getting into iwtv now instead of when it first came out is so conflicting bc it's partly it's like omg why did i put off watching this absolute banger for so long when i could've spent the last three years screaming about it but also it's like omg i'm just getting into this show and there's already two full seasons to binge, a third in mere months and so much meta and fic to read i'll never get through it all and it's so good
((Just a word of caution: It's been a good while since I've done the content for City of Heroes/Villains. My understanding of the lore is shaky at this point. In addition the going-ons in the world outside of Paragon and the Rogue Isles are my own interpretation. Also, to not bombard your feeds with a wall of text, the meat of the stories will be under a cut.))
All this fuss over momentary silence of the mind.
A month and nary a word. The cell signal had been dark since his brother departed in the smuggler's submarine. No crow had been sent with a letter telling of his journey across the pond or that he made it safely to Rhode Island. Lavada was always concerned of his brother's wellbeing but, this? This had the young changeling in knots.
Atlas Park was just as described. Someone's metropolitan dream of clean streets, elegant and towering offices, flush and thriving greenery, and monuments to heroes of days gone. If only it weren't for the War Walls that sectioned this, and every other district of the city. A grim reminder that everyone from civilians to heroes and everything in between were caged in. Sure, it was for their own protection from the threats that loomed beyond the horizon of those energy barriers. He still couldn't shake the feeling as if he had stepped into a prison yard. Even the caped crusaders who floated by like the breeze felt, to him, like the wardens in charge of making sure everyone stayed in line, be it a regular person or criminal.
His first order of business was to add his name to the myriad others that swore to be defenders of the city. Hero was a hollow title but one that had its uses. At the very least, it would allow him to operate to his fullest extent without the need of Paragon's police or some other masked vigilante to bog him down. With enough influence, he could also set up shop. Somewhere he could retreat to for safety and plan out his next moves. That all could wait until he could find his brother dearest.
For now, a simple change. Inspiration taken from the handful of heroic hopefuls that get their start in the very same city hall he strolled into. A more athletic build, sturdier shoulders, that cutting jawline, a shift of hue from melancholic blue to a more human skin tone, and raven black for hair instead of the snow white. A small black mask over the eyes would suffice enough to fool bureaucrats and the sorcerers of the Arcane Guild of Investigations. Add a touch of flair to his coat and boots and an eccentric hero was made. Actual heroes could keep the spandex tights and capes. From there it was a quick trip to the store. Most every district had shops specifically for the many kinds of capes one would find. From those who relied purely on their own skills and martial mastery to those who augmented themselves with technological marvels. Of course, there were shops specifically dedicated to those that practiced magical craft.
With ingredients in hand, Lavada retreated to a quiet alley down the block. A few circles of chalk, geometric sigils in the proper places, tea leaves squarely center, and a drop of his brother's blood.
"Uoy era erehw, Roth?"
A bright flash turns the chalk to ash. The tea leaves shriveled, the blood but a red vapor that disappears in seconds amongst the wind. His sight leaps from his body. He sees the whole of Rhode Island, then America's eastern seaboard. It draws his gaze further south out to sea before stopping abruptly. A dive downward reveals a strip of small islands. Further down lays a dingy shoreline demolished with dreg, scrap, and abandoned vessels, one of which he recognized. The very sub his brother had set sail aboard. The cabin was twisted, large holes punched inward down the length, a few dead among the coast but none matching his kin. Yet there are footprints in the sand where the waves cannot reach. Multiple. Size differs amongst the set but they each bear strikingly similar patterns. A military standard issue. His gaze turns inland where there's the unmistakable sight of a massive tower anchored to the ground with an impressive spider's web of steel. Then, darkness.
It's a moment before his sight returns to him. The changeling grasps his face and shakes his head to dispell the dizziness. While recomposing himself the smell of brimstone cuts through the stench of old garbage. A quick spin, crashing himself against a nearby wall helps to narrowly avoid the hellfire tossed at him if at the meager cost of a bruised shoulder and a slight singe across his cheek. His sight remains blurry yet he can see three distinct, bright blobs of his attackers.
"It ain't a Skull but a Cape is just as good!" Exclaims a menacing tone. Voice as smooth as gravel on sandpaper.
"He smells of magic, baby! Get it for me." A woman's voice. What his attacker hears is nought but honey. Lavada can hear the venomous drip of the demon she really is.
Hellions. One of the many gangs that ran rampant in the streets. If the bright orange colors and hellfire wasn't enough to give them away, the demoness surely was. Aside from the usual activity criminals such as themselves got in to, this group in particular had an affinity for dark arts as well and Lavada had given them a beacon which to find him. With his vision only just stabilizing, he locked eyes with what he presumed to be the enthralled goon that drew nearer. His mouth opened to a tune. The harmonic cords of a strummed lute escaped his lips along with his lyrics;
"An eye for an eye may leave us all to be blind."
Fortuitous clarity. His target swung about himself wildly in a panic, raging about his stolen sight. The demon girlfriend screamed at the submissive cohort that now recoiled in fear to do something. They were both too late. The changeling closed the distance while they were screaming. The lesser of the two men had been ran through with a rapier. She blinked and their target stood where he had been at the end of the alley. Her minions on the ground, writhing in pain. She turned to flee and there he was again, blocking her escape. She thought to flee to the skies only to feel the cold sting of silver enter her abdomen. The demon looked over her shoulder with the last of her strength. Her minions, alive. The enthralled, crawling, hapless, unable to find his way around the metal bat he desperately clung to. The other, crumpled in a heap but breathing. No blood. He had passed out from shock. When she summoned the strength to look at the blade in her stomach and wonder if the pain was truly real, she would wonder no longer. Split up the middle and dissolved into cinders as her mortal shell was ripped asunder. Not death. Not yet. Hopefully, it would be a good while before she was brought to this plane of existence again.
When the Hellion eventually regained his sight, he'd find himself alone. Just ashes and an unconscious comrade.
All this fuss and only a single step towards finding his brother.
