Forging Hephaestus (Villains' Code, #1)

by Drew Hayes

“Wait, hold on, can Lance—sorry, Pest Control—summon meta-insects?” Stasis seemed to show interest for the first time since she’d dropped off the copies of the apprentices’ proposal. “From what we’ve seen, he can summon any insect so long as he has seen a sample in person,” Wade replied. “Granted, that means he has little more in his meta-summoning arsenal than the augmented wasps the capes drove out of the city a few years ago, but I suspect that won’t always be the case.”

“My guess—and I do want to stress that this is a guess—is that you somehow tap into something like people’s belief, only with words instead of the divine. Like... okay. We know there are divine metas out there, aside from the ones who just take old-god names like Apollo. There are some who seem like they’re actually drawing from something bigger than themselves—like that cape named Archbishop, for instance. But some people don’t believe they’re drawing from actual gods; instead, they’re tapping into the collective human belief in those gods. If that’s true, then why couldn’t you do the same with words?”

“It looks like as much as the words need power, they also need you to shape them. If you can’t picture how a saying would work in real life, even subconsciously, then you can’t invoke it.” “Think of it like a gun.” Tori ignored the fearful look that darted across Chloe’s face and continued with her analogy. “The power is the bullet—not enough juice in the words? No bullet to fire. But your mind is the trigger. If it can’t give the idea shape then the bullet just sits idly in the chamber.”

“As opposed to, say, knowing that if you screwed up, it would probably cost you your life?” Tori shook her head and got up from the table, dishes in hand as she made her way to the kitchen. “You don’t get it, Ivan. That was just my life. This, this is fucking money.”

When that goal isn’t arbitrary, suddenly restraint seems less important. After all, getting in and out are the hard parts, and that’s covered. We get greedy, we stretch ourselves thin, and we go off the plan. And that’s when we make a mistake.”

The dragon had thrown him into a tree, not just because it meant he wouldn’t be able to attack as it flew away, but because the branches would slow him down enough to make sure he wasn’t killed in the fall. It was tactically sound and also oddly considerate.

Cyber Geek lowered his head and began to search the area. He had a sneaking suspicion that no amount of looking would turn up his quarry, but he still felt compelled to try. Just... not that hard. This wasn’t like the monster in the club or the robbers in the office. These villains seemed to be going out of their way not to hurt anyone. Somehow, hunting one of them just didn’t conjure that same fire for justice the other occasions had.

“This is why I love rookies! A rocket dragon. A fucking rocket dragon! Have we ever had that before?”

To me, from the beginning, this guild has been a family. It is a place for people like us, the ones who had no place of their own. We made it ourselves, carved out a space in the world that we could call home. And today it is my great honor to welcome four new members into that home, to be a part of that family.”

Teaching you has reminded me why this guild was founded, why it matters. We are more than the guard dogs who keep the more disruptive metas at bay. We give guidance and direction to those who would hear it. We are a refuge for those who are lost. Amid all the dirtier matters we deal with, I’d managed to forget that. Thank you, Tori, for reminding me why I helped create this guild in the first place.”

Rick tried to look interested without looking too interested, the paradox that was a teenage boy’s attempt to grasp the intangible quality known as ‘cool’.

Rust Tooth fell forward, taking the landing face-first as his hands stayed wrapped around his side. “And yet you beat me. What the hell kind of villain are you?” “I’m the patron saint of bad bitches.”

All this time, he’d been a guard dog in the shadows, protecting the world’s peace even if no one knew it. Asking for more, even hoping for it, was selfish and Helen knew that. But humans are selfish creatures, so she watched the screen, barely blinking, and allowed herself to hope all the same.

“Balaam and I both want this world the way it’s supposed to be: heroes acting like heroes, villains acting like villains,” Apollo said. “This red tape bullshit ends today.

“And that’s why they call me Johnny Three Dicks, doll. No matter which way you try to come, you’re still fucked.”

We might be criminals, but we’re still people, and that means survival ranks way higher on our list of priorities than pride, pissing matches, or possible imprisonment.”

“Fornax is long dead; today he was only briefly resurrected. No, my actions now will simply be as the guild guard dog.” “Maybe I should call you Spot, then,” she replied. “That sounds like the sort of joke Balaam would make. I don’t plan to be nearly that lovable.” Ivan turned to Apollo, who’d managed to brace himself against a tree and was watching the exchange with a mix of relief and confusion. “Think less Lassie, more Cerberus.”

Helen could age normally if she didn’t call on the power, but Lodestar was forever nineteen, trapped in the day the comet hit her, and when the power faded, that’s where Helen would be again. Just one use of the power, and her whole body reset.

Later, Tori would describe it as seeing the flaming visage of Death burst forth from within the final sphere. Ivan had fought his way through five of them—five that had burned his skin and turned his clothes into scarcely more than ash.

No, Kristoph’s wings were made of blades. Stained straight razors, chipped scissor halves, rusted butcher’s knives, they all rattled in a soul-quaking symphony as they stretched behind him, drops of blood falling from each of their tips. Slowly, Kristoph reached down and plucked up Balaam from the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. With a look to Ivan over his shoulder, Kristoph flapped those nightmarish wings once, and the two of them were gone.

“The Alliance of Heroic Champions will be the ones to keep the people safe again. We’ll clean up the mess that one of our own helped make. No more depending on villains to police themselves. It’s time to stop being backseat leaders and take charge of things once more.”

“But he’s been using a wrist model, much too cumbersome and limited. I have a far better idea, one that will be portable, accessible, and greatly increase the variety of items he can wield. Plus, by my calculations, there’s only a twenty-two percent chance that the surgery will blind him.”