Deep within the throng, Warren danced. His fishnet mesh shirt clung to his sweat-slicked torso, and glow stick bracelets traced arcs of light as he moved. More glow sticks hung around his neck in tangled loops, bouncing along with his movements. He'd lost count of how many songs had passed, how many partners he'd moved through—a girl with purple hair and a nose ring, another with industrial piercings and dressed all in black, a group that pulled him into their circle for three tracks before the crowd's momentum carried him away.
To anyone watching, he was just another raver. Young and energetic, riding the waves of music and movement and the anonymous press of bodies in the pulsating shadows and light. But Warren wasn't watching the crowd around him. He was watching her.
She moved like liquid through the dancers, always just out of reach. Powder blue hair fell in loose, bouncing waves to her narrow waist, catching the strobing lights and seeming to glow from within. Her body—God damnit, her body—could have graced any runway in the world. Supermodel gorgeous with striking high cheekbones and a narrow chin that gave her face an almost feline quality. She wore a blue bikini top that left little to the imagination, black spandex shorts, and, inexplicably, a short pink tutu that bounced with each movement. Streaks of glowing neon body paint accentuated her curves, tracing lines down her arms, across her collarbone, along her ribs.
Warren had been tracking her for forty minutes now, moving through the crowd in a carefully choreographed dance of his own. Close enough to maintain visual contact. Far enough not to spook her.
Not too close, he told himself. Let her think she's hunting you.
The song changed, tempo shifting to something slower and more sensual. Warren let the rhythm guide him closer, weaving through the crowd. He'd been dancing for over an hour without breaking a sweat—well, without exerting himself enough to break a sweat. The warehouse was hot as hell, moisture dripping from the ceiling in places where condensation had built up.
Their eyes met across the floor. Warren's heart hammered—part adrenaline, part something more primal that had nothing to do with the hunt. He couldn’t help it, his body responded on an animal level to that gaze. Those eyes were the color of glacial ice, pale blue with hints of white, and they locked onto him with predatory interest. She smiled and kept dancing, but now she was dancing toward him.
They met in the middle of the floor, bodies finding a rhythm that was part combat, part seduction. Her hands traced along his shoulders, down his chest, fingers exploring the fishnet gaps to touch bare skin. Warren's hands found her waist, her hips, pulling her closer as they swayed together.
She was cool to the touch. Not ice-cold—nothing that would immediately trigger an alarm in someone who wasn't paying attention. But distinctly cooler than her body temperature should be in this sweltering warehouse. Like touching marble that had been sitting in the shade. She leaned in close, lips nearly brushing his ear.
"You've been watching me," she murmured, her voice somehow audible beneath the thundering bass.
"Can you blame me?" Warren shot back, keeping his tone light. "You're hard to miss."
"Mmm." Her hands slid up his back, cool fingers tracing his spine. "And what were you hoping to see?"
"What have you got?" Warren grinned, the expression feeling almost genuine despite everything.
She laughed—a sound like wind chimes—and spun away from him. The tide of the crowd carried her away from him, but she kept eye contact. When she reached the periphery of the dance floor, she paused by a side door half-hidden behind stacked speakers. She turned, giving him an eyeful of her almost entirely bare back as she reached for the door handle, movements slow and deliberate. One hand on the door, she looked back over her slender shoulder and gave him a look that was pure invitation.
She slipped through the door. Warren counted to three, then abandoned any pretense of dancing. He shoved through the crowd, ignoring annoyed shouts as he forced his way toward the exit. The door was already swinging closed when he reached it.
She's getting away. Again.
Because that was exactly what had happened to him every time he’d gotten close to catching her before. Staying at the periphery, Warren had watched this same woman working her magic at three different clubs over the past week. She'd zero in on someone—usually young, usually alone, always attractive—and draw them in with that impossible beauty and the sinfully magnetic promise in her eyes. Then they'd disappear together, and that person would never be seen again.
Seven people so far. Seven missing young adults who'd vanished from San Francisco's rave scene without a trace. The kind of people society didn't look too hard for—runaways, addicts, sex workers, the beautifully lost and desperate. However, Warren was looking, and tonight he was going to stop her.
Warren burst through the door into a narrow hallway, startling a couple making out against the wall. The corridor stretched maybe fifty feet ahead, lit by flickering fluorescent tubes that cast everything in sickly yellow-green. At the far end, another door was just closing.
