Killing Olympia

"Yeah, dad, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine on my own for a while," Riley muttered—he had a stack of cardboard boxes balancing precariously on one hand as the other searched his jeans for his room keys. I swear I didn't leave them on the field. Did I? Are these even my jeans? "Besides, someone needs to watch over Ben, and I think it should be me. Least I can do, y'know?" He kept speaking as Riley pulled his pockets out, leaving coins dropping onto the dorm carpet as he put his wallet between his teeth. There. In his back pocket, on the right, like Ben always said he should start checking for the first time around. "I promise I'll visit on the weekends. It's not like I can get drunk, anyway."

"Partying and college are two things everyone eventually does on some level," he said. He sounded tired. Must be work, or late nights in front of his laptop again. "And you getting drunk would easily be a problem the national guard would have to worry about." Riley laughed a little as he tried to put the key inside the door. Barely anyone was awake this time of night, and practice had gone on a lot longer than usual today, too. He was still in his football jersey and sweatpants, sweating and filthy and smelling like a football field. "But I guess you're right. You're getting older, and eventually you're going to have to leave the nest and start your life all on your own, kid."

"Gods, dad," he muttered, finally sliding the key into the slot. "You make it sound like I'll vanish."

"Well, you've got a really bad habit of doing that. Two months worth of bad habits, actually."

"Hey, that wasn't my fault." Riley turned around and used his back to push open the door. The lights were off, meaning Ben and Emelio weren't back yet, either. Pizza runs took time, especially with the city in its current state, too. "Sometimes you get snatched up to do multiversal alternate reality shit and that's how life is sometimes."

"Remind me why my son thinks that's normal again?" he asked.

Riley was about to answer, maybe something stupid—as was usual—until he paused in the hallway, his back to his room as the door slowly swung open. Blood. It's the first scent that came from the shadows, followed by smoke and flesh and something that reeked like sulfuric ozone. "Hey, dad," he said quietly. "I'll call you back."

"Riley?" he said, his voice pitching. "Is everything alright? What's wrong? Is it—"

"I'll be fine. I promise." He cut the call and slid the phone into his right back pocket, then turned around and watched someone very slowly pull on a dying cigarette. He tensed his jaw and thought, Great, but put on half a smile as he walked inside the room and put the doors down. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning forward and leaving ash all over the carpet. Her hair was a mess. A lot shorter in some places than he remembered. Maybe ripped straight out of her head, leaving dry blood smeared down the side of her throat, coloring her torn up shirt collar the aged brown of very old blood. He folded his arms and leaned against his bunk, waiting for her to finish reading the comic book she'd folded in half and stolen off his shelf. No shoes. No pants. Her shirt, her underwear, wet hair and fingernails so crooked and filthy she looked like she'd just come from digging up graves in the rain.

The window was shut, which meant her raunchy smell was filling up the air in here. She smelt tangy, thick, kinda like his gym bag if he left it out in the sun—except it was also how he smelt on the days that melted into weeks, during the weeks where his costume wouldn't come off his body and all he could do was just stay alive.

"These were burned, where I'm from," she said quietly, flipping the page. "If you were caught with them, you got a visit by this Super-douche called Imperium. Once that happens, you'd get thoroughly educated again."

"Don't think I've ever met him. Yet, at least," Riley said. "A hello would be nice, you know."

Suits looked up at him. He straightened as she lowered the comic and put the cigarette out against her palm. She was missing an eye, but that was an understatement—half her face was burnt and fleshy, the skin barely healed over. She still had the eye, but it was dead and grey, almost unfocused. Her right eyebrow was gone, and when she smiled tightly, it looked like it hurt—hurt enough to make her wince as she leaned back onto his pillow.

But…

What the hell?

What can do that to our skin?

"Hey," she said. "Sorry, I've forgotten my manners. Been a bit too busy to remember 'em."

Riley got closer, then stopped when she shook her head. "What happened to you? Gods," he said, running a hand through his hair. "We should get you to someone who can help. I know a chick in Lower Olympus who—"

"Yeah, the hag who heals people. I know her. I was the one they made kill her." She put her arms behind her head as she rested her legs onto his bed. Normally, he'd cringe at the filth she was smearing all over his sheets. Right now, though, he wanted to make sure she didn't die in his room on the first weekend of college. "So, pretty nice place you got here. Must be the only one of us that got into Olympus U. Maybe the other one did, you know the one with all those anger issues?" He nodded slowly, listening to the sounds of her struggling lungs and her skin not pulling itself back together as quickly as it usually did. Broken ribs, maybe—internal bleeding, too. "Don't," she said, snapping her fingers. "If it sounds and smells bad, it's because it's even worse to actually have. So stop worrying so much, QB. I've been in a lot worse. Guess I just got a little beat up this time, is all. Shit happens and then you die, am I right? Especially for us guys. Like that older one said—we barely ever get to live, so what's the point of living normally when you can live to the extreme." She spread her arms. "I'm all about extremes, ain't I?"

