A thunderous boom shook the city as another building came crashing down, dust and debris filling the sky as it changed from a dilapidated, rickety skeleton of rusted metal and rotten wood to a grimy, disorganized pile of rusted metal and rotten wood. One of countless buildings that had been destroyed so far today, and fortunately none of them were falling as a result of cape violence. Rather, their demise was coming about as a direct result of one young woman's rather large pocketbook.

Taylor watched with satisfaction as her employees, though of course none of them knew who she was in truth and simply considered her the DWA boss kid', swarmed forward with tools and transports to quickly move the rubble away for disposal. It was just wonderful how fast things could get done when you had sufficient funds to simply throw more men and equipment at an issue. Oh, there were certainly portions of her projects where that wouldn't actually work, due to safety concerns and such things, but still. Money was often the limiting factor in life, and while she had expended a significant amount of her reward to buy The Docklands, she still had more than enough for this. Especially once she had more funds coming in from various enterprises, donors, and interested parties. Besides, if push came to shove, she could always kill some more valuable individuals sooner rather than later.

With this project, her influence in the city would grow significantly. It would take little while to become lucrative, but not as long as some might think. Oh, the jewel of her crown would take time, plenty of it, but the lesser, peripheral entertainments would be much easier and quicker to design. They would be bringing in funding and growing her base of support, even if not directly or entirely knowingly. She owned nearly a third of the city, now, and when it was not only returned to its old glory but expanded beyond it, she would become the preeminent power within the city. With Brockton Bay solidly under her influence and the lack of jobs and prevalence of slums starving the gangs of both the desperate recruits and shadowed places that gave them life... they would collapse, inevitably, leaving only herself and the various heroes.

Then, she could expand beyond her home. Investors would flood to her, the public would respect her, and the government would have a bit of egg on its face for failing so consistently where she had succeeded so easily. Prestige and wealth would be well within her grasp and she would have the ears of those in power. All things that would advance her goals even further still. All of this was true, and all of this was a cause for her actions.

It was also true, and a greater cause than she might like to admit, that she had also done this to make her family happy. Her father had poured his heart and soul into the docks, had spent his life keeping it running and helping the people who depended upon it survive, only to find himself abandoned and scorned by those who should have been his natural allies. She had watched him wither away, bit by bit, as his efforts turned up less and less success. She had watched her mother try desperately to help him, spending as many hours as he on paperwork or the internet, searching for a solution. Supporting the man that she loved with all that she had. They had sacrificed so much trying to help their people, and everything not upon that altar had been spent without hesitation on her. She, who was not within her mind, soul, and heart truly human. She, who was not even from this world, this dimension. She, who…

No, she thought to herself as she shook those dark thoughts away. I may be Yvvraine, but I am also Taylor. I am their daughter, they are my parents, and they deserve all that I can do for them. This is just the beginning.

She would fulfill her father's dream, renew the life-blood of the city and do her part in turning it from a contemptible joke into a jewel of the east coast, as it had been in decades past. A center of trade and tourism, a destination eagerly sought rather than desperately avoided. A place of Light, not Darkness.

She cast one final gaze at the work in progress before turning away. She had a show to put on tonight, and she wanted to make sure it was appropriately magnificent. A proper debut would need to be made to this amusing little game that the 'heroes' and 'villains' were so enamored with. It was pathetic, honestly, and served only to perpetuate the decay and agony of this world, but she would indulge their games for a time, even if only for her own amusement. Of course, when it stopped amusing her things would certainly begin going poorly for those who were obstacles and distractions from her plans. There was far too much at stake to tolerate it when the time came.

More than anyone could ever imagine.

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Elsewhere in the city, well-hidden in a labyrinthian hideout hidden beneath one of the super-bunker Endbringer shelters that his own company had constructed, a man in a black bodysuit decorated with a white snake coiling around his body from head to toe watched on a bank of monitors as the docks were demolished one building at a time.

