Legends: A Story of Lies [Star vs. The Forces of Evil, Gravity Falls, Big Bad Beetleborgs]

[The Ero-Sennin]

Let's check in on the dudes in 1899. How are they doing, what are they up to after dealing with that weird monster.

= - = 9-7 = - =

|Master, Master|​

Southeast of Echo Creek, deep in the Santa Ana Mountains, the great swarm of bats streaked across the night sky. They flew low beneath the mountain peaks, weaving through the trees that blanketed the slopes and valleys.

The swarm descended into a clearing where a single large tent stood, silent among the pines. The bats converged above it, condensing into a single churning mass. They twisted, merged, writhing into a vaguely human shape—until, at last, the form solidified.

A pale-faced, wild-haired man in a black suit now stood in their place. A red and gold vest gleamed beneath his open jacket, and a voluminous black bowtie sat at his throat. Behind him, a high-collared cape flared in the wind as he strode toward the tent's entrance.

Inside, the tent resembled the study of a seasoned explorer. A map of northern Mexico and southern California was spread across a round table at its center. Crates and shelves filled with books, scrolls, and instruments lined the walls. At the far end, a desk and chair faced away from the entrance.

Seated at the desk, cloaked in dark robes and hooded against the lantern light, was the man known only as Master. He set down his pen beside a half-written letter without turning around.

"You're here sooner than I expected, Count," he said. "I take it that something has occurred."

"Master," the Count replied, his voice low, uncertain. "I have found the boy. He reached Los Angeles ahead of us."

The Master grew still. "And you have not brought him to me because…?"

"I couldn't approach," the Count said, uneasily. "Those accursed carbon arc lamps—they made it impossible. So... I sent the homunculus after him."

A long silence.

"And…?" the Master asked.

The Count lowered his eyes. "The homunculus was defeated."

The Master bowed his head—not in anger, but in thought.

The Count winced, bracing for rebuke.

But the hooded man only chuckled, sounding almost relieved. "Hah... I can only admire that kind of determination. After everything, he still hunts us."

The Count exhaled, a breath he held only for dramatic effect. "I'm not surprised. After what we did to his home—and everyone he cared about…"

"Yes," the Master agreed quietly. "But how many before him have said the same? When faced with true hopelessness… absolute despair… even the strongest men lose their fire."

He turned his hood slightly, as though looking out into the dark. "We destroyed his home. His family. Left him with nothing but what he could carry. Left him to die."

His voice dropped, almost reverent.

"And yet… he endures."

The Master stood from his desk.

"Not only that… he carries on with hatred in his heart—enough to drive him to face us still, and defeat us."

He turned, his face hidden entirely in the black of his hood. "We have found him, Count. Our Dantès. Our Ahab—our relentless pursuer who will defy death and despair itself in the name of vengeance."

He extended a hand. "Go. Take Mr. Jackal with you and investigate. Return to me with the Hunter's disposition. Retrieve the homunculus if you are able to, I will decide what action to take next."

Count dropped to one knee, bowing his head low. "As you command, Master. If the Hunter attacks… what should I do?"

"Do not fight him without advantage. Weakened and alone he was a menace. If he has food, rest, and allies, he will be too dangerous to confront directly."

Count hesitated, skeptical—but dared not challenge the order. "As you wish. I shall collect Mr. Jackal immediately and make for the city."

"Report back within three days," the Master said. "If I hear nothing, I will assume you are lost."

"I understand. Fear not. I will complete my mission without fail."

With that, the Count's form dissolved—losing its shape, breaking into a cloud of shrieking bats that burst from the tent and vanished into the sky.

The Master watched until the last winged shadow disappeared.

Then he turned, sat, and picked up his fountain pen. He brought the nib to paper… but paused.

Eyes closed, he sighed.

"… It is a shame…"

Cutting across the night sky, winds howling under their wings, the bats that made up Count soared over the Southern California wilderness. The swarm drifted like a shadow across the moonlit land—until they spotted a lone camp, firelight flickering below.

With a shriek, they descended—merging mid-air, condensing into the tall, suited form of Count just as he touched ground.

The fire crackled, casting long shadows over a scene of carnage.

Nearly a dozen bodies lay strewn around the campsite—men and women both. Some had been shot. Some were stabbed. One man was strangled so violently blood streamed from nose, mouth, and ears. Several faces were no longer recognizable.

And in front of the blaze stood a single man.

His shirt—once white—was so soaked with blood it looked crimson at first glance. He turned as Count landed, revealing a youthful, sharp-featured face, framed by a messy shock of white hair matted with gore.

He grinned, wide and feral.

"Fangy!" He sang out. "How's my favorite Creature of the Night?"

Count's voice dropped to frost. "Address me as Count, Jackal. What are you doing out here?"

"Curing my boredom, isn't it obvious?" Jackal said cheerfully, kicking a corpse's head like a football. "They weren't much, but they put up just enough fight to make it fun."

He spread his blood-slicked arms wide. "And look! A feast, just for you! Aren't I considerate?"

Count sneered. "I despise dead meat. No matter how fresh the kill."

"Oh, don't knock it until you try it," Jackal chuckled, folding his hands behind his head.

"Blood must flow from a living heart," Count replied coldly. "I'll savor the last drops from a dying man, yes—but I will not suck blood from corpses like a vulture."

Jackal snorted. "But sucking it out like a leech is beautiful and elegant, I gather?"

He threw his hands up and sighed. "Ugh. Whatever. What do you want?"

"Mr. Jackal," Count said coolly, "the Master has ordered us to Los Angeles—to trail the Hunter."

Instantly, Mr. Jackal's demeanor twisted—from wild cheer to seething fury.

"Two things," he snapped. "First—you're telling me the boy made it to Los Angeles before us?"

Count gave a single nod.

Jackal's jaw clenched. "Second—wasn't The Creation supposed to kill him?"

"The Hunter defeated the homunculus," Count replied. "Master has ordered us to retrieve it, and return with information on the Hunter within three days."

Jackal grabbed his head with both hands and let out a primal scream.

"YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT, COUNT FANGULA!"

He stomped toward the vampire, spittle flying as he roared in his face.

"THE BOY SHOULD BE DEAD! DEAD! MANY TIMES OVER DEAD!"

"He is a Ysidro, a hunter of monsters," Count replied without flinching. "They are notoriously resilient. And… inhumanly stubborn."

"Don't give me that nonsense!" Jackal snarled. "The human body is limited by the unconscious mind! To survive what he's survived would mean those limits have been shattered—with intent!"

He spun away, shaking, screaming to the trees.

"HE'S AN IMPOSSIBILITY! A THING THAT SHOULDN'T BE! He defies nature! I will learn why he keeps coming back—and when I do, I'll prove he's not human! I'll vindicate every theory I've ever studied!"

Count sighed, unimpressed. "You're beginning to come down, Mr. Jackal. Find a horse and start riding. You'll need to be presentable when you arrive in Echo Creek."

