AN: I have to say I've been tossing this idea around for awhile. I wanted to have a more Original Alt!Taylor Worm story for awhile and since I have hit a rather nasty writer's block with my other stories I wanted to focus on my own ideas and develop them a little. Crossovers are fun and all but you get one thing wrong and the fans of either series will eviscerate you. That aside, I've done my best to make this the most well written story I have made. I hope you enjoy.

Magic.

Magic is a wonderful and terrible thing. A power that can give great fortune or bring down the most terrible anguish. An ability that can raze cities to the ground with a thought or build them up within a day. However for me it was the key to the current mess the world found itself in. Everyone knows the usual myths, tales, and parables about the greed of man and how it can lead to ruin. Now imagine all those warnings being disregarded, as they always are, but on a national scale leading to a choice of such stupidity that if anything beyond the bacteria and beast of burden should survive, my countrymen would live in infamy from this day eternal.

From a distance it would look as if the great white mountain citadel, Griland, was glowing like a great lighthouse entrapped by land. But now that I was here, to observe the situation up close...it was much worse. A vortex of magic flared all around me, whipping my cloak, burning on the pure soul power of the second best mage in the world, his assistance, and the lives of an entire city. The walls and parts the surrounding land that were not being thrown about like such chaff in the wind, were covered with the black oily aura of corruption. Even as I marched to it's center through the ruined streets untouched I found myself for the first time since I was a child forced to chant the most powerful counter-spells and charms I knew to avoid being consumed and taken over.

Normally, at least in this section of the city,I would've taken the most direct path along the wide sweeping streets of the city however is was not possible as rubble was blocking the once pristine marble avenues. Shame really but an unfortunate reality of the situation.

Speaking of, as I reached the grand square, clearly where this spell had been cast, the hellfire around me clears like the passing of a storm and reveals the perpetrators to this mass murder and destruction to me.

Rivaldi.

My best friend and his workers.

They had asked for my help in this project gone awry. I, like any sane man, said 'No' and being of sound mind, the greatest intelligence of modern and antiquated magic, and the only one who could reasonably complete such a feat of sorcery, had expected them all to simply give up on such ridiculousness. I had not used my better judgement to alert the guard as they were my associates and had never gone through with anything that they had randomly dreamed up from whatever part of their brain required such delusion.

Yet they still attempted it.

To break into the realm of the gods.

And the cost had been high. The corruption had gotten them, twisted them into horrid mockeries of life that would balk even the foulest thing to ever slither out of the Deadlands. They are fused, molded together like cheap clay. What remains of their skin is blackened by the fire or hanging off with muscle and bone. Limbs conjoined in awkward places twitch and mouths drool, open and close, to bleed or just scream in agony so deep it chills the bones. A hand twitches towards me, and every eye not seared shut or blinded instantly turns my way. Then the mass attempts to move, pulsing with an unnatural heartbeat and locomotion to get closer. The screams turn pleading and I can see in every attempt at motion a beg and every face that is distinguishable wants the same thing. Forgiveness. Release. Anything but a continuation of its wretched existence.

I grant it that. With a wave of my hand, it's form dissolves under my weaker spells. I'm only moderately sure I hear a 'Thank you' before the monstrosity disappears completely.

I file the trauma of what I've seen away to the back of my mind for later processing. If it become a burden then I will delete it. This is the second time I've killed someone close to me and the first time I regret that another path could not be found.

But the focus of my attention is back on the magic running wild. I really don't have much of a choice. Without the anchor the monstrosity provided, the storm of corruption howls even louder around me, crumbling what structures are left, and it cuts my already limited time even shorter. The calm eye of magic it dissipates and rips my cloak off from the sheer force. I don't mind really, it was a cheap piece after all. I stand once where the monstrosity was and close my eyes, feeling spellpower as it moves like a wildfire, spreading and consuming at the kindling it's been provided with. I reach out with my own power, to counter it.

Then… nothing. There is no reaction. No change. The corruption still burns. I'm still unaffected.

Suddenly, in less time than it took to blink, everything exploded around me. The land, my magic, even the very air in my lungs seemed to combust all at once. My own power fueled by the energy of corruption began to eat away at me. My skin, my bones, I felt it all being ripped apart, torn from me piece by insignificant piece. The pain was...the worst I'd ever been made to suffer in a long time. Most likely the worst I will ever suffer in my life.

It's nice to know that I've reached such a limit. Injury will be less difficult to deal with now that I have a true frame of reference.

Yet even as my eyes boiled away in my sockets, I my senses expanded beyond what I knew was possible. The very fabric of reality flipped open like a loose curtain blowing in the wind and nothing and everything followed right after.