He was, arguably, unique amongst most non-kill order parahumans. While the majority of the parahuman population contented themselves with 'cape activities' in their spare time from work, or school, or family life, he was the opposite. It was not Coil the Supervillain who was his alter ego, but rather retired Strike Team Leader and Fortress Construction owner Thomas Calvert who was the true mask. He was a man who dedicated every moment of his day to gaining an advantage on his rivals and the idiots that worked in the PRT and Protectorate, and a man who always gained those advantages.

It was easy, really, when one had the power to split time. No matter what happened, positive or negative, in anything he did, he could find a way to get a better result. To expand his influence and wealth. To make sure that all of his plans, no matter how long or short term they were, came to fruition. Even this could, undoubtably, be turned in his favor somehow. Whoever the people behind this 'Craftworlds' that had just bought a significant portion of the city was, they had virtually come out of nowhere. Mildly concerning, naturally, but given he could spend literally countless timelines looking for information either overtly or covertly he wasn't to terribly worried. Whoever was behind this was someone he would eventually get a handle on, or they would tragically disappear. It wouldn't be the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

That being said, he did have assets that were in the Docks, assets of the material nature, and he had likely lost them already or would be doing so imminently. That was irksome, very irksome, but unfortunately unavoidable. Of all the times he had to be out of the city, focusing his timelines on cultivating new contacts elsewhere, something major like this had to happen. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again. Anytime he was out of his city (his future city, he supposed, for it inevitably would be his) he would have constant report on its status, to avoid this sort of thing happening again.

He thrived on information, his network of spies passing on what he needed to gain an unassailable edge over his rivals. He bribed, blackmailed, kidnapped, stole…anything that helped him with his goals, anything that would make him king of the proverbial castle, he was willing to do. He had done it all with nothing in the way of regrets. He had learned all too well that the only butt he should care about and the only person that mattered was himself when his entire unit, along with three others, had been slaughtered in Ellisburg when they had foolishly tried to take on Nilbog. He had certainly taken a few steps past common decency when he shot his own comrade in the back to get up the ladder before the bio-tinker's monsters had caught up. Of course, he could have been shot for that himself, but fortunately he was able to spin a tale about the other man having been infected and in the midst of becoming one such monster himself. With the confusion and terror around Nilbog's powers and the inability to recover a body to prove or disprove his story, all he had suffered was a quiet discharge. Gallingly, dearest Emily, who had also been there and run, hadn't gotten a discharge, had she? No, because she returned with intel she had acquired only through sheer dumb luck, she had ended up getting promoted instead. A few years later and here she was, Director of one of the handful of cities that had a dedicated PRT and Protectorate presence!

Well, he wasn't one to forgive or forget a slight. The PRT would discover what a mistake they had made for humiliating him and tossing him aside, and Emily would suffer for her part in it all. First, he would depose her as Director, preferably in as humiliating a manner as possible. Then, he would let her watch as he single-handedly took the city over lock, stock, and barrel. As her heroes were used again and again to do his dirty work, driving out rivals and crippling themselves in the process. Only after everything she had fought for, all the thin civility and peace she had kept the city holding on to since Marquis was arrested had collapsed, and the reputation of her beloved organization was in ruins would he personally execute her. Many a night he had slept with a smile on his face at the mental image of her inevitable expression of helpless fury and fear, right before the bullet blew out the back of her head.

Still, daydreams of the future aside, he had a great deal to accomplish today. In addition to gathering the requisite intel, or at least making a damn good go of it, he had to deal with the various droll day-to-day affairs of both Coil and Calvert, and unfortunately doing paperwork in one timeline didn't magically finish it in the other. On the plus side, he could delegate most of the paperwork for Fortress Construction to his assistants and secretary. Micro-management time was to be spent on pursuits that he actually cared about, and the day to day affairs of his cover persona's cover company certainly didn't fall into that category. He really only got involved when he needed to manipulate events and resources to expand his villainous empire and the territories therein.