Jackal, still panting, nodded jerkily. "Right. Right. Sure. Of course!"

He turned, grinning too wide. "You go ahead. I'll be there by morning. I just need to wash up at the stream."

Count began to transform, his form unraveling into a storm of wings. "And the bodies?"

Jackal smirked. "Eh. Let someone find them. Let the whole region know what's coming."

Count rolled his eyes and vanished into the sky in a swirling cloud of bats.

Alone now, Jackal looked around at the corpses littering the clearing. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"… Well. Before I leave…"

He grinned again, teeth like razors in the firelight.

"I may as well eat, first."

@@@@@​

In the organ room of Hillhurst Mansion, the Abomination lay hogtied on the floor—still trembling, still in pain he couldn't escape.

Dr. Hillhurst, wearing heavy coveralls, thick gloves, and a bandanna tied across his mouth, was on his knees, carefully pouring a glittering liquid metal in a circle around the beast.

Teodoro sat nearby on a velvet couch, revolver in one hand, the other thumbing a cross at the end of a worn necklace kept under his shirt normally.

Nearly done, Hillhurst glanced over. "Ted, could you please leave the room?"

"If something happens, I'll need to protect you," Teodoro replied without moving.

"I'd rather risk a mangling than you getting mercury poisoning. At least stay by the door until the circle's complete."

With a sigh, Teodoro rose and stepped to the doorway—where SheHaw stood, arms crossed, brow furrowed.

"What is this?" She asked, eyeing the metallic ring warily.

"A circle to contain or exclude entropic forces," Hillhurst said cheerfully. "In simpler terms, a magical barrier of protection."

He sealed the container and reached into his pocket, pulling out a length of multicolored thread.

"Normally, you soak this in a mercury-moonstone solution and let it set, but we don't have time for that."

"Moonstones?" SheHaw blinked.

"From the moon," Hillhurst confirmed. "I ground them into powder and added them to the mercury. Now I'm adding this…"

He held up the thread "… Which is unicorn hair."

SheHaw tilted her head, visibly more confused. "… Unicorns?"

Hillhurst nodded, matter-of-fact. "Yes. Fey horses that frolic in enchanted forests. They can only be approached by untouched virgins."

She stared at him.

"… Al… are you an untouched virgin?"

Looking incredibly proud, Hillhurst smiled. "Of course! Only virgins become wizards when they reach thirty, after all!"

SheHaw and Teodoro exchanged a long, loaded glance.

"Pardon him," SheHaw muttered. "He's… eccentric."

Teodoro shrugged. "I've seen unicorns before. He knows what he's talking about with them."

SheHaw flinched slightly, leaning away. "… Seriously?"

"Yes." Teodoro insisted, before he turned back to Hillhurst, who was now laying out the unicorn hair thread in the circle.

He gestured to the strange man. "None of this makes sense to me. Moonstones and mercury? Virgins turning into wizards?"

The young man shook his head.

SheHaw was glad Teodoro wasn't as crazy as Dr. Hillhurst. Or maybe he was just as ignorant as she was.

She turned to her friend. "Al, are you sure this is gonna work?"

Dr. Hillhurst didn't look up. He had no time to waste defending his methods—he'd let the results speak for themselves.

"With utmost certainty. Now please step back... because that rope you used to bind our friend is about to reach its limit."

He leaned close, delicately lowering the unicorn hair thread into the glittering mercury ring.

Alarmed, both SheHaw and Teodoro turned. The Abomination was straining—his limbs twisting unnaturally, rope fibers stretching to the edge of breaking.

Teodoro raised his revolver. SheHaw crouched, ready to lunge and pull the "doctor" to safety.

"And I need to thread… this… needle… !" Hillhurst muttered, bringing the thread's ends together.

SNAP!

The rope split. The Abomination roared—in equal parts agony and fury—as his arms lashed outward and slammed into the floor to throw himself at Hillhurst.

SheHaw tackled the "Doctor", taking them both to the ground as the monster collided full-force with a transparent dome of light. The sound echoed like a struck bell.

The barrier held, shimmering like a soap bubble, its surface crawling with arcane symbols—some familiar, others alien.

Inside, the Abomination reeled back, stunned. He screamed and began thrashing against the dome, fists slamming against it over and over in a frenzy.

Teodoro lowered his gun, satisfied.

"How did you know it was about to escape?" he asked.

From beneath SheHaw, Dr. Hillhurst looked up, muffled. "Do you mind?"

SheHaw blinked, realizing she was still atop him. "Oh. Right. Sorry, Doc."

She stood and helped him up.

"I knew," Hillhurst said, brushing himself off, "because this thing might look human, but it doesn't move like one. It's a regenerating homunculus—an artificial revenant made from men, shaped in their image."

He gestured toward the monster. "Think Frankenstein's monster."

SheHaw eyed the beast. "I've read that book, this is not Frankenstein's monster."

"Of course not," Hillhurst agreed. "Shelley's creation was described as far more handsome."

He adjusted his gloves. "No, I've seen this one before—in a news clipping. A man tried to bring The Modern Prometheus to life."

SheHaw narrowed her eyes. "Then that man didn't read The Modern Prometheus."

"He did," Teodoro said, stepping forward. "I know. I read it too."

"You have?" SheHaw asked, surprised.

Teodoro nodded. "My mother read it to me. Books like that—in the wrong hands—are dangerous. They make people believe the impossible can be done. And when they try to prove it..."

"They cause tragedy," SheHaw finished.

"Worse," Teodoro said grimly, "they turn fiction into reality."

"And!" Dr. Hillhurst interjected, eyes gleaming. "Our so-called Prometheus made his monster real… but instead of creating a new life form that could, unchecked, replace mankind—he made a lump of flesh in the shape of man, completely incapable of function."

SheHaw paused. "Wait… so it didn't work?"

"Oh, it worked, allegedly," Hillhurst said, gesturing with one gloved hand. "But all he got was a drooling, barely animated pile of stitched parts. No cognition. No speech. No movement beyond spasms. The press mockingly called him Doctor Frankenbeans."

SheHaw let out a short laugh. "Franks and Beans."

"Correct!" Hillhurst grinned, stroking his chin. "But that leads us to this."

He gestured toward the creature, still thrashing behind the glowing dome. "This… is not a brain-dead heap. This thing functions. It moves, it fights. It thinks. Just like Shelley's horror."

His voice dropped. "And that worries me."

He turned to Teodoro. "Is there anything you know?"

Teodoro nodded slowly. "When I first faced this creature, it was more like how the newspapers described it. But then… one of the others struck it with lightning."

Hillhurst raised an eyebrow. "Lightning, hm?"

"It changed after that," Teodoro said. "It became this."

Hillhurst hummed. "Frankenbeans did claim he used electricity to animate it. Though it enraged that brilliant fellow Tesla—he hates when people treat electricity like magic."