Direction had no meaning. There was no up or down or forward or back. Spectrums of colors never realized by man blurred by in my consciousness. Languages never spoken or comprehended by mortal tongue came to me with an understanding that was horrifyingly peaceful. My very soul was bared to this power and was found...worthy. They spoke, making clear that I was to suffer them. Suffer their presence, their benefits, and their consequences.

I refused.

They gave me no choice. I was reached into. Violated to a degree that no man, woman, or child could comprehend. Given what I wanted, and everything I didn't. Then, after moments, years, centuries, millennia, of suffering under their endless wonderful vile touch, direction finally came back to me. I was falling. I fell and fell and fell, tumbling exposed and bare and vulnerable.

Finally, I slam into something and the impact is significant.

All sensation, pain, sight, the feeling of air leaving my lungs crash into me at the exact same moment and…I have a body again.

The overload on my mind fades the moment I open my eyes though vertigo still follows. There is motion to my left and despite the stiffness in the neck, I turn to look even as the room twirls around. A pale woman, in a light blue garb has some sort holding what looks like some oversized clear dart over an arm. It takes a moment just as she plunges it into the skin that I realize it's MY arm.

I try to jerk away but the stiffness of my my neck as apparently covered my entire body, so I just barely twitch. The movement causes pain and gets the woman's attention. She gasps, as she looks me right in the eyes. "Oh my god. Dear? Can you hear me?"

I nod. My throat is dry, so I doubt words would be able to be exchanged. Probably would be a boring conversation anyway.

She rushes away, leaving me to observe my current surroundings. I recognize maybe two or three things in this room. A drawer for clothing, what looks like a closet, and a chair. Oh, and of course, the bed I lay upon.

Everything else might as well not be there. I large box like object with a glass face hangs from the wall. A collection of block shaped machines next to my bed make odd noises every so often and attached to them are things that attach to me. A mask over my mouth. Something full of water I think is stabbed into the crook of my arm.

I'm about to pull all these things off, when the woman comes back, along with two men. One in a white coat. "Taylor." The other immediately upon seeing me, rushes over and gives me a hug. It's gentle and, thankfully brief, since I have no idea who this man is and that wasn't my name he spoke. Worse of all, he begins to weep. Tears streak his face as he practically chants, "I'm sorry," over and over.

I read into the man's mind to gauge his intentions for me. Their honest and open and… Well, clearly I'm not myself anymore though after my recent experience it would be foolish to expect so.

This man is my father.

XxX

It takes less than five minutes for me to realize my situation.

I am a woman...No, a girl. The change is different, strange certainly, but not unwelcome. Is better than death after all. I had entertained the idea of changing my gender and succeeded on more than one occasion. Flesh crafting is certainly nothing new to me, if I keep the form I might modify it slightly in order to give myself the proper equipment at a later date. For now, however, I need to rid my body of it's current echos of pain. Casting a numbing charm is easily done and the stiffness, while still present gives me more freedom of motion.

The doctor, who introduces himself as James, explains to me that I was in a coma after an...incident. Strange. He says it just like that. A pause as if trying to find the least abrasive term to describe what's happened to me. My "father's" reaction to it is a twitch. Which makes me curious, why such a deflection? For my protection? For theirs? Clearly something happened to me that put me (or the person who inhabited this body before me) in such a state and it wasn't an accident or they would've said so.

I have to press for details of what happened and when they tell me. It's all but confirmed my hypothesis. Being trapped in a box smaller than a coffin for nearly a full day couldn't have happened by accident unless this 'Taylor' was monumentally dim. Which I doubt, otherwise she would've been dead long before now. Stupidity has a way of culling the unfit.

After multiple examinations with machines whose purpose eluded me for now I'm left alone in my room. Even my father had left but made it clear he would be right outside if I require anything. Luckily, his very absence is just what I needed.

After calling the nurse in, I ask if there is a library nearby.

She confirms there's one on this floor.

I'm disappointed by what I find.

It's a small collection of a library. Something that you would find in a moderately prosperous town. There are a few more of those box-like objects on desks around the room, some of which have different colors on them. I don't ask what they are. What matters right now are the books. Thankfully I can read them. I was actually worried about if I could only understand the language and not the written word. If that had been the case, there would probably been some questions asked and I didn't want to be removed from this body because of my current possession by some well-meaning do-gooder. Most people think that when a spirit takes over a body, the person they were is just trapped inside, held hostage in their own mind. The truth was spirits could only take hold of a mortal on the brink of death and then forced them to pass on. A soul was much more powerful than any kind of spirit.

