Boiling Water
The first thing the construct known as Leviathan noticed was the feeling of cold water slapping its sides and the sun in its eyes. This was odd, as ordinarily such feelings would be muted, if felt at all. The second thing it noticed was that it was completely cut off from the Shard Network. After the first set of pings it sent out went unanswered, Leviathan performed some internal self-diagnostics and realized the third thing. It no longer had orders. Both the order from Zion to destroy humanity and the order from the High Priest to serve as a challenge were gone. It was completely free to do anything it chose.
The fourth thing Leviathan noticed was that it now had breasts.
Finally observing itself, it realized the physical changes were extensive. Its’ body, instead of being made up of hard and corded crystalline muscle, was now a curvy hourglass, soft, and somewhat cold to the touch. Its green scales had been replaced by pale ivory skin. Its arms and legs were human in appearance and, albeit longer than what would be typical, were nothing compared to its former limbs. On its head, and floating in the water around it was hair of many colors. It was mostly black, and yet entire sections of it were teal, cyan, cobalt, and violet.
In other words, Leviathan had been transformed into what many would describe as a tall and beautiful woman.
Leviathan considered its possible courses of action. Although it could continue its destructive path, without orders there was no reason to. And with the additional camouflage this body brought, it wasn’t sure it wanted to. In fact, it wasn’t sure what it wanted to do at all.
Leviathan shivered as the cold began to seep into its body. It decided that it did not like that feeling. Using its power, Leviathan heated up the water around itself until it steamed in the open air, which it found much more pleasant. As it floated, it thought of and discarded many plans about what to do, when a school of fish passed beneath it. Curious, Leviathan flipped face down to the water’s surface, watching them swim to and fro. Their dance was mesmerizing, the light of the sun reflecting many pretty colors off of their scales. Leviathan decided that it liked that. Eventually, the fish swam away, their dance complete, but by then Leviathan had a new plan. Like the fish, it would wander where it pleased, for no reason other than its own enjoyment. But in order to do that, it needed a disguise. Diving underwater, Leviathan gathered as much seaweed as it could find, and began wrapping itself. After all, humans were fond of their skin coverings and (according to Unit 3 “The Simurgh”) shunned those without in most settings. Of course any good disguise needs a name, but it found it rather liked the name “Leviathan”. Coming to a compromise, it decided to take the name “Levia”, sounding sufficiently like a human name while retaining the particular feeling that it liked. It paused as it finished wrapping its waist. If it remembered correctly, there was some disapproval of those with enlarged mammary glands to go without those uncovered, either. It also recalled that these humans were mostly called ‘females’ or ‘women’. After another moment of thought, it decided that it would be a woman. The name it had chosen sounded similar to some of the ones other ‘women’ had.
As it-As she finished wrapping her body in seaweed, Levia expanded her senses, looking for the closest populated landmass. As it happened, she was rather close to a city that was connected to the water, with many patches of sand leading up to it. Levia turned toward it, and as she began to push herself through the water, a strange feeling slowly expanded in her chest. It was warm and soft, and it made the new muscles in her face twitch involuntarily, the edges of the skin covering the large hole containing small bits of bone and a fleshy mass forcing themselves upward.
She decided that she liked that feeling.
Marco Polo (yes, he’d heard all the jokes) was a simple man with a simple life. He woke up at 5, ate eggs and bacon for breakfast, smacked his shitty microwave when it broke again, worked at the Boston Dockyards in the day, and had a few beers at night. He was a person who appreciated the smaller things in life, had a few friends even though he preferred to be alone, and watched soap operas from Aleph in his downtime. He was gruff, short, stocky, covered in hair, muscles, and tattoos, and he had a bald spot he always covered with a baseball cap, no matter the weather. All in all, he considered himself a normal guy with normal interests, who knew full well what was normal.
So he could say that the woman covered in seaweed walking out of the surf while he was on his lunch break was decidedly not normal. Marco stared at her from the dock railing, before quickly pulling out his radio. “Hey boss,” he said as he continued to watch the strange woman, “got somebody on the beach. Woman, covered in seaweed.”