He stepped toward the dome. "Do you suppose it's still running off that bolt?"

"It's possible," Teodoro replied.

SheHaw narrowed her eyes. "Wouldn't it need, like… a battery?"

Hillhurst looked pointedly at the two large bolts protruding from the creature's neck. "Perhaps it I the battery."

"So how do we drain him?" SheHaw asked.

Hillhurst shrugged. "That depends on how long it can run off one charge. Ted—how long ago was the strike?"

"Over a week."

SheHaw turned, stunned. "You've been running from this thing that long?"

Teodoro shook his head. "I've been hunting them. This creature is only one horror. The prey I track have many like it—vampires, werewolves, ancient things of immense power."

SheHaw glanced between him and the Abomination—then fixed on him, suddenly serious. "Ted… if there are more like this, you need to tell me what we're really up against."

Teodoro met her gaze, voice quiet but resolute. "You survived this one. But we will need many guns, and stronger people."

He looked toward the window, as if gazing far beyond Echo Creek.

"When they come here—and they will—they won't just kill a few townsfolk. They'll burn Echo Creek. Then Los Angeles. Then everything."

Dr. Hillhurst nodded grimly. "So, we mustn't take any chances. I'm going to attempt something extremely dangerous—and if it works, we'll be rid of this creature… and hopefully any others that find their way here."

SheHaw stiffened. "What are you gonna try?"

"To banish it. To another time and place. Somewhere it can never return from."

SheHaw froze. "… I beg your pardon?"

After a night of monsters and mayhem, this was somehow the most disturbing thing Hillhurst had said.

"Since when could you do that, Al?"

"Well… I haven't done it yet. But I know how to."

He strolled to the massive pipe organ the room was named for and picked up a thick book resting on its left arm. "So there's a chance it might not work."

Returning to them, he gave both SheHaw and Teodoro a curt nod. "Which is why I'm glad to have backup."

He flipped through the tome, thumbing past sepia-colored pages until—

"Ah. Here we go. Banishment in Three Easy Steps."

Facing the monster, he read aloud:

"Step one—have the thing you want to banish."

He gestured to the creature raging behind the glowing dome.

"Check. Step two—obtain an object the target loathes."

He looked at Teodoro. "Mind tossing me a silver bullet?"

Without a word, Teodoro lobbed one underhand. Hillhurst caught it neatly.

"Check! Step three—While facing the target, draw a perfect, unbroken Golden Spiral in the air with the object… while reciting: Sator Arepo Tenet Opera Rotas."

He grinned. "Actually doable!"

"A what spiral?!" SheHaw blinked. "And what was that last bit supposed to be?"

"It's a magical palindrome," Hillhurst explained. "And the spiral's just a matter of steady hands. Need I make the joke about brothels and needlework again?"

"We were both there for that," Teodoro deadpanned.

"Then I won't repeat myself," Hillhurst said curtly, snapping the book shut and stepping toward Frankenbeans' Monster.

Dr. Hillhurst stood outside the radius of the shimmering dome, silver bullet pinched between his gloved fingers, his shoulders squared and unnaturally still. The Abomination, still pacing and howling inside the barrier, froze—some instinct warning it of a new danger.

Hillhurst took a deep breath and lifted the silver bullet high. Holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger, he began to trace a spiraling line in the air.

"Sator… Arepo… Tenet… Opera… Rotas…" Hillhurst said as he drew his spiral slowly.

At first, nothing appeared to occur. SheHaw and Teodoro shared quiet, skeptical looks, before watching Hillhurst.

"… Sator… Arepo… Tenet… Opera… Rotas…" He repeated, his voice lowering but growing louder. The Abomination stopped screaming, and was now fixed on the "Doctor's" strange ritual.

Then the room grew dim. The house's electric lights didn't lower, but the air itself absorbed illumination. The pipe organ's brass fittings dulled, shadows stretched unnaturally long. Dust motes in the air ceased their drift and hovered, suspended.

"… Sator… Arepo… Tenet… Opera… Rotas…"

SheHaw tensed up, the hairs on her neck standing on end as she felt a strange energy start to fill the room. One that made her want to simultaneously grab Teodoro and run, or strike Hillhurst to make him stop.

Neither, however, her body seemed to want to do, as she saw the first flicker of gold trail behind the bullet Hillhurst carved precisely through the air.

"… Sator… Arepo… Tenet… Opera… Rotas…"

The mercury circle began to pulse—with light and sound, the symbols on the surface of the bubble twisting and folding back and forth, inside and out with each pulse. Slowly, the flickering trail became a solid golden line of light, spiraling outward, and leaving a wake that turned the spiral into a circle.

"… Sator… Arepo… Tenet… Opera… Rotas…"

Inside the dome, the Abomination screamed, as if the words physically tore at its being. Its fists slammed against the barrier—but this time, they sparked and rebounded, blue and gold fire arcing at every point of contact.

"… Sator… Arepo… Tenet… Opera… Rotas…!"

His eyes shut tightly, Dr. Hillhurst kept repeating the incantation with more and more force, the spiral glowing brighter as the very world around him dimmed. The words echoed unnaturally, layering atop themselves—folding backward and forward, looping through the room like sound bouncing between mirrors.

Over and over the words folded in on each other and opened again, like countless tesseracts, Dr. Hillhurst's voice growing louder, thunderous, roaring…

"… Sator…! Arepo…! Tenet…! Opera…! ROTAS!"

Somewhere, impossibly far and unbearably close, a golden triangle stirred in the dark—flat and perfect, suspended in a sea of not-space.

An eye snapped open across its surface—lidless, ancient, watching.

Then, as if in revulsion, a woman's voice, disembodied and sharp with recognition, gasped, before a set of horns flanked the triangle before a burst of flame erupted and consumed the triangle in an instant.

In front of the massive organ, Dr. Hillhurst's spiral burst into full form. A complete golden disk that burned at the edges like fire. Both Teodoro and SheHaw watched in awe as the ritual truly came to life before their eyes, filling the room with an alien light.

On the other side of the disc of light, the barrier warped and rippled like water. The Abomination cowered back from the impenetrable field, screaming futilely at the golden figure and the outline of the "Doctor" behind it.

Hillhurst staggered back a half-step, breathing hard, the spiral pulsing before him like a sun.

"Now," he said to no one—and everyone.

He flicked the bullet straight into the spiral's heart.

The world inverted.

Color disappeared, sound disappeared. Only the gold remained vibrant as all colors drained away; the circle began to crack and splinter, a white, blinding light forcing through the fissures.

The Abomination, Dr. Hillhurst, Teodoro, and SheHaw all screamed at once, soundless in the black and white world.

The world went white.

Two claps echoed through the Los Angeles Night. One from the home of Dr. Aloysius Hillhurst, and another much louder sound as high explosives detonated inside the blockage of the broken exploration well in downtown Echo Creek.

