Chapter 112: 102. Rainbow Seventeen

“Fuzzy, I have to adopt you now,” Luck said, floating down from the air. A white sheen covered her parachuting BAD MOMMA BEAR jacket. Fuzzy’s [Seelie Magic] had enchanted it with a one-time use spell: feather fall.

Luck had made the aerial exit early, too. Right at the start of the apocalypse stallion’s rise. Before it soared over some trashy murderhobos in front of the Louissaints’ walls. Before it dropped upside down where a bunch of eager and hungry Rank 2s waited.

It took a lot to get here. Most of it came down to people supporting her in creating the tools she needed. The apocalypse stallion was enchanted with the best rituals the Agents of Change had available to them. Which was low grade basic-quality Rank 1 magic.

Maybe less than that.

An idea that would most likely end up hurting Luck badly had changed for the better thanks to Fuzzy. The idea became a plan that shouldn’t take too much skin off her bones. 

Except for the acid fireball. That had taken a good amount of skin. Gonna screw up her machete swings a tad.

Fuzzy had done two things to the apocalypse stallion while Luck napped.  The fairy had used its [Seelie Magic] to beef up the frame’s defenses. Since Fuzzy had a few hours to work out the magic, the fairy had boosted the defense enchantment to its peak.

That worked out greatly with the second thing Luck had requested to be enchanted. A thing that would heightened the death of Lady Bedlam of Babylon.

The apocalypse stallion had known it would not survive such a harsh and dangerous trip. It had known since the moment it was born.

Lady Bedlam was fine with this. As long as it went out in a blaze of glory, it would do its mother proud.

Luck dropped the detonator as the predawn morning became a rainbow of light. A whopping explosion rumbled the area, shaking the earth outside of the estate’s walls. A list of slain notifications flitted by on a blue box in the corner of Luck’s vision.

Not all, but more than half most likely. A lot of those boys hadn’t packed enough Poise Attribute or Health Status. Those that survived the initial onslaught would probably succumb to the damage-over-time unless they had decent defensive Skills or a healer.

They would probably wonder how the hell could she do such a thing.

The apocalypse stallion had a hardened metal frame enchanted by MPC efforts and [Seelie Magic]. Most people might not know that Seelie anything was the type of whimsical fairy magic that offered great support or did net-positives to stuff you enchant. Luck had told Cabana the idea, and Cabana dutifully guided Fuzzy to weave its magic in such a way where the hardened metal frame doubled as magic frag like fragmentation coming off of a grenade. But vehicle-sized.

And the explosives? The most insidious basic-quality alchemical munitions Luck could have Cabana have the MPC request from Lilith. Luck had needed a few middlemen to not alert her son that she could possibly explode on this ill-advised vengeance getaway.

Then Fuzzy had added [Seelie Magic] to the bomb under the carriage for more impact upon detonation. That gave it a nice good quality boost, a Rank 2 magic aid for more explosive power and effect.

Luck had driven it here alone in case an Unregulated struck accurately under the carriage. If that had occurred, Lady Bedlam of Babylon would’ve gone kablooey earlier than scheduled.

Good thing the concept of racing from north quarter all the way to south quarter would involve her Titles [Runner of Chance] and [Soldier of Challenge]. She had kept sweet talking to Lady Bedlam with [Voice of Bardic Madness], too.

Luck had lended the apocalypse stallion some extra hype. She had given it a life of its own. It had been too colorful and bright and extravagant to not develop a soul, even as an infant.

That had been magic of the purest source. A mere idea that made sense to Luck without her asking no one. An idea that had killed the child born out of vengeance. A child that would know little than to fulfill its reasons for existing. A sacrifice to beat the odds.

In its last moments, why wouldn’t Lady Bedlam of Babylon live up to its colorful image of stalwart insanity and suicidal splendor? That last touch of giving life to a crazed vehicle had added way more oomph to the end results.

“The madness you’ll see coming and can’t hope or do to stop,” Luck said plainly at the rainbow fire.

The alchemical fire would keep burning. It would illuminate the area with shifting colors. Greens, blues, purples, reds, oranges, yellows, etcetera. A rainbow of death and destruction. And heat, too.