“She alive?” the deep voice of his boss responded.
“Yeah she’s alive, and she’s comin’ our way.” Marco answered levelly. “What’s the play?”
“Get everybody inside. No need to mess with somebody like that, in case they’re a cape. I’ll call the feds and let them deal with it.”
“Gotcha boss,” Marco said as he pushed off the railing, “doin’ it now.” He pocketed his radio and walked towards the main workbay where everyone else was having lunch, fully prepared to let the PRT do what they wanted as long as everyone was ok.
Not his circus, not his monkeys.
Levia had reached the shore of the city called Boston. It was a busy place, with many tall buildings and bustling streets, something she decided that she liked. As she walked towards the waterfront, there was a whooshing noise approaching from behind the dockyards. Eventually, the sound’s source was revealed, as a man in a flying red, white, and blue power suit appeared above her. Levia stopped as the man lowered himself to the ground, shutting off the whining thrusters of his suit. “Whoo, heck of a day for a swim, don’tcha think?” said the man cheerfully, giving the impression of a smile through his face-covering helmet. Levia nodded and went to answer him, only to realize she had made a critical error. Although she had a mouth, and a tongue, and understood English, (as well as a few other languages) she didn’t know how to speak .
Her thoughts sped up as she panicked, racking her brain for a way to fix this. A thought occurred to her, and she latched onto it like a moth to a flame. Using her visual data logs from her time as Leviathan, she could piece together the sounds they made with the way their mouths moved. Of course, since she didn’t care about such things back then, the data was sparse. Even so, there were still times that she killed up close, sometimes waiting for a few seconds to inspire more terror, during which they would speak. Well, they yelled, and according to Unit 3 it was mostly ‘obscenities’, but data was data. Correlating the sounds produced by the throat, shaped by the tongue, and tempered by the lips with the movements of each was almost impossible, and it took a horribly long time in comparison to the usual data checks, but eventually it was done. It was nowhere near complete, a rush job, and most likely riddled with inaccuracies, but Levia now had a Spoken Language Module. Now all that was left was to put it to use.
“Y-yes,” Levia replied shakily. “N-nice day.”
That familiar warm feeling swelled in her chest again, and her mouth did the twitchy thing as she inwardly celebrated. Despite the sudden problem, Levia had cobbled together a solution using nothing but her wits! Her identity as a fellow human had remained intact through her folly! The plan was progressing amazingly well!
“The name’s Patriot, in case you didn’t know.” said the armored man as he looked towards the city, “I’m a little new around these parts. Moved up from New York, you see.” Levia nodded again as the man continued. “But even then, some rules stay the same, even out here.” The man turned back towards her. “So, if you don’t mind, could you tell me why you were having a swim in the Massachusetts Bay? It just can’t be warm there this time of year.”
Levia knew she was supposed to respond here, but the problem with wandering wherever you choose, is that you don’t have a plan. Again her thoughts sped up, struggling to formulate an excuse, only this time, no ideas were forthcoming. Mentally floundering as her thoughts began to spiral, she was suddenly interrupted by the man called Patriot.
“Not too fond of talking, huh?” he said as he nodded sagely. “I get that, have a few friends like that, even.”
Relief was like a cool rush of water, washing through her mind. That was it. She could simply not speak, and let the man come to his own conclusions. It was risky, as she couldn’t control where the man’s mind went, (Unit 3 said that was important) but as long as her disguise remained intact, it would be fine.
“Would you like to meet them? I’ve got a red and white van up on the street that can take you there. It’s got a big red cross on it, you can’t miss it.”
Levia knew the description of that vehicle. It was the thing that carried the analysis and healing humans. They would attempt to analyze her, no doubt, and even she wasn’t entirely sure what they would find. Regardless, that was bad. Very bad. Abort. Abort. Abort.
Something must have shown on Levia’s face, because the man stepped toward her. “Hey now, I don’t mean you any harm,” he said with his hands up. “Just wanna check you out and make sure you’re all good. Is that okay?”