As Coil, he needed to deal with some equipment requisitions. Another shipment of guns had arrived, and Toybox had sent him the latest iteration of their 'catalogue', which contained two very nice new items in the form of a hard-light blade for various weapon forms and a personal jetpack. As much as he loved the idea of having jet-troopers with blades that could cut through almost anything, the current iteration of both items wasn't (in his humble opinion) worth the price tag demanded. Better to wait until the tinker organization streamlined the design sufficiently before spending that sort of money. Foodstuffs and other basic supplies needed to be refreshed, the pumps that kept the warrens between underground shelters dry needed standard maintenance, and oddly enough a trio of security cameras had broken down completely for reasons beyond him. He would have been suspicious if not for the fact that a full search of the base and several timelines' worth of investigation had found nothing out of the ordinary. Even for a parahuman super-villain, things could just break without some sort of outside involvement.

Rubbing his forehead as a headache began to grow behind his eyes, he instructed his assistant to bring him a steaming glass of his new favorite tea, Seachran. He had no idea where his assistant had found it, though he would have to remember to ask eventually, but wherever she had found it…well, it was the best damn tea he ever drank, and it was perfect for getting rid of his headaches.

Hmm, the latest intelligence from the assets that he had monitoring various non-migratory S-rank threats were reporting some odd 'ghosts' near the perimeter wall of Ellisburg. Surprising, he didn't think anyone other than the (admittedly hardcore) Nilbog Containment Specialist Unit would go anywhere close to that particular hellhole, but perhaps some young, recently-triggered idiot thought they could manage that which their seniors in both age and experience had not. He would have his people keep an eye on the situation. If these 'ghosts' turned out to be individuals useful to him, it wouldn't be hard to make them disappear and give the impression that they had actually ventured into the lair of the Goblin King and died there.

If they weren't useful…well, he would probably use a few timelines to see what actions might or might not inspire the wrath of the bio-tinker by using them as bait. He could think of plenty of scenarios where that knowledge could come in handy, especially research into whether he could inspire Nilbog to go after particular locations or individuals, though he would have to be meticulous about ensuring nothing could be remotely traced back to him. Hell, he might be able to leave a trail to one of his rivals or obstacles. That would certainly be convenient, but he was willing to admit that doing anything about Ellisburg was a fanciful thought. The ruined city and it's ruler had no real impact or value in regards to his plans, nor did he have any particular need for vengeance or retribution for the lost lives of his former comrades. Though, once he had power publicly as Calvert, perhaps he could try something along that vein. It would make an excellent story for the citizenry if he portrayed himself as the vengeful soldier bringing peace to their souls and removing a grave threat at the same time. All nonsense, of course, but it was the sort of thing that people ate up with delight.

Picking up his freshly delivered tea, he sat back and took his first sip, sighing with palpable relief as the headache immediately began to abate, his almost-imperceptibly blurred vision clearing. Life was good, and getting better all the time.

###############################################################

The nightlife of Brockton Bay was not known for its peaceful and relaxing nature, though The Boardwalk admittedly was almost what your average person would consider safe, and it certainly didn't improve when the locals started getting restless. Restless locals usually meant gunfire, explosions, and highly-destructive cape-on-cape battles that ended up with repair bills in the tens of thousands of dollars, if not more.

As a result, when people witnessed a group of about two dozen armed and angry members of the Archer's Bridge Merchant gang, with a pissed-off and vitriolically-muttering Skidmark leading them personally down the street, they either rapidly vacated the area or battened down the proverbial hatchs. Gangers with a cape supporting them was bad enough in the first place, but when those same individuals were clearly already in a bad mood…well, its said that nothing improves a bad mood like spreading it around, and shockingly enough no one felt much like volunteering.

Well, almost no one.

"Console, Console, this is Vista. Reporting Merchant activity on 5th and Maple. Two dozen regulars with assorted melee and guns, led by Skidmark. No sign of any other potential combatants, no indication of why they're here, over."

Though she was young (painfully young, by many standards), Missy Biron was mature in so many ways. As the Ward Vista, she had more experience and time in uniform than the rest of her teammates, and even some of the full Protectorate members for that matter. Something that certainly showed in the way she carried herself and spoke while in public, and something that had frequently caused protestation and soap-boxing from the ever-infuriating Youth Guard. God forbid that a Ward, a super-hero-in-training, be competent and mature in public. If it was just about her age that would be one thing, though mentioning it was a sure-fire way to piss the girl off, but they treated those on the cusp of graduation the same way. The Wards was JROTC for heroes, but apparently the fact that they had super-powers made it appalling and unacceptable.