Color slowly bled back into existence at Hillhurst's home, as the "Doctor" lowered his arms and looked at the scorch mark where the Abomination once stood. It, the barrier, every trace of both—had completely vanished.

Gone. Truly gone.

He sighed in relief. "Thank the stars, now I don't have to mop up the mercury."

"WHAT IN THE SAM HILL WAS THAT?!" SheHaw roared, snapping Dr. Hillhurst from his brief respite.

He spun to face her, a manic grin plastered on his lips, as he presented the scorched carpet and hardwood floor.

"The ritual!" He declared. "It worked!"

"It did," Teodoro confirmed quietly. "I saw something leave—felt something leave."

"Felt something leave!" SheHaw repeated. "I felt like my soul was trying to climb out my ears!"

"Yes, yes, brilliance all around!" Hillhurst chirped, peeling off his gloves and casually tossing them into a wastebin by the organ. "The golden spiral, the palindrome resonance, the dimensional twist—we did it! Opened a portal to another world and flung that disagreeable brute through it!"

He clapped once. "Bravo, team."

"Do you even know where it went?" SheHaw shouted, eyes wide.

That shut him up.

The room fell into a sharp, uncomfortable silence.

Hillhurst blinked. Shrugged.

"Not the foggiest," he admitted cheerfully. "It could be in the past, the future, another dimension entirely. A place with no time or shape at all. It could be in the pantry of a particularly unpleasant god for all I know."

He gestured at the scorched floor.

"But I can say with certainty—it's not here."

SheHaw buried her face in both hands and groaned. "Sheeeeeeeeee-it…"

In a burst of pink sparkles, the vigilante in pink vanished.

Teodoro blinked—SheHaw was gone. In her place stood the same woman he'd met just this morning, Jane.

Same black hair with straw-colored tips, same hazel eyes, but now with the weary sigh of a woman past her limit.

"I am far too tired for this," Jane muttered, dragging her hands down her face. "Been runnin' around as SheHaw all day because of this mess. And of course this is how it ends!"

Dr. Hillhurst bowed kindly to Jane. "Mi casa, es su casa," he offered. "Pick any guest room you like. You've earned a good night's sleep in comfort, Jane."

Jane gave him a sidelong glance, but couldn't help the tired smile tugging at her lips. "I'm expectin' a proper breakfast after all this, Doc."

Hillhurst tapped his chest with mock solemnity. "Nothing but the finest, my dear friend. I shall rouse the stove myself before the dawn."

With that, Jane marched out of the Organ Room and climbed the stairs without another word.

Teodoro watched her go, then turned slowly back to Dr. Hillhurst.

"… I should have figured it out," he admitted. "I met Miss Jane this morning and completely forgot about her."

Hillhurst laughed. "She gives me grief for my mystic ramblings, yet she is the one with real magic. The irony is exquisite."

He clapped Teodoro on the shoulder. "But tonight? We've all earned some rest."

Teodoro's gaze drifted to the scorch mark on the floor.

His voice dropped. "Doctor… can you do that again?"

Hillhurst paused, suddenly very aware of the question's weight. "… Now that I know it works? Yes. Yes, I believe I can."

Teodoro's jaw tensed. "And… is that exactly how it's supposed to work?"

Hillhurst hesitated, then nodded with theatrical assurance. "Precisely as I was taught."

Teodoro shook his head, voice grim. "Then it's useless."

Hillhurst reeled back slightly. "Useless?! It worked!"

"Sure," Teodoro said. "But if it takes all that just to banish one monster… what good is it against an army?"

The question hit its mark. Hillhurst fell quiet, the triumph draining from his expression.

"Yes," he finally said, voice lower. "That is the ritual… as it was passed to me. But don't despair, Ted."

He rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his unruly hair. "There may be a way to scale it. Amplify it. I just… need to consult my old master."

Teodoro's eyes narrowed. "Who is your master?"

Hillhurst went still. Far too still.

"… Someone I'd rather not invoke again," he said quietly. "Even speaking of him in passing… is enough to invite bad dreams."

Teodoro didn't like the sound of that. At all.

Hillhurst forced a crooked smile, trying to lighten the mood and failing. "Don't worry about the banishment spell. I've studied it for a long time. I'm sure I can modify it… maybe even make it strong enough to wipe out an entire city if I had to."

He glanced toward the window, then back at Teodoro. "I'd certainly like to send Lady Bonner to a place with no time or shape at all."

@@@@@​

Beneath the blazing glare of the Carbon Arc lamps, more men than ever were hard at work under Emily Blakesfield-Bonner's command. The air stank of scorched oil and acrid steam as laborers scrambled to clear the wreckage left by the previous night's battle. The worst of it centered on the burning gusher SheHaw had triggered—using the Abomination as a blunt instrument.

But work had stopped entirely at the newly blasted drill head several blocks away—the one that had vexed Emily all day.

There, the overnight crew, led by Mr. Jacobs, stood frozen. Silent. Staring.

The dynamite hadn't cleared away stubbornly hard rock.

It had uncovered something else.

A well—stone-bricked, wide-mouthed, and ancient. The explosion had unearthed the top of what appeared to be some long-buried ruin. Half-buried murals ringed the clearing, their carvings worn but still visible.

The highest showed the face of a bearded figure, his expression serene and terrible, a gemstone set into the middle of his tall forehead. His outstretched arms ended in six fingers each, and from his parted lips flowed a sculpted stream of liquid toward something still buried below the earth.

The men barely noticed the mural.

Their eyes were fixed on the well.

It was overgrown with a strange crystalline crust—iridescent with hues that shifted unnervingly between orange-gold and deep violet, like a perpetual sunrise locked in battle with twilight. The crystal seemed to breathe faintly, pulsing like a heart.

But at its center… something was trapped.

Suspended in the crystal, curled in the fetal position, was a child.

No older than five or six. Skin bluish-white, tinged faintly with lavender veins. Clothed in bright, oversized garments that might've once brought laughter—a harlequin's motley dyed in carnival colors now dulled by time.

A jester.

Far beyond Echo Creek—beyond Earth, beyond any known constellation, beyond time itself—the Abomination snapped awake.

It screamed without sound, convulsing as it shot upright. The pain hadn't vanished. If anything, it had deepened—an echoing burn stitched into its flesh and soul by the unnatural force that had hurled it across the very framework of reality.

Endless rows of tall, ripening corn swayed gently in the breeze—springing from loamy, obsidian soil so rich it looked like oil. Their golden tassels shimmered under a copper twilight sky, dancing like threadbare flags.

The creature rose slowly, towering above the stalks. It turned and turned, searching for a break in the rows… for anything familiar.

And then it saw it.

In the distance, a shimmering blue lake. At its center, an island—bristling with spires and buildings clustered together like a fairytale illustration torn from a corrupted storybook. The architecture evoked medieval France and Germany—quaint, archaic, but impossibly untouched by time.