It was not okay. In fact, it was the furthest thing from okay. Deciding this city was a bust, she turned around and leaped. Behind her, she heard the man exclaim “Wait!”, but she paid him no mind. As she flew through the air above the water, she mentally searched for a new city, and found one not too far away. With a splash, she hit the surface of the water and seamlessly pushed herself towards the new city, fear at almost being caught making her insides cold. She didn’t like this feeling at all. She could understand why humans wanted to avoid it. It was terrible.
With luck, the next city would be different.
This city’s water was different. A large boat sat at the mouth of the bay, old and rusting. The inside wasn’t much better, and Levia could see a large number of ships were beached, seemingly abandoned. Levia felt something again, a sort of sinking feeling, as she gazed at the boats. She really wanted to play with them, but restrained herself for the sake of her disguise.
Quickly speeding just below the surface, Levia moved towards the Docks. She had learned from the mistake of last time. This time, she wouldn’t get caught so easily. The people who worked there would call the heroes, which was bad. They would try to take her to the analysis humans. Instead she needed to find the group of people that couldn’t or wouldn’t call the heroes.
It was time to find the so-called ‘criminals.’
Slowing down as she reached the edge of a crowded area of the docks, she waited for her moment. Forming a tentacle of water, she gripped her human sized body and, when no one was looking, threw herself over them into the closest alleyway. She smacked into the wall at speed, cracking the bricks, and fell to the floor, feeling a strange sensation radiating from her back. Pain. Although not enough to disable her, it still hurt to a magnitude she was unused to. The numbness of her Leviathan body had proved to be a boon that she sorely missed. Getting up, she finally noticed the old man staring at her, open-mouthed. Levia froze.
The man was inside a large cardboard box he had appeared to have fashioned into a shelter. He sat next to a dumpster, and had wrapped himself in ratty blankets and newspapers. Slowly, he put his hands up in surrender and said “I didn’t see anything.”
Levia was confused. If the man didn’t see anything, then why was he staring at her? Shaking her head, she disregarded the old man, walked over, and opened the dumpster, looking for proper skin coverings she could blend in with. Luckily, she found them in a pair of old ripped jean shorts and a ratty t-shirt that had the words “Women fear me, Fish want me” in bold text on the front. Deciding that wasn’t inaccurate, she ripped off the seaweed wrappings and put on the clothes (a surprisingly intuitive process). Levia examined herself in a particularly reflective piece of waste and the warm feeling and mouth twitches came back, a sparkle in her emerald eyes. Yes, she liked this.
As she turned and left the alleyway, she noticed a procession of people that the crowds seemed to avoid. A group of men wearing red and green walked down the center of the street, the people scrambling to get out of their way. At the head of the procession walked someone who seemed familiar; a shirtless man wearing the mask of a dragon, walking with confidence, and a certain coldness in his gaze. Yes, Levia definitely knew him. But from where? She had not met many memorable humans, aside from the hosts of Fortitude, The High Priest, Lightbringer, and Escalation Engine- wait a minute. Looking at the man closer, she attempted to ping his shard, but failed due to still being disconnected from the network. Instead, all she achieved was getting close enough to be shoved out of the man’s way by a member of the procession, with a growled “Move it, junkie.”
That was an insult, correct? Searching her text data logs from her talks with Unit 3, she found that yes, yes it was. Delivered by the group who followed Escalation Engine’s host. Escalation Engine’s host, who opposed her down to the very elements they wielded. Escalation Engine’s host, who had fought her alone and survived the experience. Escalation Engine’s host, who was (probably) right in front of her.
Hm.
Perhaps maintaining her anonymity should be a secondary concern.
Kenta was having a day. Not a bad day, but not a good day either. One of his casinos had been robbed, and his newest parahuman member Hanabi Young A.K.A. Bakuda was proving to be a useful resource and a pain in the ass in equal measure. The foolish girl had seemed to have deluded herself that just because she was a tinker, she was therefore a genius, and the world should marvel at her intellect. Inwardly, Kenta had wanted to gag when she made those thoughts apparent, but he settled for a simple “Mind your tongue.” in order to keep his image.