"Copy, Vista. You and Shadow Stalker are to remain out of sight and non-combative unless ordered otherwise. Battery is three minutes away and Miss Militia is a few minutes behind her. How copy?" the voice of Carlos Dorent, also known Aegis, respond crisply from the command and control center deep in the bowels of the PRT ENE HQ. A total stick in the mud, as far as she was concerned, but she was willing to admit (quite generously, in her opinion) that he was not as bad as the overly-pompous, sanctimonious ass that was Gallant. A boy who was entirely too fond of himself as Gallant or as his 'mild-mannered alter ego' Dean Stansfield. A richy-rich brat that had probably Triggered when his first girlfriend wouldn't put out on their first date, or something equally pathetic. Not like her, not like those that had gained their powers through true suffering.

Sophia Hess, the 'former' and 'reformed' vigilante named Shadow Stalker, grumbled in discontent as her patrol partner for the evening gave her a pointed look. It was fucking stupid that they had to sit around waiting when the two of them could easily take these morons out. All Vista had to do was warp the distance between a tranquilizer bolt and Skidmark's neck. Ten seconds later, the only parahuman is unconscious and a drooling pile of the ground and they could pick off what bangers didn't run at their leisure. But noooo, Wards weren't permitted to strike the first blow against parahuman enemies, allowed only to defend themselves or support a fully accredited Hero.

She never should have agreed to this little 'comradery building patrol' the Youth Guard had come up with. Apparently the only two female ENE Wards had to be good friends and do girly shit together, and that meant time spent solely in each-other's company in uniform and out. She certainly hadn't appreciated any implications into her 'virtue' given that she 'was constantly in the company of boys her own age or older and might fall victim to youthful foolishness' thanks to 'the stressful and emotional activities in which she was forced to participate as a Ward.'

Still, as annoying as she found the younger girl's crush on Gallant and as foolish as she considered the Protectorate and PRT's attitudes toward combating villains as a whole, she was willing to admit (even if only to herself) that Vista was the most competent of her team-mates, and one whose power was both versatile and potentially terrifying. Plus, it was fucking hilarious to see pathetic worms like those below them try to run away, only to find that the other end of the street was miles further away than it had been a moment ago. Better yet was the time Vista had done the opposite to a getaway car from a bank robbery, warping the distance sufficiently to send it plowing into a wall that had previously been hundreds of yards down the street. Oh, the girl had been lectured at length for that, but Sophia could see that the complaints had rolled off the blonde's back like water, as they should have.

"What…?" Vista's murmuring roused her from her thoughts, and she glanced over the lip of the roof again to see what she was staring at. Her eyes widened as she took in the fog that seemed to be flowing onto the street, low-sprung misty tendrils crawling out of sewer grates, alleyways, and from beneath the cars parked along the street. It began to swirl around the now-nervous Merchants, coiling like wisp-serpents around them, tugging at their clothes and drifting in a breeze that didn't exist.

"That's not fucking natural, fog doesn't move like that." Sophia declared bluntly, double-checking her crossbows as the fog continued to flow and gather around the Merchants, who by this point looked panicked enough to shoot at the slightest startle. They were all probably up to their eyeballs in drugs, and she was willing to bet that what was creepy to her and Vista was utterly terrifying to their narcotic-addled brains. "There's someone else here, someone who's controlling that fog. Call it in while I get an ETA from Battery."

Down on the ground, the Merchant members were shuddering in discomfort and unease at the light, damp caress when one of them was yanked backwards into the opaque air with a choked of scream. Amidst swearing and shouts of confusion, his compatriots turned to face the direction they believed that threat was within, but the threat had moved in anticipation of their reaction. In an instant another Merchant was on the ground, a leg sweep sending her to the ground. As she landed another foot crashed into her head, breaking her jaw and sending her into unconsciousness, one she probably would have welcomed as a respite from the pain she would have been in had she been conscious long enough to feel it.