Yet even this alien quaintness paled beside what stood at the island's heart.

Eight impossibly tall towers, clustered like the stems of a petrified bouquet, rose into the sky from a sweeping stone pinnacle. Their uppermost domes resembled mushroom caps, blooming tulips, and gilded onion bulbs—ornate and iridescent.

They should not exist. Their scale dwarfed the mountains they were built upon and the town they loomed over, clawing up into clouds.

A greater mind would be paralyzed with awe. A scholar would weep at the sheer beauty of architecture spread out before them.

But Frankenbeans' Monster was neither.

He saw pain.

It saw a world that mocked him by simply existing.

And he knew, with the burning certainty of instinct, that it would destroy those towers… and the fragile world beneath them… just to make the pain stop.

With all his might, the Abomination roared.

= - = 9-7 = - =​

Oh. These are some dangerous associations... and ominous destinations...

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

And so... we come to an end for Volume 9 of Legends. Enjoy the finale and leave a comment or two.

= - = 9-8 = - =

|From On High|​

Inside the Beetle Battle Base, Misao rubbed her right eye as she scanned a map of Echo Creek and the detailed points of every attack by the Magnavores since Monday's brawl at Britta's Tacos.

It felt like she'd been glued to this seat for days straight, compiling data, running simulations, and cross-referencing every bit of information that was fed to her from the Beetle Battle Base's magical computers and the information collected by everyone else out in the field. This was on top of work she'd been busy with on the hardware side of the base, making modifications during her downtime between skirmishes with the Magnavores.

All her hard work would be rewarded, soon enough.

"Almost done…" she murmured, stretching her arms high over her head, spine popping. "Then maybe I can go home and play some games…"

From the hallway came a cheerful sing-song voice.

"Hey, girlfriend~! I come bearing gamer fuel~!"

Mabel strode in with two violently fizzy drinks sloshing with unholy color. In one hand she carried a tall glass of violet soda glimmering with edible glitter, ice cubes made of fruit punch and lemonade, and a handful of gummy Parasaurolophus floating inside. A marker doodle of Misao smiled from the glass's side.

Misao's eyes lit up. "Ah, my love!"

Mabel set the glass beside Misao's keyboard like she was delivering a gift from the gods.

"Just how you like it," she said proudly. "Grape energy soda, glitter sugar, tasty ice cubes, and your favorite dinosaur!"

She lifted her own red concoction in her other hand, which contained blue and purple cubes and gummy Apatosaurus instead. "Enough sugar to power a city and enough caffeine to wake up Cthulhu!"

Misao took a sip and her pupils dilated. "Ooh! I feel awakened already!"

Mabel leaned her hands on the back of Misao's chair, resting her chest on her head as she peered at the swirling projections on the central screen.

"So, what have you been up to?"

Misao, reenergized, tapped a few keys. "A few things all at once. First, I'm completing the counter-strategy for Barla, now that we've got Nano's comics. Second, I'm charting every Magnavore appearance since Monday and before—comparing them with magical and spatial distortions to predict where they'll appear—or disappear—to. And third…"

She smiled proudly and turned to Mabel.

"I'm updating the Battle Base to interface with modern tech and the internet! I have already connected a router down here from the surface, but it is only the start! By this time next week, it'll sync with our phones, play our playlists, and stream cat videos in 4K. I'll be able to stream from here if I want!"

Mabel blinked. "You are so scary-smart and adorable and I wanna kiss you forever."

"Rain me with kisses," Misao replied, sipping again. "For I have earned them!"

Mabel leaned more fully over Misao's chair, casually drumming her fingers along the backrest. Her weight pressed gently against the back of Misao's head, and her eyes were suddenly narrowed with purpose as she scrutinized the map like a psychic trying to read tea leaves.

Misao, mildly muffled, tilted her head back—only to press her face further into Mabel's chest. "What is it?"

Still staring intently at the screen, Mabel murmured, "If you connect the dots… it kind of looks like a kitty."

Misao blinked, squinting at the screen. "Huh… it does! Those are the ears, and that's the little tail…"

At that moment, Dipper walked up beside them, holding his journal, with Janna trailing behind carrying her smartphone and a mostly-eaten churro.

"Misao, you ready to call it?" Dipper asked, glancing between the screen and the two girls.

The smaller girl lit up and her hands flew across the keyboard. "Yep! Let me just save my work!"

Janna yawned dramatically. "No rush. I'm not in a hurry to get the Graveyard going."

Misao turned in her chair slightly. "I have connected a router in the Beetle Battle Base."

Janna stopped mid-bite of her churro. "I am now in a hurry to get the Graveyard going."

Mabel was just as hyped. "I can stream makeup tutorials too!"

Dipper winced. "Hey, be careful about social media while we're down here."

Janna nodded, already scrolling. "I privated all my socials. But don't worry, I have seventy alternative accounts."

"Ja, me too," Misao said. "I stream from home, which is safe, but we don't need to alert people we're here. Not unless we want another Goblin to show up."

A flicker of tension rose in the room at the mention of that name.

Since Reiko's report of the sword-wielding mercenary showing up to the ex-Vanderhoff house, there'd been no sign of him. He was only in it for the money—but there were still bruised feelings.

Some worse than others; Star still planned to blast him into a crater Yamcha-style next time she saw him.

With her work saved, Misao stood up, still sipping from her sparkling, gummy dinosaur-filled drink. "All right, my love, let's go home."

Dipper gave her a look. "Mabel Juice this late?"

Misao raised the glass. "I'm still streaming tonight. There is much Destiny and Street Fighter to play, and it's not even nine."

The moment she stood up, Janna slid into her seat like it was a throne. "And now that there's internet down here, I'll be tuning in live."

"If you do, I'll make you a mod."

Janna grinned, eyes gleaming. "You promise too much power. My reign shall be great… and terrible."

As if the universe itself had heard her threat, alarms blared through the Battle Base, cutting off the moment.

Everyone jumped.

Dipper turned toward the main screen. "Wait… again?!"

Misao darted back to the console. "Pull up the map!"

"On it," Janna said, already typing fast.

The map of Echo Creek zoomed in, darting southwest—an alert flaring bright red as it highlighted a part of nearby El Sereno. Police scanner chatter burst through the speakers.

"985 at Huntington Drive North and Castalia... repeat, 985 at Huntington Drive North and Castalia... armed assailants at El Sereno Night Market. Suspects ID'd as Typhus and Noxic." A female dispatcher reported above overlapping responses from other police units.

"Come on!" Mabel cried. "Do they even sleep?!"

Dipper grimaced. "They're definitely not concerned about our schedules."

He looked at Janna. "Who's on deck?"

"Star's off duty, and Marco's turned in with her. Last I checked in the group chat, we still have the Beetleborgs and Jackie online."

Mabel was already on her phone, dialing. "Leave the organizing to me."

She grinned. "Brophades, you got the Scissors?"

Dipper produced the Dimensional Scissors. "Let's get to work."