That was the thing about being feared. Once you got to a certain point, you lost the need to make threats. His silence is much more cruel than his words would ever be, because it forced the recipient to fill in the blanks themselves. And the human imagination is nothing if not descriptive. Unfortunately, that fear also led to days like this, where he had to go in person to sort things out with his menace and, if necessary, his fire.
Kenta sighed as he walked down the street, shirt off and mask on as the civilians scrambled to be out of his sight. Or rather, most of them did. Kenta idly noticed a disheveled woman with strangely colored hair, ripped clothes, and no shoes whatsoever staring at him intently, slowly creeping closer. A shame she had fallen to the Merchant’s easy highs. If she hadn’t, she would probably clean up nicely. He turned his gaze towards the not-so-crowded-anymore street as one of his lieutenants (Aki, if he recalled) shoved the woman away and told her to leave. Even with the momentary distraction the woman provided, Kenta’s boredom remained unsatiated. He held in another, lamenting the lack of excitement in his life. True, leading a gang never leaves you with much free time, but if all the distractions are boring, then what's the point of the distraction? The only things that really stirred his heart these days were good food (he just ate), a good fight (nobody is either that strong, or that stupid) and a good fuck (he’s been busy). Frankly, at this point, Kenta just wanted literally anything out of the ordinary to happen.
With a loud schlap , and a rush of cold, his wish was granted.
Kenta (and his men, he noticed) were sent flying by what appeared to be a tentacle made of water while the disheveled woman from earlier glared balefully at him. As Kenta (and his men) fell into the water below, he felt an inkling of respect for the woman. She showed up out of nowhere without a mask and, upon being provoked, threw the man responsible and those associated with him into the Bay. Even with whatever drugs were her choice, she still recognized an insult when she heard one. Had he been disrespected similarly, he would have done the same thing. Granted, it wasn’t going to stop him from killing her slowly and painfully, but it’s the thought that counts.
Heat bloomed beneath his skin as Kenta became Lung, scales and claws taking their rightful place on his body. He angrily tried to claw his way back to solid ground, only for the water around him to shift, throwing him back into the street. Slowly, as his transformation continued, Lung stood up and looked at the woman, who hadn’t moved and was still glaring at him. “I will kill you for that.” He said, voice booming.
Instead of reacting in fear as most would, the woman smiled, mirth in her eyes. “You will try.” she replied smoothly.
His small fleck of respect grew slightly, but only just so. She had the confidence to stand up to him, now it was time to see if she had the power to back it up.
With a grin concealed by his mask, he launched himself into battle, boredom forgotten.
The fight was like a ballroom dance, or the night of a honeymoon. It began with a waltz, a slow dance as the partners took each other's measure. They mingled carefully, methodically, and with purpose. Both were trying to drag out this prelude for as long as possible as they both continued their stimulating prods at one another’s defenses. The dance continued as the partners kept close, each trying to outdo the other, but neither ever straying too far ahead.
Then, a rhythm was established. The man of flames would lunge, the woman of water would dodge, then the positions would reverse and reverse again as both grew in fervor, with neither getting ahead. Spinning together around and around, performing endless circles and yet never breaking their shared gaze, the fire in their hearts refusing to release them. The duo traveled with the world as their stage, slowly making their way across the shore.
Soon after, they approached the boardwalk, and the waltz could not continue as it was. The dancers were familiar, well acquainted with one another’s bodies by now. Their excitement had only just begun to rise as the two realized that this encounter, contrived as it may be, was something they both wanted.