Looks like I saved my father from some severe heartache. Since the clear lack of my 'mother' implied one of two things. One: She was dead. Or Two: She had left him. Either of which made one fact true, she wasn't here. If this Taylor Hebert would've passed on, not only would this body have gone unused but the man would've been left alone.

That aside, I pour the next few hours into reading every piece of text in the room. I learn a lot about this world I find myself in now. Including what these box stand things are, 'computers' that connect to the 'internet'. It took me a few minutes to get a firm grasp

By the time I finish, I've learned that this is the most advanced backward society I've ever seen. There are inventions here that would shake the world back home. Even the simplest of backwaters in this nation would make the Ho'Nok and their scientific advances look like cheap tricks by comparison. The horseless carriage is one such thing I wish I'd had during my many travels. I must get one at the soonest convenience. I could've saved myself the trouble of dealing with bandits in my younger years by simply outrunning them. Yet there were so many issues with them. The jailing of criminals guilty of murder or worse, instead of instant execution for instance. Or the fact, Magic didn't exist here. Or at least not in the form I recognize.

There were different kinds of this world's magic used by "parahumans" or capes for short. Each form was categorized by type then graded by number.

A Mover was identified as someone who was able to 'move' beyond what was human ability to walk, run, or transport themselves with vehicle aid. Like teleportation spells.

Shaker was able to change the area around themselves in varying distance, effect and scale. Much like trap hexes or even complex construction spells

Brute was as on the nose as it came. Strength beyond what was humanly possible. The only comparison I had for that was the strength of an orc or Direwidow.

Breakers were simple those whose power could not be quantified. Who could 'break' simple 'rules of physics', whatever that means.

Master was the most insidious of powers. The ability to affect another's mind, to control them if need be. That stepped right over the line into dark magic. A line that I frequently toe everyday.

Thinker was the ability to read minds it seemed. Or read the world. The book was vague on that.

Tinker was the ability to create. To invent. To turn even the most useless of garbage into something deadly that was also impossible to replicate or maintain by any methods known to modern science and mechanics.

Blaster was the simplest to understand. The power to fire anything at a target. The most basic of battlecraft spells could cover that.

Changer was much like flesh crafting. To change to body at will.

Stranger was again, something that skirted the line dark magic. Affecting the mind to make someone ignore you, or not see you.

Trumps were, at least by this description, the counter of any kind to all the other powers listed before. Though what it meant by 'counter' was vague.

I'm pretty sure I qualify for trump since there was something I could use for each power.

Though after reading a newspaper, I realized I couldn't just go about using my powers like I wanted to. This Brockton Bay was a dangerous place and not even the local garrison of parahumans were able to easily stand up against them. At least, that's the tone I was able to pick up from the article.

Still as I move on to computers, I found even more things that were so much more interesting than my world.

This place had a thing called firearms. What a novelty. If I had one of those at the battle of Five Points, my job would've been much much easier. Damn Kuric'ai were relentless. The experimental part of me wanted to get my hands one one of those as soon as possible and finding out one had to be of age to purchase one dampened my mood slightly. What does age matter when it comes to weapons? One in the hands of a fool is dangerous no matter what their age. Just looking at the fiasco that sent me here is a good example.

My short-lived disappointment brushed aside I began to drink deep into the history of this place more and more.

No book, paper, or even computer(Once I got help from one of the staff) was safe from my thrust of knowledge.

It wasn't until a full seven hours later that the doctor had relegated me back to my small confinement but not before I checked out a rather large stack of material.

I spent the rest of my day in bed, reading.

Well, until nature forced me into action.

I made my way to the bathroom and, after my business was done, I stare at my reflection for a time.

I look horrible. Like I'm one stiff breeze away from falling apart. My body is thinner than I've even been in my life. This face, once full, shows cheekbones. My skin is pale, just short of sickly.

What's worse, now without knowledge to distract me, I feel just as bad as I look.

I ache right down to my bones. My muscles throb in that inflamed way with each heartbeat and an itch crawls from nerve to nerve, never satisfied no matter how much I scratch. And where I do scratch, a rash springs up which is numb to the touch.

'I'm sick!' is what my body screams and I believe it. I don't know with what. The tests they put me through at the hospital has yet to get results.

I refuse to wait that long. The pain will be gone now.

I close my eyes and call on my magic. It responds immediately, comforting in a way like a warm blanket on a cold night and fills every cell of my body. As it does, the horrible sensations bleed off of me, or that's what it felt like, purging away the impurities that infect my body.