Then the singing started, a sweet but husky contralto that echoed through the buildings and filled the air around them, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"For whom weeps the storm, Her tears on our skin. The days of our years gone, our Souls soaked in sin. These memories ache with the wait of tomorrow…"

"Spread the fuck out! Find whatever cock-gobbling gutter-slut is here!" Skidmark snarled, giving what was perhaps the most idiotic order he could have in such a situation, and unfortunately for him his people were too high and too scared of him to disobey. Instead they spread out in a rough circle, eyes probing the mist as they tried to see whoever was there enemy.

"Who fights?"

Two of them were the unknown parahuman's next victims, as the cape appeared from the fog and crushed two of them, hammer-blows of fist and feet cracking bones and bruising flesh. The attacker vanished again, leaving them moaning on the ground, and moments later dragged another into the fog with and arm around her neck.

"Who falls?"

One of the Merchants made break for it, but a crack filled the air as something dark and thin blurred through the air and wrapped around his ankles. Screaming, hands clawing at the ground desperately for purchase, he was quickly dragged into the same mist that had claimed so many of his fellows.

"Who flies?"

"Christ…" Vista whispered, rolling her eyes behind her mask at the almost absent-minded chastisement she received from the freshly-arrived and currently charging Battery, who was watching with hawk-like focus as events continued to unfold below them. "Ever seen anything like this?"

"One brings Shadow, one brings Light. Two-toned echoes tumbling through time. Threescore wasted, ten cast aside. Four-fold knowing, no end in sight."

"Not in a long time, not since one of the fights with The Nine. We had a Mover/Stranger on our side, a refugee from Kyushu. She was fast, very fast, and could leave behind illusions of herself whenever she moved. Never got her name, never saw her again. She definitely didn't sing while she was fighting, that's for sure." The older heroine responded, shaking her head in mingled dismay and awe as another two thugs fell to a hurricane of melee attacks. "Whoever this is, they aren't a fresh off the Trigger newbie. Or, they were very good at hand-to-hand before they got powers. Won't be long until it's just Skidmark at this rate."

"One brings Shadow, one brings Light. One dark future no one survives. On Their Shadows, away we fly."

Her words proved prophetic, for within the space of a minute more, the rest of the unpowered criminals had been laid low, leaving the Parahuman founder of Brockton Bay's weakest gang alone. Without anyone to protect him or easily provide projectiles for his propulsion fields, he resorted to an old standby: apply his field to whatever he could and start flinging them in random directions. Laughter replaced singing, which only served to enrage Skidmark further, his behavior growing more and more erratic the longer the situation lasted. Shadowed forms flitted through the fog, taunting him with words and mocking laughter, and Battery frowned in displeasure.

"She's just toying with him now, drawing it out for the fun of it. Not very heroic…" she murmured, and Sophia couldn't restrain her scoff.

"Who cares if she's freaking him out, its not like she's torturing him with a knife and getting off on it. He's a drug-peddling, kidnapping rapist that should have been dealt with a long, long time ago." She said bluntly, ignoring the look Battery was giving her as she stared back down at them. "The Merchants are scum, worse than anyone else in the Bay. Good riddance to filth."

"Where are you!" Skidmark finally screamed, probably the 'cleanest' sentence the man had ever uttered.

"Behind you…" the voice uttered, too softly, and as he turned with a shout of fear the fog billow and disperse outwards in a wave of pressure. The heroes, even on their roof-top perch, shielded their faces from the strong wind. When they looked back down, they witnessed a slim feminine figure, wreathed somehow within what remained of the fog, holding Skidmark several feet in the air. One hand was wrapped around his throat as she held him without any discernable difficulty as he struggled to free himself.

"The road that we walk is lost in the flood. Here, proud angels bathe in their wages of blood. At this, the world's end, do we cast off tomorrow." She finished her song, before cocking her head in consideration. "What should I do with you, I wonder? There are so many options, so many games that we could play. And this really is all a game, isn't it, 'Skidmark'?"