And just like that, the prelude ended, and the dance changed from a waltz to a foxtrot. The two partners latched onto each other, hands gripping their others like they never wanted to let go, as they flowed up the street. Fire and water swirled in tandem as the burning far down within their hearts grew. The man of fire increased the rate of his pounding, trying his hardest to dig deep into her sensitive insides, while the woman of water did her best to match her mate, intent on outlasting him. The dance lingered as the two spent many moments crawling all over each other, every touch raising their desires to new heights. Finally, they rose, separating for the first time in ages, and yet neither wanted more than to grasp the other between their hands. Once again, the partners launched into each other’s waiting limbs. They swung to the left, then swung to the right, heedless of the things beneath them. The only thing that mattered to them in this instant was their companion in this dance.
Finally, after the two had enjoyed the feeling of each other's movements for what felt like hours, they both began to approach their limits. For the man of fire, he had grown too much, gotten too eager, and was beginning to struggle to match the pace of his partner as he drew ever closer to the limits of his stamina. For the woman of water, the relentless tempo was pushing her ever closer to limits she never knew she had until she met the man. Still, both of them had their pride, and they refused to stop until the other gave in.
The dance changed from foxtrot to tango as the climax approached. The pair slowly abandoned technique in favor of simple base instinct, their minds clouded by their want, their need to see the other beneath them, to have them at their mercy, and to give them none. Trading the position of lead and follow, the desirous duo slowly traveled back to where this rendezvous had started, with neither giving up on their zealous offensive. As they finally settled back into place, the man of fire realized he had reached his limit. In a desperate attempt to finish his familiar, he gave one last thrust, as hard and as deep as he could. But alas, the woman of water withstood the ardent strike. At last, the dance ended. The man of fire was spent, and the woman of water just barely stood, panting and shaking, but victorious. Both were covered in sweat and trembling from exertion. The woman’s hair was a mess, and the man had many new scratches adorning his skin. And yet, although neither would admit it, both were satisfied. If the setting were changed, and the city streets were replaced by a dimly lit room, the result would have been no different. Because at the end of the day, hate and love are just two words for passion.
Levia slumped against the wall of the burned alleyway, her entire body sore. She had been unaware that the changes she had suffered to her body had also limited her power. The battle had been hard fought, and she nearly lost multiple times during. Forcing herself to take deep breaths to slow her hammering heartbeat, she slid down the wall and let her head fall to the side, her gaze landing on the slumped form of Escalation Engine’s host. Apparently his name was Lung, as some of the Protectorate heroes who had attempted to intervene had shouted. They had believed she was a hero as well, and told her to back off, saying she couldn’t handle Lung’s full strength.
Shows what they knew.
Levia chuckled, then winced as her ribs creaked. Her limits hadn’t been the only thing she had discovered during the fight. As the battle raged on, so did the feelings in her gut, the emotions that she could now name. She felt as if, while being Leviathan, she had been seeing the world through blurry glasses, and she had finally taken them off.
With a smile on her face, Levia scooched her way to Lung’s body. He wasn’t dead, only unconscious from pushing the upper limits of the Escalation Engine’s output. There was only so much the human mind could take, no matter how malleable the body. Even with all of his determination to win, his body simply couldn’t keep up with his wishes.
Levia reached down and grabbed him by the neck, holding him up to see. His maskless face held a severe expression even in sleep, a broken nose, and bloody lips. His hair was as black as the night sky, although it was currently covered in soot and ash. Looking lower, his chest was muscular, for a human, and covered in tattoos. His arms were the same, and his slightly tanned pale skin was stained darker by blood, mostly his but some hers. She did not look lower than that, because she remembered that looking at humans in the places they covered without permission was rude.
As Levia examined Lung, her breathing slowly evened out, but her heart didn’t seem to slow down. A feeling bubbled up in her chest, happiness mixed with…longing? She wasn’t entirely sure. Apparently, even after her proper awakening at Lung’s hands, there were still feelings she didn’t know. That said, she was certain she had felt it before. Yes, in their fight, she felt it then. And riding along the coattails of that unnamed yet familiar feeling came an impulse.
She looked at his face. At his closed eyes, his crooked nose, his scratched forehead.
His bloody lips.
A mix of both his blood and hers.
A record of their second meeting.
She wanted it.
Her lips met his.
She decided that she liked that feeling.