I choose to keep my ghastly pallor for my own sake. The last thing I need is to deal with any nosy government body sticking it's fingers into my plate before I've even taken a bite.

Because of course, any institute or organization with power

I plan to dive into this world with gusto and the last thing I need are suspicious eyes turning my direction.

I'm only made aware that a great deal of time as passed when the Nurse comes in to let me know that it's lights out. I try to reason with her to allow me some more time as she comes in to change my I.V. but unfortunately medical staff in this world are as strict as the ones in my own and the lights are off before she leaves. The one blessing is that she doesn't take my material but moves it to the small table next to the bed. I'd just gotten to read through the mess that was the 'French' Revolution and I wasn't going to stop now. I wave my hand and quick cast a simple hex on the door which would make it unnoticeable for a few hours then with another wave of the hand turn the lights back on.

No need to expend my energy on light when there is already some provided. I fall back into the old habits of my schooling days, casting comprehension spells on my mind to give me an advantage of understanding what I was reading. I finish the rest of my books within two hours.

I remove the hex shortly after and proceeded to lay down for the night.

XxX

Over the next week, I find I'm quickly regretting curing myself. To have Medical professionals fawn over you when there is nothing wrong is enough to push a man to drink. Worse, to actually mimic something being wrong is a particular drain on my patience as I was never a good actor. Still they manage to buy a performance that not even the most trusting naive inquisitor would believe. They put me through so many tests, with poking and prodding that I feel more like some kind of stage attraction than a patient.

They seem very confused the whole time but eventually they finally relent and tell me and my father I can go home. News that is very exciting for me. I've only had a view of the city from the window and the News on the television.

Yet even though I'm freed they have one last insult to toss as they refuse to let me leave the building under my own power but to be carted around in a chair with wheels like some kind of invalid or lazy noble.

When my father brings his car around, I stand and get in as quickly as I can. Which reminds me, I really should get one of these. An older one though. I've learned in my research that, apparently older more obsolete versions of the automobile are seen as a higher status symbol than more current ones. As it was put to me in an online social connectivity communication platform or chatroom (why call it that as there is no room for people to 'chat' in is beyond me) on the subject of cars, Anything before the 1980s is good.

I must do more research when I get home.

I'm struck by just how big the city is on the way to our abode, so much...taller than even the highest tower in Girland.

"...lor, did you hear me?"

I turn to my father, only now just realizing that he'd been talking. The concern in his eyes all but scream at me and I take my attention off the marvels that we pass. "I apologize, father. I was distracted." I feel worry that's been bleeding off his mind grow. "Could you repeat that?"

"I was asking, how do you feel?"

I shrug, looking back to the window. "I feel fine. Happy to be out of the hospital for certain."

I don't need to read his mind that he agrees. "So am I."

The worry fades and in it's place is such a surge of guilt that I have to turn back to him just to make sure that it's his mind I'm feeling. What's in his mind reflects on his face. Hands gripping the steering wheel, lower lip being worried by his teeth, tears not yet fallen simmering in his eyes.

"I was cleaning up your room and I found…" He pauses, almost as if he doesn't want to admit something. "...your journals."

At a red traffic signal, he turns to me and I see a man who somehow has been so thoroughly chewed up and spit out by his emotions that it's any wonder he's able to function. I should probably read these journals Taylor wrote. "I'm sorry I never asked. I should've seen the signs before things got this bad. I promise th-"

"It's fine." I say with a wave. I'm not sure how Taylor would've reacted to such an apology but for me, I have no reason to be upset at him. "I'm certain everything will resolve itself in time."

My words leave him stunned. "I...Taylor, you were in a coma!"

"And I awoke. For now, I don't care who put me in such a situation. I just want to go home."

I make sure that I leave no opening to continue the current conversation as I focus on the road ahead of us.

My father clearly wants to say something else but the rest of the ride is silent.

I'm not impressed by our home when we arrive. Clearly we don't have a great deal of personal funds, which I note to fix later. It's small, taken care of but we are in the much less wealthy part of the city. Not the slums but not opulence either. Good to see that social sections of the city haven't changed.

My father leads me to my room to show how he's cleaned it for me. I'm quite happy to see I have a computer but the rest of the room is quite...interesting. Several printed, not painted amazingly, pictures line the walls of important parahumans that fight in the name of the law. My bed looks more comfortable than anything I've had in my very long life.

Lamps, a dresser, things necessary but uninteresting.

He excuses himself, letting me know to call for him if I need anything.

I ask him for my journals so I can review them before I go to bed.