@@@@@​

"All right, guys, ten minutes to close. If you're not buying, start packing it up and go!"

Heather's announcement jolted the customers lounging at Zoom Comics from their comic book consumption and who would win between The Hulk and Blood-lusted Howard the Duck discourse. Grumbles and and laments about the store being better when it closed at ten rose up.

Heather heard that. "Hey, don't make me get Big Nano from the back."

Among the rustling of comics being put away and bags of snacks being discarded, Drew was reading the latest issue of Invincible.

Man, I am glad I'm not as big with Invincible as I am with Beetleborgs… I'll take the Magnavores over ROBOT any day. He thought with disgust at what he read.

"Hey, Drew, you'd better start packing up," another guest and one of his classmates, a smaller bespectacled boy with fluffy caramel-brown hair and an extremely nerdy aura, called over to him.

Drew lowered his book. "Huh? Oh, I'm helping close… have a good night, Tim."

"Huh?" Tim looked at him then over at Heather, who smiled in Drew's direction.

He grew confused as he returned to Drew. "Aren't you…?"

"Aren't I what?" Drew asked.

The young man paled slightly, self-consciousness and a fear of misreading the room flashing across his brown eyes. "Uhh… forget I said anything, goodnight!"

Hoisting an oversized backpack onto his shoulders, the boy retreated out of the store.

Confused in turn, Drew shrugged his shoulders.

Heather read the vibe as she rested her elbows on the counter. She was already done breaking down the café and all that was left was to count her register.

"Wow… school's been out all week but word's getting around," she noted with a smirk.

Drew blinked owlishly at her, before it finally clicked. "Wait, about me and Sabrina?"

Heather chucked. "I don't think you're the invisible nerd anymore, dude. You're gossip material now."

Drew closed the Invincible book and slid it back onto the shelf, still trying to process Tim's reaction. "How do people even know? I haven't told anybody."

Heather gave him a long, knowing look. Then sighed in mock exasperation as she leaned against the counter.

"Sabrina Backintosh is a cheerleader, remember?" She said, counting out coins with one hand as she spoke.

"She may be the cute, quiet one, but the rest of them? Please. They'll talk about every little thing—especially when one of them snags a decent boy."

Heather calling him decent warmed Drew, reminding him of his crush on her.

No, wait… he was about to go on a date with Sabrina. He could not be thinking about that.

"Heh… I guess it hasn't really sunk in yet?" He said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "School's been out for a few days, so…"

Heather watched the last customer trudge out then leaned back on the counter. The clock said she still had a few minutes before she could lock the doors, but nobody else was coming in.

"Well, think of it as moving up to the big leagues. You're one of the popular kids now—showing up dripped out to dances, stepping to the rich kids like they're punks, and dating cheerleaders."

She chuckled. "All you need now is a nice car and an Insta, and no one would believe you're the same humble dude who knows exactly how Doom would beat Batman."

As expected, Drew latched onto the last part. "Right! Doom's machinations are such that even if Batman manages to be triumphant, his victory will only come about in a way that will somehow further Doom's overall villainous schemes."

"Exactly," Heather agreed, grinning. "Advantage, Doom."

They both laughed. And for a moment, it felt like they were back in simpler times—before monsters, mayhem, or mixed-up feelings.

"You know," Heather added, settling into her register count again, "I hung out with Sabrina the other day. Right after it popped off at Britta's."

Drew perked up. "Wait, you did?"

"Mmhmm." She smiled to herself. "I didn't realize she was so into you…"

Drew did a double-take. "W-what?!"

They'd had a good time at the dance, sure—but this?

Heather gave him a knowing smirk and started counting bills, once more one-handed. "It surprised me, too. She's really excited about hanging out with you, and I'm just like… 'It's been a week, bro, chill.'"

She giggled. "Buuuut… then she told me something. And I totally got it."

Drew waited for her to go on.

She didn't.

He gestured, eyebrows raised. "Well…?"

"Nope!" She sang. "It's not my story to tell."

She rested her chin on her palm and gave him a warm, almost teasing smile. "It's nothing bad or weird… but it's very you."

Not even a month ago, Drew would've assumed "very you" was code for "nerdy, awkward, or not good enough."

Maybe even a week ago.

"Thanks," he said after a moment. "To be honest, I'm kind of surprised you're… cheering me on here."

Heather blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

She gave him a look so direct it almost made him flinch. "You're a really sweet guy. And the idea of you dating the one nice, pure girl in Brittney Wong's Viper Pit is both hilarious and possibly the best karmic justice I've ever seen for all the crap Trip and Van put you through."

She paused.

Drew, picking up on that shadow in her tone, simply nodded.

To say nothing of how your father treats you.

His old crush on Heather tugged at the back of his mind, a quiet ache beneath the surface. And now, as she smiled warmly and talked him up like he was someone to root for… it struck him.

There was a distance forming between them.

No…

It had always been there.

Even in her kindness. Her eager comic talk. Their lunch date. The way she never quite brushed him off, but never quite invited him in, either.

She was friendly, she always has been.

But not open.

Not interested.

And now, hearing her build him up for a date with someone else, he couldn't ignore that space anymore.

Has she just never seen me as someone she could date?

That voice in his head that always second-guessed himself whispered the thought he didn't want to admit had been there for a while.

His smile faded, just a little. Not all at once, more like a slow drift, as if the weight of something unspoken had crept into his chest.

As Heather saw it slip, her own smile dimmed too, quiet and tentative.

The silence that followed was brief in real time, but it felt longer. Like the pause between heartbeats when something important lingers in the air, just unsaid.

"… You good?" She asked, gently.

There was a flicker of concern in her voice, that she'd poked something delicate. "Did I say something wrong?"

Drew blinked and gave a soft, startled laugh. "Huh? No, no… I'm… heh…"

He looked away, eyes on the Image Comics rack but seeing nothing. "… I'm just not used to getting gassed up like this, for real."

"Well…" Heather brightened back up with him. "… Get used to it dude. Without the Vanderhoffs giving you crap, you're starting to really come out of your shell."

She leaned in slightly, playful now. "At this rate? Between dating Sabrina, Janna obviously being into you, and maybe even Brittney herself starting to look your way?"

She gave him a look that was half-mocking, half-impressed. "You're basically turning into Blue Beet."

Drew's jaw dropped.

The reminder that his favorite Beetleborg was knee-deep in a chaotic story arc, with at least three love interests pursuing him, hit him like a pipe wrench to the soul.

"Whoa, whoa! I am definitely not that guy!" He stammered, a nervous laugh bubbling up.

Heather burst into giggles, thoroughly enjoying the reaction.

"I dunno~" she sang.

Just then, Drew's phone blared to life with the unmistakable electric guitar riff of Spider-Man: The Animated Series.

The abruptness of the sound made Heather flinch. "Dude, that is so loud. Sick choice, though."