"Right, we're going down there before she does something she will regret. You two stay behind me and be ready to run if you have to." Battery declared, gesturing for Vista to create a path to the street for them, which she did with little effort.

"Ah, the noble Protectorate reveal themselves at last. I had wondered if you might linger on that rooftop for the whole of the night." The unknown remarked as they approached, never looking away from the fruitlessly writhing man in her grasp, head still cocked in what the three heroes were now positive was amusement. "Really, I thought that I might have to address you directly with an invitation to join me before you would actual move. Did you enjoy my performance?"

"Enjoy isn't the word I would use, miss, and I'm going to have to ask you to put Skidmark down before you hurt him too badly." Battery's voice was cool, and the woman glanced at her with the same amusement she had been directing at the villain.

"I have and shall hurt him as much as I need or want, no more or less. Unlike some, I do not lack control over either myself or my strength. I would have thought that, if nothing else, would have been made abundantly clear over the last few minutes." She responded, apparently unconcerned and unoffended by Battery's bearing or words. "I understand that you are used to working with those who lack such control, but the failings of your organization and those of your enemies are hardly indicative of all who roam the streets at night."

"St'p f'ckn talkin'! Get t'is bitch offa me!" Skidmark snarled through grunts of exertion and discomfort, still playing the part of a worm on a fish-hook. The woman holding him responded by tightening her grip slightly, tsking in chastisement.

"Now, really! Not only are there ladies present, but one of them is fairly young." She scolded him, sounding more like an irritated mother than anything else. She gave Vista an almost apologetic look as the Ward bristled instinctively at the hated words. "I mean no offense, my dear Vista. You are certainly capable, experienced, and have heard far worse than that. Nevertheless, improper behavior really must be corrected, hopefully before he stains the ears of someone not so worldly as you."

"Miss, I won't ask again. You need to put him down now." Battery ordered firmly, energy playing across her skin and suit in what could only be considered a threat, and the woman sight gustily in theatrical disappointment before obeying…after a fashion. An almost lazy movement of her arm sent him ten feet away, where he slammed into a wall and slumped unconscious to the ground.

"Ugh, I have his filth on my glove. Disgusting, I tell you. Does the man not know the meaning of hygiene or bathing?" the woman grumbled in contempt, pulling off said glove with the other before wrapping them around each other, EMT style. The three heroes flinched slightly as a small purple flame flared in her hand, incinerating the gloves and burning the last of the fog away to reveal her full appearance.

Long, silken black hair hung from a high-ponytail down to just below her hips, long bangs framing a stereotypically aristocratic face, the only startling feature of which being her dark orange eyes. A black and red bodysuit hugged every generous curve, strategically placed gaps enticingly revealed tanned flesh, and a long train-like skirt swayed with her movement to reveal black leggings that ended in thigh-high stiletto boots. Various tools and pouches hung from the belt at her waist, including the long black whip she must have used earlier, now coiled and latched in its proper place. The decorations were many, what looked to be precious gems scattered about her entire ensemble, and golden star-like mark was on her forehead.

She was beautiful.

"So…" she started, one hand dipping to her waist and withdrawing an oriental fan that she flicked open with a deft motion and used to cover the lower half of her face, eyes sparkling with impish delight as she regarded them. "What can I do for you fine folk tonight?"

"Who are you?" Vista blurted, prompting another tilted head in response. The unknown regarded her for a moment before glancing at her defeated foes, gesturing to them grandly with her free hand.

"I could give you my name, but what amusement is in so simple a response? See the answer laid out before you."

It took a use of Vista's power and a rooftop view to see what she was saying, and when they did Sophia couldn't help but give a whistle of admiration. There, on the pavement made damp by blood and fog, was spelt a word in the unconscious forms of the Archer's Bridge Merchants. Twenty-four insensate forms laid out in a particular pattern that gave name to their attacker:

H-E-R-A-L-D.

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Remember folks, Tayvraine was once Drukhari, among other things. Spelling out her name in the bodies of her enemies is pretty casual for the BDSM Space Elves, especially since she didn't kill them horribly and do some sort of abstract art with their blood.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. You know where is, you know where the review button is. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get myself off to work!