Nobody sane would want to get close to something like that. They would wait on a strong Rank 2 that had some anti fire Skills.

Luck jumped the wall and entered the estate.

The heat was scalding to a Rankless like her. The smoke was thick. Noxious. Poisonous. Luck had to drink an alchemy antidote to keep her lungs from liquidating.

The alchemy fire had touched the main building. She had to be quick to reach her first target. At least she knew where to go. The chapel had been off to the side and tucked in the corner. So it was further from the rainbow fire.

***

Samuel’s entire existence was pure pain. He could see little. He could barely breathe. Every move to help himself  shifted the fragments of glass embedded in his knocked down body.

His eyes were open. But it was hard to see past that blazing rainbow light. He’d never experienced such pain before. He needed his savior’s help. The bible. He reached for it.

His hand brushed against the pistol handle instead. Was this a sign? Yes, it had to be a sign. In the moments before he went to see his maker, he would shoot her. He would shoot the evil whore.

He had some vision left. Something shadowy moved near the open window. A shaded monster. A woman with her back to the hell fire. Like she had been born from the flames of scorn.

Samuel lifted the gun and pulled the trigger. He tensed from the recoil. The gun blast got past the horrid ringing and thumping headache. His ears could still hear, even if muffled. 

He kept his grip on the gun handle anyway. He pulled the trigger again. And again. He kept firing at the devil woman. The bullets went awry. He kept trying. Then the gun stopped working. It fell from his shaky grip.

The devil woman remained outside the window. Untouched.

“You cannot come inside,” Samuel rasped. “This is a sacred place of faith and holiness, and you cannot come inside.”

“Then why did you choose the gun?” asked the devil woman. “If you had reached a little further, you would’ve had the bible. You might have given me pause with that small magic.”

Samuel froze.

Samuel’s heart hurt. Yet, he still lived. It was a struggle to breathe, but he still breathed. Why wouldn’t he die? He was too old. He was too scared.

He raised his feeble hands as the devil woman crawled inside. He whimpered as her shoes crushed glass and settled fully into the desecrated chapel.

She stared at him. Her breathing sounded clear and stormy to his ears.

He dully heard angry shouting. A bang against the doors. The young macoute with the electric mouth appeared.

Samuel could barely see, but he could tell the boy was hurt badly. Yet, the boy had returned, a survivor, a savior.

He had greater power than her, yes? She would be stopped. Samuel would be saved. This young man was hope incarnate.

“I’m here, Grandpapa!” The macoute roared righteously, opening his mouth with blue electric power glowing and crackling in his throat. “Die, devil woman, [Charging Electric Breath]!”

The devil woman moved like a blur and revealed a sawn-off shotgun from under her jacket. She double-barreled the young man in the mouth before his Skill could discharge.

The macoute’s head blew open like an overpressured top. Blood and teeth covered in dying lightning scattered across the desecrated chapel.

Samuel cried in horror at the grisly death of the macoute. He was only a boy, truly. No older than seventeen. How could she do such a cruel thing to a promising young man?

“I got the shotty from different gangsters,” she said. “Lacks the ironic oomph here. But the breaking of your faith and desecration of sacred grounds is a different angle of power. And the Electriceater suffered a lot of prior damage.”

She chuckled without mirth. Without joy.

“Get it? The System could be wacky fun if you murderhobo properly. Break it. Remix it. Whatever. The System and magic exists for the divergent more than the militant. How else can I be here if my broken mind is not the greatest blessing?”

Her words. Pure nonsense.

Her madness. Pure evil.

But Samuel had not the power to rebuke her. The bible was there. But to look at it gave him shame. How could his god have forsaken him like this?

The shotgun hit the floor. It clattered loudly and clearly in Samuel’s ears. She reached behind her and pulled out a terribly familiar blade. A staple weapon of the Haitian people. The weapon of rebels, bandits, and murderers.

A machete.

“Have mercy, cheri,” Samuel said. “We used to smile and eat candy together. Don’t you remember?”

The hellish fire to her back covered her face with darkness. There was nothing of the girl he’d once known. She was something other. Something from hell.

She reached down.

Samuel flinched painfully as the glass shards dug into his flesh.

