to the box lying atop your comforter. A note was left there, reading,
Took the liberty of having one made. Make/order alterations at your leisure,
Cecil
You slid the lid from the box, stilling as you saw the flash of white fabric catching your eye. You were silent, at a total loss for words as you pulled the suit out.
It was a simple, full, fitted bodysuit made of stretchy white fabric that allowed breathing and free movement. Accents of gray, harder material cupped the shoulders, shins, and framed the utility belt that looped around the waist. A pair of gray combat boots that ended just above your knee lay beneath the suit. Both items were, of course, perfectly tailored to you.
You already had a few ideas on what to improve and change, but for now, this… It was perfect.
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You stood, eyes squinting at the sun. The sun, real and bright and right there. Well, thousands of miles away, but still. Right there. And the sky, cloudless and blue and wide open. And the air? Fresh and chilled and—
“So, you’ll just head west of here. Should take you less than a minute if you exert yourself.”
“Who—or what—am I up against?” You asked, rolling your neck and loosening your limbs. Donald stared into the sky, at nothing.
“Lizard League.”
You blinked, memories flitting through you from your previous encounter.
Back when you were weak and human and nothing. You clenched your jaw, balling your hands into fists. You swallowed thickly as your earpiece buzzed to life.
“Good luck,” Donald whispered with a grim smile, eyeing you as you dropped into a squat. You nodded once, mind already miles away. Worlds away, scanning through each move and attack you’d possibly make. And preparing yourself to launch. This time into the sky, not some training facility.
And all at once, you launched into the sky, and you were airborne.
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Takeoff was less than graceful, ending with you crashing into two forests before you fully got the hang of it.
The wind helped clean your now dirt-crusted suit, the chilly air not quite as cold as it used to be. You couldn’t help it; the smile that bloomed on your face as you zoomed toward California.
You were freer than you’d ever been, powerful, and in control.
You didn’t have to hide either, with most of the superheroes responding to something else to the east. You ignored that thought, even if it did leave an unsettling weight lodged in your tummy, choosing to embrace the frigid air that cut through you and left you raw.
A good raw.
A feeling that traveled through you as you neared the fight, burning like cleansing wildfire. A metamorphosis for the person you were becoming. But instead of a butterfly, you were something far deadlier.
Something lethal.
You heard the alarms before you saw the lab, saw the smoke before you tasted the fear.
The concrete under your feet rumbled and cracked as you landed, sure-footed and strong.
The air crackled around you with tension, alarms echoing eerily in the distance. Your keen eyes pierced through the thick burning gaze, and for a moment—
Your breath caught as the sight turned into New York, burning and decimated.
You stumbled back a step, shutting your eyes tightly as you willed the memory and panic and fear down, down, down near your spine.
“fuck,” you whispered, sucking down lungfuls of air as you steadied yourself. “Not the fucking time, Sav.”
You couldn’t blow it before you even got the chance to show what you were capable of. You made yourself breathe, recalling all those weeks spent in therapy. In, 2, 3, 4, out, 2, 3, 4.
You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus, opening your eyes to the burning hull of a lab. And with a shuddering exhale, you stalked inside.
“Fuck,” You hissed, prying your fist out of the metal door you’d punched in. The interior lab was dark, emergency lights flickering in tandem with the alarm. Side-stepping the mess, eyeing the splattered blood, and aiming toward the hallway on the other end of the room. Where light flickered faintly, and voices hissed softly. You picked up three life forms, their scents familiar.
You stayed in the shadows, silent and lithe as you crept over limp bodies clad in lab coats.
“…If it’s not in this lab, then where?” A voice slithered along the walls, the sound mingling with shuffling papers.
“Iguana—“
“The information is somewhere, I’m sure of it! Twenty variants don't just appear, wreak havoc, and then disappear without being documented. It’s the government, they had to have tried to recreate it—“
“Angstrom Levy was sent back or killed before they could interrogate him,” Another interjected, stomping through the wreckage they’d created. He continued, arguing and spitting at Iguana. But you could barely hear them over the roar in your head.
Angstrom.
The Variants.
Your mouth had gone dry, heart stuttering as you pushed past the surfacing memories. Nights spent in a swaying tower, your blood pulsing in your veins and calling calling calling—
You sucked in a gasp, back knocking into the wall behind you.
The voices quieted inside, and you grimaced. Footsteps sounded, growing closer to the hall. You steeled yourself, hands trembling as you curled them into fists—
Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit—
God, you had no time to ground yourself.
You gritted your teeth, summoning your strength and agility just as the door was slammed open,
And a hulking figure’s face slammed right into your awaiting fist.
The fight was messy and brutal, with bruises covering your skin when it finally ended. But you’d won, eyeing the trio of reptilian villains as soldiers carted them away. You were silent, eyes scanning the damaged lab but not truly seeing it. No, you were locked in your mind, a million thoughts whirling there.
They had… They had been trying to find a way to harness Angstrom’s power.
You suppressed the shudder threatening to trail down your spine as a flash of light split the air beside you. You didn’t need to look as Cecil stepped to your right, his shoulder nearly brushing yours. You barely heard the sigh he released, the brush of his pants as he slid his hands into his pockets.
“Nice job, kiddo.”
“Could’ve done better,” You huffed, voice distant as you crossed your arms over your chest. Air brushed over rips and tears in your suit, unmarred skin beneath.
Yes, there were bruises, but…
No broken bones. No blood. No scars.
Not like before.
“There were zero casualties, no technology stolen, and no one got away. I’d say you did a pretty decent fuckin’ job.”
You watched as the cleanup crew moved in, wading through millions of dollars' worth of tech.
The lizard league had not found anything here… but that did not mean it did not exist.
You kept that bit of information tucked away for later use, glancing down at your suit.
“Thanks for the uniform. And sorry I wrecked it.”
Cecil snorted, giving you a side-eyed glance. You could sense it in his gaze, the edge. Had you heard what they wondered about Angstrom? He probably thought.
You wouldn't give him any indication of an answer, not while you were still working it out yourself.
But you weren’t stupid. Cecil knew that.
“Kiddo—“
“Where’s the next fight?”
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3 months later…
You slammed through the warehouse, concrete landing on a pair of assailants. Your eyes flickered upward, nostrils flaring as you picked up the scent of dread. Four figures cowered as the dust settled, glowing red eyes in the middle honing in on you.
You, donned in a suit as black as night, face hidden by a carbon fiber mask that ended just below your eyes. A matching hood covered your hair.
You were stealth.
You were silence.
A tremor ran through the room as they finally saw you.
One assassin, a woman, gasped. The scent of fear grew tenfold. She knew who you were. They all did.
A name the whole world of villains and thieves came to fear.
“Resonance.”
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