"Who did this?" Riley whispered. They both heard voices coming from the hallway, but they soon passed the room and vanished. He got closer and crouched, looking her over and pursing his lips. "You really need—"

"How does it work here?" she asked quietly, staring at his ceilings and the posters on his wall.

"What?" he asked, then looked up as well. "The ceiling fan? I guess you just turn it on."

"No, dum dum," she said, rolling her one good eye. "The superheroes, the government—heard you say 'dad' outside on the phone, so I guess that means it was your mom who royally fucked everything up over here."

"Give or take a few Cold Wars and a civil rights group storming Washington, and you're pretty much on the money." He sat on the floor and leaned his back against the side of his bed. "The only reason I said dad like the rest of you was because I felt kinda out of place. I mean, I'm the only one who didn't go by Olympia. And I also don't know how things are with your moms, so I figured I should just keep my mouth shut and play nice a little."

She shrugged. "Both of mine are dead, so it doesn't really matter to me."

He blinked, then turned around. "I-I'm sorry. Jesus. You wanna talk about it?"

She smiled, snorted, then laughed. He waited for her to finish. "Oh my God, you must be the softest one of us yet. I mean, even that ditsy broad with the great tits and smile had at least some edge to her. You're just…soft."

"I'm sorry that my dad and I have a great relationship," he said. "Not all of us grew up traumatized."

"You're telling me your childhood was perfect? Your mom came from a race of genocidal maniacs."

"Yeah, sure, but…" Riley shrugged. "I mean, I grew up here from the jump, and sure we kinda sorta had a falling out and she maybe broke my back"—that made her sit up a little—"but shit happens, you know? Besides, she's dead now, and there's no point spitting on her grave. In this world, in my world, everybody hates Jupiter. Zeus doesn't exist here. Her statue was torn down and so was my aunt's, it's taboo to talk about it, but sometimes I kinda miss her." He pulled one leg closer to his chest so he could rest his arm on his knee. He sighed through his nose and shook his head slowly. "It's complicated, and I guess with us it kinda always is. But right now isn't about me. You're either here because you've got a problem, or because you're running away—you're not a runner, and you'd never pass by just to say hello, so that probably means you're about to up-end my life for a couple of months."

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Sorry, dad, he thought. Duty calls, you know how it is. I'll be back before Christmas.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Gods, Ben is gonna kill me.

She stayed silent for a moment, then leaned forward and edged off the bed until she could lower herself onto the carpet beside him. She took a second to breathe, holding her side. The days-old bandages she had wrapped around her body were infected. He could smell it, meaning she could, too. How long have you been fighting alone?

What was she even fighting?

"It's a pretty long story," she muttered. "And…" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, which he was starting to understand might just be a thing with them. Then she coughed blood onto her hands. He stood up to help her, but she waved him off and continued. "Gods, now I just feel kinda bad for ripping you away from all this. I should've gone straight to the other one, maybe even the Hollywood Olympia, just to screw with her for a while."

"What about—"

"Not her," she said quietly, folding her arms. "Not after what we did to her."

"Right," he whispered, looking away. They stayed in silence, both looking to the side. Don't talk about the desert, don't talk about her screams—she's gone now, and maybe for the better. "So…why'd you come here?"

"Ever since we managed to get home," she said slowly, picking at the scabs on her knuckles. "I've been doing a lot of research on everything going on with us, and it looks like the older one was right. Our lives vary a lot more than she had let on. Some of our villains are exclusive. Some of our friends are exclusive. The Olympians are different for each one of us. But one thing is for sure: we all have the same important events. At some point, you realize your old man—or your mom—is an asshole. At some point, you're gonna screw it up with Bianca—or Ben." God, he'd already done enough of that, and after they'd just started talking again, he couldn't imagine digging himself an even deeper grave. "And at some point, we're all going to make a choice. A very important choice. And the government knows that. At least, a part of the government knows that. There are pockets around the world who know exactly what we are and how dangerous we can be. I played coy and signed their waivers and their contracts and their NDAs. I wore their monkey suits so they would get off my back and leave everyone I used to care about alone." Her voice had gotten quieter, but not softer—almost more venomous. "And they're all very right about us."

Riley glanced at her. "What happened back home?"

"I made a choice," she whispered. She picked her nails, but she'd be better removing them entirely if she wanted to get rid of the filth. "I made a choice, and a lot of people got hurt, and a lot of people want me dead, but I made a choice, and now everybody gets to live." She looked at him. The shadows didn't seem to want to stop crawling through the hollows of burnt stringy skin along the side of her face. "But whatever you do, you cannot kill Witchling, and you cannot trust Taylor Greenheart. You don't know that now, but you will eventually. I came here for your help, or to do it myself—either to stop you, or to help make sure you don't back out. Things are good right now for a reason, because they won't be very soon, and you know that old saying, the one that goes: the path to hell is laid with good intentions?" Riley slowly nodded. "It's very, very fucking true. And I know you're lying."