Warren sprinted, the long strides of his Nexus-enhanced body eating up the distance. He hit the far door at a run and found himself in a loading dock area—open to the night air, stacked with old pallets and rusted shipping containers. The smell of the bay hit him, salt and diesel and rotting wood. Each of the security lights in the area were out, but whether due to intention or negligence, Warren couldn’t immediately tell.
She stood in the center of the space, bathed in moonlight, waiting.
"Took you long enough," she said.
"Didn't want to seem too eager." Warren stepped fully through the door, letting it close behind him.
"No?" She tilted her head, that glacial gaze studying him. "You've been following me across the city. That seems fairly eager to me."
Shit. She'd known. The whole time, she'd known.
"What can I say? I'm persistent when I see something I want."
"Is that what I am?" She took a step closer, her hips swaying with the motion. "Something you want?"
"That depends. Are you going to tell me what happened to the others?"
"What others?" Her smile widened.
"The seven people who disappeared after going home with you."
"Oh. I see." She laughed again, but this time there was no warmth in it. "You're here to play hero."
Her hair moved. Not wind-blown. Not a trick of the light. It moved. The powder blue strands writhed and coiled, twisting around each other like—
Oh shit.
Snakes. Her hair had transformed into a mass of writhing serpents, each one rearing back with fangs bared and milky white eyes gleaming. They hissed in discordant harmony, a sound that raised every hair on Warren's body. Warren's Inspect ability kicked in automatically:
Name Unkown, WINTER MEDUSA
Health: 100%
The threat indicator glowed red around her Health bar. On startled reflex, Warren used Ignite, and flames sprang to life around his clenched fists. With his improved resistances, he felt the flames as a pleasantly warm tingle across his skin.
"Mmm, you’re one of them. I thought I smelled something different about you," she breathed deep, her nostrils flaring, the bikini-clad chest rising in a way that Warren just couldn’t ignore. "Something…powerful."
"If by one of them you mean someone who's going to stop you, then yeah. I'm one of them."
"Stop me?" She laughed, and frost began to form on the concrete around her feet. "Sweetheart, I haven't even started yet."
She lunged, and Warren barely got his arms up in time. She hit him like a freight train, impossibly strong, driving him back into a stack of pallets that exploded into splinters under the impact. As she drove him to the ground, her snake-hair struck at his face. He bucked her off and rolled aside, sensing fangs scrape against the concrete where his head had been a moment before.
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He came up swinging, his enhanced Might letting him match her blow for blow. His flame-wreathed fist connected with her ribs, a solid impact. The force of the blow and the intense heat of his flames would've dropped a normal person. Even as the smell of burnt meat filled his nose, she just grinned and drove her knee into his stomach hard enough to lift him off his feet.
Warren hit the ground, gasping, and rolled away as her foot came down where his head had been. Concrete cracked under the force.
Okay. She's strong. Really strong.
And fast. She was on him again before he could fully recover, raining down strikes that he barely managed to block. Her snake-hair lashed at him constantly, forcing him to defend on multiple fronts at once.
A notification flashed in Warren's peripheral vision—his HUD was trying to get his attention. He dismissed it with a thought, focus locked on the fight. Whatever it was, it could wait.
With a sizzling burst of flames from his fists, Warren managed to create some distance, scrambling back and coming to his feet. Tendrils of steam rose from her exposed skin, and Warren could see that the fist-sized burn over her ribs was already fading away.
"What are you?" he demanded, breathing hard.
"What are you?" she countered, circling him. "You fight like you've done this before. Like you've trained for it. But you're so young. Fresh meat."
"I get that a lot."
She thrust her hand forward, and ice erupted from her palm.
Warren threw himself sideways, feeling the blast of arctic cold as a spear of ice the size of a baseball bat shot past his shoulder. It buried itself in a shipping container behind him with a sound like a gunshot, frost spreading from the impact point in crystalline fractals.
Okay. Time to kick this up a notch.
Warren reached for more of his fire affinity. As he pumped more juice into the flames around his fists, the familiar burn ignited in his chest. "You know what they say about ice?"
"Do tell." She formed another ice spear, this one larger.
"It melts."
Note to self, work on your hero quips. The thought flashed through Warren’s mind even as he launched a blast of fire at her feet. The concrete beneath her exploded into steam and scalding water. She leaped back with a hiss, her latest ice spear evaporating in her hand from the sudden heat.