Drew felt a chill; it wasn't from the ringtone, but what it meant.

No… not again.

He checked the screen. Mabel was calling.

"It's Jo," he said, forcing calm into his voice. "Probably wondering where I am."

He answered casually, "Hello?"

"Hey, Drew," came Mabel's voice, unusually direct. "Where should I open a portal for you? It's going down in El Sereno."

Drew's mind whirled. El Sereno? Why there?

"Uhh… the usual spot," he said, standing up. "I'm at Zoom, but I'm heading out now."

Heather pouted theatrically. "Not gonna help close up?"

He gave her a sheepish look, mouthing, "Sorry" before talking into his phone. "Yeah, I'm going right now. Bye."

By the time he ended the call, he was already halfway out the door. "Thanks! I'm sorry! I'll see you later!"

With that he dashed out into the night.

Heather watched him go, the doorbell jingling in his wake.

"Bye…" she murmured, more softly this time.

The shop grew quiet.

For a moment, Heather stood there, alone behind the counter. She looked down at the stack of bills in her hand, then slowly lowered her head.

The bills in her hand crinkled and folded as her grip tightened so much her hand trembled.

Her entire frame tensed up, as she slowly drew in a deep–shaky breath.

She shut her eyes… held it in.

Then she exhaled quietly.

And with that breath, the moment passed.

Her composure returned, like a mask settling gently over her face.

At that moment, Nano stepped out from the back, looking around. "Did he really leave?"

Heather turned with faux indignation. "Yeah, looks like we're not getting free labor tonight, Big Nano."

"Don't joke like that," Nano huffed, then wagged a finger. "You know I pay him—in whatever books he wants."

Heather giggled, eyes twinkling again. "How about paying me in whatever books I want?"

"No way," Nano said flatly. "I know what books you want. You'll take your twenty-two an hour and like it!"

Heather gave a dramatic sigh. "FINE!"

@@@@@​

"All units responding to the 985 at Huntington Drive North and Castalia be advised: SWAT has been mobilized and all other units are to establish a perimeter and prioritize evacuation and exclusion."

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the cruiser's radio, nearly drowned by the howl of sirens and the rush of wind outside. Officer Boxter Hamdon and his partner Jeb Wackerman sped through the night in their new black-and-white, joining a fast-moving procession of units from Echo Creek PD, LAPD, and the County Sheriff's Department.

Jeb leaned forward, glancing at the GPS, then at the streaking emergency lights ahead. "So, it's just like over at Britta's. They're really gonna just leave it to the kids again?"

Boxter's hands flexed tighter around the wheel, the leather creaking faintly under his grip.

"It's not right," he muttered. "We're supposed to just sit back and let the kids handle it?"

Jeb shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Well… I mean, I dunno. Maybe we have to? It's not like we can fight the Magnavores without getting smoked. And they said they can't not fight them."

He glanced out the window. "… And maybe brass is hoping Star will clean this mess up after, too."

He tried to keep it light, but the more he talked, the more he could feel the heat radiating off his partner. Every word made Boxter's jaw clench harder.

"Putting this on them because our hands are tied is one thing," Boxter growled. "But if we start using that as an excuse to take advantage of them…?"

He looked straight ahead, voice low but cutting with fury.

"I'll turn in my badge on the spot."

Jeb didn't respond. He wasn't sure if he should.

A fireball erupted ahead, lighting the sky in orange and red. Officer Hamdon slammed the cruiser to a halt just shy of the established police perimeter, eyes wide as the plume rolled upward.

The pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire reached their ears a second later.

Both men were out of the vehicle in an instant, joining the chaos at the perimeter beside an unmarked Echo Creek Police cruiser. Just past it, uniformed officers scrambled to reinforce the line—riot shields, body armor, and long guns at the ready.

Detectives Xavier Bishop and Mirai Hashimoto were already on the scene, coordinating with officers from the other agencies. Hashimoto was shouting and relaying orders into her radio while Bishop was already motioning SWAT units into tighter formation.

Beyond the line—less than fifty yards away—was carnage.

As civilians fled behind them to safety, guided by other officers, SWAT units from a half-dozen departments, covered behind armored vans and trucks, were pouring bullets into the night market and at Noxic.

His Scabs were taking a beating, the volume of fire enough that head shots weren't uncommon and some dropped to begin decay as they fired back wildly with their sword guns.

Noxic, on the other hand?

He was dancing.

The Combat Mecha Army General, fresh off surviving his last gruesome defeat where he was completely bisected just hours before, was back in one piece. Umbrella in hand, he was kicking his heels as he pranced about overturned food carts and flaming awnings like he was on Broadway.

"I'm singin' in the rain… just singin' under bullet rain~!"

The notes came out butchered and off-key, but Noxic couldn't care less. He spun around a busted tent pole like a stripper with a death wish, umbrella slashing through the air as 5.56mm rounds pinged uselessly off his metal body.

Boxter was baffled. "He's enjoying this."

"No kidding," Jeb muttered. "They're unloading on him like it's free bullets at range day and he's singing!"

Bishop lowered his radio shut and turned toward them. "We've got to keep the civilians clear and contain the spread of this mess until the 'kids' show up."

Hashimoto added darkly, "And hope this mess doesn't go out of control."

Boxter grimaced again, before a radio call came in.

"ECPD 004, are civilians clear of the area?" Dispatch radioed.

Detective Bishop grabbed his radio. "Civilians at the Night Market are clear and accounted for."

"Understood."

A tear gas canister launched from one of the SWAT officers ricocheted off the dreadlock-like pipes sprouting from Noxic's head.

The mechanoid stopped mid-twirl and turned, offended.

"Hey! You mook!" He shouted, pointing an accusatory finger with all the drama of a stage diva. "What the heck's tear gas gonna do against a robot, huh?!"

He shouldered his umbrella like a baseball bat.

"And you made me lose my place! I don't usually come out and sing for you people, so how about a little respect for the arts, huh?!"

A Black female Echo Creek SWAT officer called back from behind her shield. "Uhhh… what do you mean 'you people?'"

Noxic physically recoiled, umbrella lowering slightly. "What?! I meant humans! You're humans, right? I hope so!"

He pointed around frantically. "I mean, if you were all a bunch'a robots, then I'd feel bad about mashin' you into paste!"

An awkward silence fell as the officers gawked at Noxic.

Then, as if to reassert his dramatic momentum, Noxic clapped his fingers. "Forget it! Let's just get back to the violence already!"

At that very moment, dispatch radioed Bishop and all other officers.

"All units maintain a minimum radius of seventy-five yards, heavy ordinance inbound."

Bishop gave a jolt of surprise. "Heavy what?!"

Hashimoto called out. "Everyone back up, now!"

As the police did just that, a barrage of gunfire slammed into the pavement around Noxic, peppering him with kinetic and explosive force strong enough to stagger and finally knock him flat.

"Wh-what the heck was that?!" He shouted, scrambling to his feet.