When nothing happened, he looked up and saw she’d taken the phone. When she flipped it open, Samuel briefly saw her face.

He wished he hadn’t seen it. Rage. Insanity. A scowl that would devour his heart and keep him alive so he could see her do it.

How could such evil exist?

“Jean,” she said into the phone. “It’s me. One of your baby mamas.” She paused. “You know who. I was on the news last night.” She paused again. “That explosion? Yeah, that was me. Your father? Yeah, he’s here.”

She held the phone to Samuel’s face, the speaker on. Samuel knew deep in his spirit that talking would serve the devil woman.

She wanted this. She wanted to hurt his son. Samuel had to refuse her. He had to be strong this once if he had never been strong before.

“Papa?” Jean called with a strained voice. Sounding like the good boy he had once been.

The boy Samuel had failed to raise into a proper man. The boy who had brought this evil to their doorstep.

“Jean, save me, it hurts, and I’m scared,” Samuel begged, losing the power to be brave. Tears fell down his bloody cheeks

She muted Jean, silencing him on the line while letting him hear everything.

“You saw what he was doing to me, Samuel. And how he threatened me. And maybe I could have endured all of that if he had given me something, anything, to help with our child,” she said. “I went to you. And begged you for help. And all you did was smile and hand me candy. And then ran off right after Jay was born.”

The mother of the devil stopped scowling.

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“But that’s okay. I’ll get back what you owe me one way or another.”

She started smiling, her machete raised high.

She chopped down, making Samuel scream. But no killing blow came. Not even a cut. The blade stuck near his head. She wretched it out of the floor and rubbed the flat of it over his face roughly. She sliced the edge thinly along his torso, making him cry, but no more. It was not a killing blow.

Then she receded back, taking his blood on her blade.

“Wait. The fire. It will consume everything.” Samuel reached out weakly. “Please help this old man.”

“Okay.”

She tossed a tiny thing on the floor. It landed near his face.

It was a piece of candy.

 She went out the way she came. Samuel laid back, feeling weak and feeble. He could unmute Jean. Or he could try to crawl out. Samuel did none of these things. He was too hurt and tired.  And deep down, he knew he had allowed too much wickedness to go unchallenged.

“I am a weak man.”

The flames reached the chapel.

***

Luck hit the ground after leaping down from the wall. She got out just in time before the alchemical fire torched the mundanely built house completely.

It hadn’t been easy on her. She had taken off her jacket to protect it. Lost some skin, unfortunately. Her lungs felt pretty beat up.

Man, all this action could hurt like hell.

She still had her machete in hand. It had a new coat of blood on it. Most people would wipe it off.

But this blood had some major significance. It added more weight to her. Her power went up. It was almost time to release it. She could still add more to it, though.

“Luck, over here,” Cabana called from around the corner. Brown was with her, hugging Fuzzy to her body.

They straddled a pair of dirt bikes, having followed in the wake of Luck and Lady Bedlam’s gallant charge through the lowly gangster blockades. The team would’ve had to clear out some stragglers along the way.

Brown was a Level 7 Fighter now. New Skill: [True Grit].

Cabana had changed, too. Though, Luck could only see what Cabana would let her see.

“Congrats, rule breaker.” Luck smiled softly.  “Better pucker up and kiss the ground our teenage goddess walks on.”

The Level 2 [Medium] rolled her eyes. “Shush, you. And get on. They’ll be coming.”

Luck sheathed her machete and hopped on the dirt bike behind Cabana. Without a word, the dutiful senior agent passed her a small vial. It was a basic health potion.

“Are you sure?” Luck asked. She wanted to avoid using anything the Pantheon would desperately need.

Health Potions came from crystals mainly. Lilith lacked the ingredients to make them wholly from something more organic. The Pantheon’s loot supply was suffering if you accounted for botched products that came up occasionally and Macy going on impractical crafting benders.

“Drink it now. Or drink it later. I know you’re hurting,” Cabana revved the engine. Luck smiled and wrapped her arms around Cabana.

They rode off quickly. Faster and smoother than dirt bikes should go.

Luck relaxed for a good long beat, resting her chin on Cabana’s shoulder. Luck tried not to be a creeper. But she might’ve sniffed Cabana a couple of times.