They circled each other warily now, powers crackling. Warren's flames painted the loading dock in orange light. Her ice made the air shimmer around her with cold.
"You're good," she admitted. "But you're holding back."
She was right. Warren was trying to keep his powers subtle—no dramatic special effects, nothing that would look impossible on camera. But she wasn't giving him that option.
Another notification flashed in his vision, more urgent this time. Warren snarled and dismissed it again. Not now, Delta!
The Winter Medusa attacked with renewed fury. Shards of ice the size of knives flew from her hands in rapid succession, forcing Warren to summon a Fire Shield that vaporized them mid-flight. Steam filled the loading dock, turning visibility to near-zero. Warren used the cover to move, his enhanced Infravision letting him track her through the vapor. He came in from the side, fire-wreathed fist aimed at her head.
She caught his wrist. Her grip was ice-cold, frost forming instantly on his skin. Warren cried out as burning cold shot up his arm, and she used his momentum to flip him over her hip. He crashed onto his back, the air driven from his lungs. Her snake-hair struck, fangs sinking into his shoulder. Pain exploded through Warren's body—not from the bites, but from the venom flooding his system. Cold. So cold. His Accelerated Healing kicked in immediately, burning through aetheric energy to neutralize the toxin, but it was a near thing.
She's got venom. Of course she does. Why wouldn't she?
Warren rolled away, came up in a crouch, and made a decision. Screw being subtle. He mentally reached into his Inventory and summoned Nova. The morningstar materialized in his hand. The weapon's spiked head immediately burst into flames, hot enough to melt steel.
“Oh.” The Winter Medusa's eyes widened. "Oh, that's beautiful."
“Last chance.” Warren swung Nova in a wide arc, the flaming head leaving trails of light. "Tell me where the missing people are, and maybe I don't turn you into ashes."
"They're being put to a higher purpose," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “My mistress has such wonderful plans for them."
Mistress. So she's working for someone.
"Who?" Warren demanded.
"Someone far beyond your understanding, little man." She smiled, and it was predatory. "But you—you're different. Valuable. She'll reward me for bringing you to her."
Warren went on the offensive and rushed her. Nova gave him reach, and the flames kept her snake-hair at bay. He swung the morningstar in tight, controlled arcs, each strike forcing her back, but he could already sense that she was adapting. Ice formed along her arms like armor, and when Nova connected, the impact shattered the ice but left her unharmed beneath. Her own Accelerated Healing was working overtime, just like his.
We're evenly too matched, Warren realized with growing frustration. This could go on all night.
Which meant he needed to change the game. Warren gathered his fire affinity, pulling heat from deep within his core. The flames around Nova intensified, going from white-gold to blue-white. He formed a sphere of concentrated fire in his free hand, compressing it, making it denser and hotter.
"You want a reward?" Warren growled. "I’ve got something for you."
He hurled the fireball. The Winter Medusa dodged, fast and impossibly graceful. Still, the proximity of the condensed fireball charred her pale flesh as it shot past her shoulder. Straight into the warehouse wall. Dry, old timber that had been baking in the California sun for decades went up like kindling. Within seconds, flames were racing up the wall, spreading to the roof, eating through support beams. Warren's heart stopped.
Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit, oh—
He could hear screaming from inside. The music had stopped. People were panicking.
The Winter Medusa looked at him, at the fire, then back at him. "This is your mess to clean up, hero."
She turned and ran, disappearing into the night with inhuman speed. Warren let her go. He had bigger problems. The fire was spreading fast—too fast. It had already consumed a third of the back wall and was racing toward the roof. If it reached the main floor while people were still evacuating...
Warren reached deep into his fire affinity, feeling for the flames. His Fire Control let him sense each tongue of fire, each pocket of combustion. The last four months of practice had taught him that extinguishing flames was much harder than amplifying flames. It took concentration, power, and time. He didn't have time.
So instead, he began calling the fire to him. Pulling the flames through the air and gathering them into a sphere over his head. Every flame, every spark, every bit of combustion within his reach. Nova pulsed with power within his grip, refining and magnifying his efforts. Warren pulled it all together, compressing it, forcing it away from the building and into a single point above his head. The effort made his head throb and his aetheric reserves drained at an alarming rate, but he held on until all of the heat and fury condensed into a sphere the size of a beach ball floating above Warren's upraised hands, clenching Nova.