He looked up and spotted it—a sleek, tail rotor-less attack helicopter looming overhead.

It had a long, narrow body, short angular wings folded downward at the tips, and smaller canard wings near the nose.

But Noxic's eyes locked on one thing: the 30mm chain gun pointed directly at him.

"… Ah."

The QAH-50 Hammerhead Unmanned Helicopter opened fire again, and was joined by a second circling craft, both dumping their chain guns onto Noxic and the Scabs.

As the heavy chops of both weapons and the thunderous roar of their shells filled the air, the police officers—especially those of the Glendale Police Department, broke into ecstatic cheers.

Boxter exhaled hard, tension falling from his shoulders like sandbags. He reached for the brim of his hat, eyes fixed skyward.

"… Finally," he muttered. "So that's what she was up to…"

Beside him, Jeb whooped, both fists raised. "YEAH! WOO! GET SOME!"

But Detective Bishop didn't cheer. His mouth was open in horror.

He watched the carnage, eyes darting to the police and civilians watching, the burning structures, the flying debris.

This wasn't just force. This was overkill.

With that notion, he realized what was about to happen.

"Oh… fuck."

Hashimoto looked around in confusion. "What's going on? Who sent gunships to…?!"

She stopped, her own eyes widening as she realized what her partner had.

"OH FUCK!" She screamed with greater urgency into her radio. "ALL UNITS PULL BACK, PULL BACK!"

At the Beetle Battle Base, the urgency over the scanner struck like a fist to the gut.

That wasn't fear in her voice from surprise—it was recognition.

"What's going on?" Dipper asked, voice tense.

Janna searched her phone for any live coverage of the incident. "They're turning up."

In the back, Mabel placed her hands over her mouth. "And we just sent the Beetleborgs there…"

On scene, the barrage ended and the dust began to settle.

Noxic stood beneath his now-tattered umbrella, the smoldering wreckage of food stalls and vendor tents casting flickering shadows over him. His trench coat was shredded in places. One of his eyes flickered erratically, a spiderweb crack split across its casing. A rivulet of something black and oily ran from his shoulder joint.

And yet he was in high spirits.

"Geez," he muttered, voice metallic and warped. "Did I finally get Six Stars?"

When he looked up through the torn fabric of his umbrella, Noxic noticed a strange glow flickering in the night sky.

"Huh?"

Tilting his head, he moved the umbrella aside and tried to focus on a single, blazing magenta light shimmered high in the night sky. It pulsed with menace, and grew larger with every passing second.

"Wait," he murmured, confusion creeping into his voice. "That ain't the Prin…"

Twin lances of searing magenta energy screamed down from the heavens, hammering into the ground on either side of him with thunderous force. The intense heat and energy immediately incinerated his coat, and began to melt parts of his body.

And then the two beams converged on him, fusing into a singular column of destructive brilliance that slammed into him with a howling roar.

It didn't just strike, it drilled. The asphalt beneath the Night Market liquefied, then vaporized, opening into a glowing, molten pit.

Every nearby surface, every food truck, vendor tent, and canopy still standing combusted instantly in an expanding firestorm. Everything that still stood within thirty yards of ground zero was swept away completely like dry leaves in a hot wind.

Further back than they had first started, Boxter, Jeb, and the Echo Creek Detectives gawked at the overwhelming smite. The heat rippled off the street like a blast furnace, every building within a block lit up in flickering violet hues and windows vibrated in their frames.

On the opposite side of the Night Market, the Beetleborgs stood slack-jawed in horror.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Jo screamed, arm raised instinctively against the light.

"Ayo, are there still people over there?!" Roland shouted

Behind his visor, Drew's face was pale. His lips barely moved. "N-no way…"

That kind of power—it looked like it came from Star's wand itself.

"… Major Blast…?" he breathed, stunned.

For ten excruciating seconds, the sky itself screamed, the roar of the attack drowning out sirens and shouts, and drawing eyes from five neighborhoods over.

Then, darkness.

A deafening, sucking silence blanketed everything as the beam vanished and the light snapped away.

The air stank of scorched plastic, melted tar, and the gut-wrenching chemical cocktail of vaporized fuel and carbonized insulation. Flames licked upward from a crater so deep and wide it looked like a meteor strike. Steam hissed from molten rock and shattered sewer lines below.

And at the bottom of the pit lay what remained of Noxic.

Barely more than a carbonized skull and upper torso, his once-gaudy trench coat now tatters of scorched fabric fused into his warped plating. His limbs had been vaporized below the elbows and knees, and his head—cracked, blackened, melted—resembled a burnt human skull more than any mechanical design.

"G-geez… heh… heh…" his voice croaked, heavily garbled through failing circuits and a crushed voice box. "I h-hate… th-that… b-bum… Vexor… was r–r-r-r-rrrrr-right…"

Above the carnage, silhouetted by the lingering smoke and refracted heatwaves, hovered his attacker.

Tara.

Encased in her bulky green powered armor, steam rising from her still-glowing beam cannons, she floated like a demigod of judgment and wrath.

Beneath the green glazed protective dome and the armored, pink-visored purple helmet beneath it, she smirked down at what was left of Noxic as he disappeared in the tell-tale flame of teleportation.

"… Really? That's all it took?" She scoffed.

At the Beetle Battle Base, Dipper, Mabel, Misao, all crowded Janna and her phone—staring at the image of Major Blast blasting Noxic.

"Whoa… she actually whipped the Major Blast suit out…" Janna said.

Misao was aghast and furious. Not just at the potent display of power, but also because she knew exactly why it happened.

All because they saw through her.

Mabel, hands still over her mouth, was looking more at what she hit. "… She… didn't kill anybody with that, did she…?"

Dipper reached for the console and keyed the radio. His voice was quiet, shaken.

"… You guys need to leave, now. I'm opening a portal."

As Drew, Jo, and Roland received his message, Tara turned in the air tto face them.

Behind her mask, she sneered when she spotted the Beetleborgs gawking up at her.

"You had your chance," she muttered, unheard by anyone else, her voice petulant and cold. "You could've become real heroes if you just joined me."

The portal opened behind the trio.

Stingerborg hesitated. So did Hunterborg.

Strikerborg's hand moved toward her Input Magnum, fire in her posture.

Tara's sneer deepened as Stingerborg reached out and gently grasped Strikerborg's shoulder.

"But all you are now… is unnecessary." She whispered in contempt.

Reluctantly, all three Beetleborgs stepped back through the portal and vanished.

"That's what I thought," she spat.

A vile pulse of magenta-colored energy flashed from the center of her chest, through the lines of her armor out to the extremities. Her lips peeled into a slasher's smile, Tara raised her head and screamed as that energy glowed brighter.

"I'M THE ONLY HERO THIS CITY NEEDS!"

= - = 9-8 = - =​

What an unpleasant person. I suppose she's who Vexor was waiting for...