Cabana leaned her head into Luck’s face. As if the senior agent was inviting Luck to get a deep long whiff. Luck wouldn’t turn that down at all.

Too bad the time for Team Girls’ Night Out was waning. The next leg of things had to be done solo.

They rode together anyway, enjoying the peace in the eye of the storm for as long as possible. Luck hoped to get more of Cabana after all was said and done. If Luck survived her greatest feat yet.

“This is where we part ways,” Luck said, shoving off of Cabana’s dirt bike.

Luck landed on a gravel lot with a stride despite the dirt bike having moved quite speedily. She should be about far enough from the blaze. But not too far where Jean would waste time dicking around to find her.

They were on the border between the east and south quarter. Most of the Unregulated had fled to their hideouts after the passing of Lady Bedlam of Babylon.

That rainbow explosion would have further cemented doom and gloom in the trashy murderhobos. Trashy murderhobos liked easy kills. It made them feel tough. 

There was nothing easy about Luck.

They would know her at first glance now. Her colorful appearance stood out in Junkside. Especially with dawn nearing.

Luck smiled softly as a random junker walked out from around the corner and spotted her. He turned and fled from the Rankless woman with the BAD MOMMA BEAR jacket.

Cabana whipped the dirt bike around. Brown slowed to a halt while hugging Fuzzy with one arm.

Both ladies studied Luck without saying anything at first. They were learning more of the methods behind her madness.

“You’re still Rankless,” Cabana said. “They will kill you.”

“They will want to kill me,” Luck said. “That is the difference.”

“I get it,” Brown said. “It’s personal with Luck. They’ll kill the rest of us on sight.”

“And I’m beefy now,” Luck said with an easy going smile. “All that AP from making a bunch of Rank 2s go ka-blam. I’ll be okay.”

And she had a new Talent: [Desecration Rulership].

Kind of evil sounding. Still cool, though.

Cabana kicked the stand down. She swung off the dirt bike and strode over. She grabbed Luck by the front of her jacket.

Luck blinked as she got pulled into a kiss. Cabana’s soft and velvety lips thrummed over Luck’s with all the experience and ferocity a woman of Cabana’s caliber could deliver.

It was like meeting a fire nymph without getting burned. It left you hot inside. And tingly on the mouth. And warm in places that were desperate for attention. Passion, unadulterated.

Yup, she was totally gonna fuck Frank’s mom.

Cabana broke off and strutted away, leaving Luck breathless and wanting more. The senior agent flicked her straight raven hair over her shoulder and swung her ass back onto the bike. Without looking back, she revved the engine and started to leave.

“Don’t die,” Cabana said.

She rode off.

“Don’t die, good enough human!” Fuzzy cheered and waved.

“There’s a bar around the corner. Give them my name.” Brown gave Luck a nod and followed after Cabana.

They disappeared from sight behind a mix of trailer homes and cement walls.

Luck staggered against a gnarled tree. There were too many emotions running through her to sort through patiently.

One feeling rose above the rest. It could outlast everything. But that had to be nursed carefully. With patience.

Team Girls’ Night Out had come to a safe conclusion. And it was getting closer to dawn. Luck could go back to being Jhara at this point.

That felt more personal. More weighty. Her power was near the climax. It needed a few pieces more. Then it would be as good as it could get.

“Good enough human.”

Jhara twisted around in surprise.

Fuzzy stood on the gravel ground. “I want to stay and help.”

Jhara hadn’t accounted for this. She was going to say no. But she was at a stage where more control would do more harm than good. It also meant factors far outside of her control would interject.

“Ah, crap,” she said. “I’m gonna have to work harder for the climax.”

Fuzzy tilted its cute little childish head.

Jhara waved for Fuzzy to fall in step. It bounced along with light magical hops and a flutter of its wings.

Jhara saw the bar Brown had mentioned, The Flaming Mother. It was more on the south quarter side than the east quarter side. Which was good. Staying in the south quarter where she scorched the Loussaints’ residence would help maintain all the power she had.

She was going to need it.

“Oh, Jean, ever since our son was born and you ran off, I’ve counted the years,” Jhara said, her eyes on the myriad skylights of a burning rainbow. “Seventeen of them.”