The building groaned, smoke-damaged but no longer burning. Warren could hear sirens in the distance. First responders. He could feel the condensed flames pulsing with an eager desire to break free. To burn and consume. It was all he could do to keep it contained, and he didn’t think he could do that for long. Extinguishing that much concentrated fire was out of the question for him. With a roar of effort, Warren thrust Nova skyward and released the sphere.
A pillar of fire erupted from Nova’s glowing head, shooting straight up into the night sky. It was massive—twenty feet wide, pure white-hot flame, likely visible for miles. It climbed and climbed, burning through his reserves to keep it from reaching out for fresh tinder, until finally Warren released his control and the flames dissipated into the upper atmosphere.
The loading dock was silent except for the sound of Warren's ragged breathing. Smoke rose from the blackened warehouse wall, but the fire was out. From inside, he could hear voices—confused, frightened, but alive.
Warren's knees buckled. He caught himself against a shipping container, Nova vanishing back to his Inventory with a thought. That had taken everything. His reserves were in the red, warning indicators flashing in his HUD. Worse, the Winter Medusa had escaped again.
Damn it!
Something glinted on the ground where she'd been standing. Warren stumbled over and picked it up—a key fob, sleek and plastic, with the logo of a luxury apartment complex in downtown San Francisco. Warren pocketed the fob without examining it closely. The sirens were getting closer. He needed to go. Warren moved to the edge of the loading dock and dropped down into the alley behind the warehouse. Only then did he check his HUD messages.
Delta: URGENT - WILD DUNGEON DETECTED IN NAPA.
Delta: ATTEMPTING TO CONTACT ALL PALADINS. RESPOND IMMEDIATELY.
Delta: PABLO AND SASHA EN ROUTE. ZOE EN ROUTE. WHERE ARE YOU?
Delta: WARREN, I KNOW YOU CAN SEE THESE. RESPOND.
Delta: TEAM HAS ENTERED DUNGEON. NO CONTACT POSSIBLE. TWO CIVILIAN LIVES AT RISK. STRONGLY ADVISE YOU JOIN IMMEDIATELY.
Warren's stomach dropped. A dungeon. His friends had gone into a dungeon, and he hadn't been there.
Because I was too busy playing Batman.
His hands shook as he mentally pulled up the messaging interface and replied:
Warren: Just got your messages. On my way. What's the situation?
The response came almost immediately:
Delta: It’s about time! The team entered the dungeon approximately 5 minutes ago. No communication from them since. Where in the Blighted Abyss have you been?
Warren: Working.
Delta: Please don’t lie to me. I’ve been keeping this to myself, but I’m well aware that you quit your valet job months ago.
Wait, Delta’s known this whole time? The realization really should have surprised him. Warren knew that Delta was plugged into all sorts of world information systems, and with his capabilities, he considered most forms of human information security to be laughable.
Delta: We can discuss your extracurricular vigilante activities another time. I trust that you’ll be en route shortly? A wild dungeon is no casual undertaking for Paladins of your rank.
Warren's fire roared to life inside him—not literal flame, but the burning need to do something. His team was in danger. Eden, Sasha, Zoe, Pablo. His friends, his family, and he weren't there. He looked back at the warehouse, at the scorched wall and the gathering crowd of confused ravers stumbling into the street. He thought about the key fob in his hand—his only lead on the Winter Medusa and the missing people.
She still needs to be stopped…
The thought lasted maybe half a second. Then he sent a reply to Delta.
Warren: Yeah. On my way.
Delta: Excellent. I will send you any updates should they become available.
Warren turned and ran for the parking lot three blocks away, where he'd left Mark's old Jeep. His enhanced body devoured the distance, and within minutes, he was behind the wheel, engine roaring to life. The Jeep still smelled like Mark—old coffee and that specific brand of cheap body spray he'd always worn. Warren's throat tightened, but he shoved the feeling down.
I'm coming, guys, he thought, slamming down the gas pedal. Hold on. I'm coming.
The Jeep's tires squealed as Warren peeled out onto the San Francisco streets, heading for the Bay Bridge and Napa beyond. Behind him, videos of a massive pillar of fire shooting into the night sky were already spreading across social media.