He stared at her, then looked away and clenched his jaw. "Taylor is—"

"Not your friend," she said, her voice low. "I figured you'd know her when you mentioned you had a team back home. Riley, for your own good, she's not from here, and she's also not something you deal with alone."

"You're sounding crazy," he said, standing up. "I think you should go. And soon. I've got a movie I want to watch, and a couple of my friends are coming in here to watch a movie and have some pizza, you know, things that you gave up on so you could play secret agent and world-savior, which doesn't seem like it's going that great."

She swore under her breath. "Don't be irrational right now."

"Irrational?" he said, laughing with disbelief. "You want me to murder my teammate!"

"Riley, let me ask you something."

He folded his arms. "Make it quick."

"Who's Liberty?"

"Liberty?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "That old superhero from the Silver Age? What about her?"

She stared at him, not a single expression on her face. "Your teammates aren't from here, are they?"

"Of course they're from here," he said. "What, you think they're from—"

"I know where they're from," she said quietly. "And it's 'cause of Taylor, isn't it? And it's because of Taylor that your life is gonna end up worse than mine, because you don't have the balls to make the hard decisions, idiot."

"I killed my own mother," he said quietly. Her eyes didn't widen. Her face didn't fall. She leaned on the bed and rested her arms on the mattress. "I snapped her neck and watched the life bleed out from her eyes, all whilst she kept trying to say my fucking name. I have the balls to make the hard decision. I have killed in cold blood. Am I proud of it? Who cares? It means the people I care about are safe, but I'm not gonna kill Taylor. She's saved me more times than I can count. Heck, without her, I probably wouldn't have made it back here in the first place either."

"She's a parasite," she said simply. "She's gonna tear your world apart, superstar. But fine, sure. Whatever." She stood up slowly, having to use his desk and his bed to climb onto her feet. She stood in front of him and took one last cigarette out of a crumpled packet in her shirt pocket, tapped it out, and lit it with the faintest golden spark he'd ever seen any of them create. She blew smoke into the room's air, making his throat burn. "I came here to warn you, and in this state, you'd probably beat me into an early grave." She limped a little closer. "You'll come looking for me eventually, and let's be honest—the chances that all of us get happy endings is slim to none. Only one of us has ever seen old age, the other one—the one that was with us—died abruptly, violently, and pointlessly. We just don't get happy endings, because when we're happy, something is wrong, and when something is wrong, life gets a lot more bloody just like that." She sucked the cigarette. Its end glowed softly. A knock on the door, followed by laughter, filled both their ears. They were all back, safe and sound, as they would always be. She smiled at him with the side of her face that still could. "I killed mine, and just know, she's not the one that did this to me—it's what she brought back that did. I survived. Everything else didn't. I've got no home. Nowhere else to run. So I'll wait. I'll watch. I'll probably start with the version of us the entire world loves, because at least she might have a heart."

Riley tensed his jaw and plucked the cigarette out of her mouth. "No smoking on campus. Leave."

She shrugged one shoulder and stepped back. "Gonna regret it. You've got more to live for than the rest of us probably ever have, but sure, fine, if you want to destroy it because of your hubris, then go for it, champ. But when the sky tears open and you're faced with your choice, nobody's coming to save you—at least, I won't."

"What, you think I can't handle my shit?" he asked her.

"No, I think you can. I just don't think you've got the guts to not buckle."

"Against who?"

She slowly pointed upward. "The Empire, who else?"

The door opened behind him, flooding his room with light from the hallway. Someone turned on the light, and with that came laughter and jostling as six other people entered the college dorm room. It all died down as Riley stared at the empty space in front of him, his sheets still filthy, and the cigarette now snuffed in his tight fist.

A hand softly landed on his shoulder, followed by Taylor's voice. "Riley? What's wrong?"

He looked over his shoulder at her, not the rest of them. Large glasses. Green eyes. A smile too soft for a girl with powers so spectacular. He smiled, patted her hand, and said, "Nothing, guess I got so hungry I saw ghosts."

"Yeah?" Ben said, grunting as he sat on his bed. "And what did the ghost of pre-pizza night have to say?"

"That it's about time I put my feet up and enjoy some pizza without getting distracted for once."

Because the world is just gonna have to understand, at least for one night.

Besides, life was always a lot easier when he kept his feet on the ground, because it meant the wind couldn't snatch him away anymore, and the sounds of groaning space couldn't fill his sleepless nights, either.

Space was screaming, but when Phoebe turned on her speaker, he couldn't hear it anymore.

And for the better.

"Finally," Ben said. "Just don't disappear on us again, alright?"

Not for the universe.