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Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

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Fandom:

Parahumans Series - Wildbow

Relationship:

Alexander/City Building

Characters:

Rebecca Costa-Brown | AlexandriaDragon (Parahumans)Director James TaggEmily PiggotColin Wallis | Armsmaster | DefiantBastion (Parahumans)

Additional Tags:

Self-InsertCYOAEndbringerA man finds his hobbyThe rest of the world is terrifiedCausing major wars by accidentTeehee~Misunderstandings

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English

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Published:2025-02-16Updated:2026-02-25Words:229,706Chapters:83/?Comments:559Kudos:1,458Bookmarks:363Hits:86,862

(End)Bringing You A New Home! (Endbringer SI)

10moorem

Chapter 76: Chapter 76: Familiar Faces, Unfamiliar Places

Summary:

Amy is Amy, except somehow more Amy - and by that I mean depressed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 76: Familiar Faces, Unfamiliar Places

-Amy Dallon POV-

"Thank you for coming once again Panacea, I know you and your family are still getting used to your new accommodations here in L.A. so we really appreciate it," Rime said, leading her towards the medical bay. The woman gave an attempt at a smile, not pulling it off very well.

"It's fine," she replied, inwardly grumbling at having been pulled away from a shopping trip with her sister. Sure, she didn't like shopping trips, but it was better than this.

Immediately, guilt clawed at her for thinking that. God, wanting to skip on healing someone just to spend time with her sister? Fuck, she was a piece of shit, it was all the more important that she did this after what happened to the Bay.

"Right this way," Rime said, leading her past a set of double doors, the wallpaper changing to the sterile white she had learned to dread. Rime walked in like she owned the place, which wasn't necessarily untrue, being Alexandria's second in command.

Through the hall we crossed three rooms, eventually turning to enter the fourth room on the left. The stench of disinfectant hit my nostrils like an old, dearly detested, friend. On the bed was a figure of rotund stature, a middle aged man with visible smile lines etched across his cheeks, which seemed oddly sallow, as if the vitality had been ripped from his flesh.

This, then, was her patient.

she turned her head mechanically to the side to face Rime.

"Do I have permission to heal him," she asked the man's superior, the familiar words flowing easily from her lips, once again going through the motions.

"You have my permission," Rime looked hungrily upon the man, eagerly awaiting his awakening.

she didn't question it, it wasn't her problem.

Panacea placed her hand on his arm and reached out with her power, it's influence seeping into each strand of muscle, each tired ligament and into every other part of him.

The man was injured, but not terribly so. Lacerations covered his back, but they were clean. Amy began redistributing the man's fat, which he had a lot of, to heal the wounds, and frowned as her power was repelled.

Great, a Trump effect.

If it were her first year of healing perhaps she might have been flummoxed, stopped in her tracks. But Panacea had been healing for years now, and Brockton Bay was known as America's capital of capes for a reason. It wasn't the first time she had run into something esoteric.

Almost without realising it, Amy's lips curled into a smile. At least this would be interesting.

A quick alteration to the man's ribcage, so tiny as to be imperceptible, confirmed that the Trump effect was only localised to the wounds themselves, and not the entire body.

Amy could also still see the wounds, and saw that they were still healing at a normal pace.

With a sigh of boredom, Panacea realised that this would be an easy fix. Focusing instead on the blood vessels nearest to the wounds on the man's back she began flooding the vessels with stem cells, immediately noting the increased speed at which the wounds began healing.

Well, it wouldn't be fast, but they would heal in a day or two, she then turned her attention away from the obvious and began looking deeper, trying to figure out why the man hadn't awoken yet.

The stress chemicals were an obvious start, as was the decrease in certain vitamins that she was detecting. With a tweak she adjusted her patients body, flooding it with chemicals as the required rate.

Next was exhaustion, the best medicine for that would be to keep sleeping, but unfortunately he was apparently needed awake.

A surge of adrenaline kicked his system into overdrive, forcing the man awake with an aborted scream as the man writhed upon his bed, only held back by his restraints.

Panacea quickly backed away from the distressed Brute, not eager to be too close.

The man took several gulps of air, looking around wildly, before abruptly going still, staring at her in a way that made Panacea's hairs stand on end.

He lunged, only to snap back from the restraints wrapped around his legs and wrists. Panacea took another few steps back, unnerved. The man barely seemed human, clawing at the air and howling like a beast, tears streaming down his face.

From what little she knew, he was supposed to be a Brute. Was he just too out of it to use his powers?

Rime looked at the man and, for the first time since Amy had met the woman, seemed to show genuine sadness, the emotion breaking through her glacial facade like an a hot knife.

"Thank you for your assistance, Miss Panacea. We'll try not to call you up again, unless it's for another emergency," Rime said, still looking at the feral man writhing on the bed.

A part of Amy wanted to,let out a sardonic laugh at that. 'So, you'll call me up tomorrow then?'

A much larger part of her, however, could only nod blandly, heart still beating wildly. She turned, just wanting to get out and return to her sister, the only good thing left in her life.

"And Miss Dallon…"

The woman hesitated.

"I apologise for what happened to Brockton Bay."

Amy stopped, standing in the doorway for a split second before continuing out.

If she walked a little faster, then it was no fault of her own. It was much better to leave quickly than to allow the venomous rage that was boiling within free rein.

She wanted to curse at the woman, to scream and hurl insults her way until her vocal cords were bloody. She didn't, she just bit her lip until it hurt and kept walking.

Screaming wouldn't bring back Carol.

Insults wouldn't release her cousins from their fates.

None of it would bring back Brockton Bay.

The walls that were being built to encompass her home were proof enough of that.

-Alexander POV-

Before waking up in this universe I had only ever worked in one job. It had been a temporary thing, organising a collection of documents and laying it out on a spreadsheet. My days had been spent pulling down heavy boxes, cataloguing what was within and making a note of it.

It had been rewarding work, and the pay hadn't been too bad either.

So, the point was, I had some experience as a specialist.

It didn't help with what I was doing now.

"No, you can't just replace my alloy with yours, it would bleed off heat too quickly," I snarled into my microphone. "No, I don't care that it would be cheaper, that won't matter if it doesn't work!"

Fucking Tinker, man. I had no idea they were so difficult to work with.

Trying to get them to stay on task was like trying to herd an idiot-savant with ADHD, borderline impossible and difficult to explain just why they were wrong.

Tinkers had a tendency of being hyper-specialised, in their particular niche they were downright geniuses, against which even I could barely keep up. Outside of that however?

"No, Doctor Bargain, I'm not ripping out the control interface for any reason!"

"It would work! The less materials we use the more of these hydroponic farms we could build!"

Apparently not every Tinker could be Armsmaster, who I had previously thought to be a pretty mid Tinker until I ran into Boston's Tinkers.

The Tinker in question, Doctor Bargain, was a frazzled looking man wearing body armour that looked as if it was taken straight out of a cheesy 60's sci fi. The whole thing screamed low effort, and almost appeared childish from how plastic and fake it looked.

The man, quite fittingly, was a 'Cheap' Tinker, a Tinker focused around cutting corners and making use of the least expenses as humanly possible.

Which was fucking horrifying, by the way. The few blueprints of his that I had seen from hacking into the Protectorate base may as well have been a cognitohazard in my eyes, that's how bad they were.

A fusion reactor should not have so little safeties, nor should it be made of plastics!

Yes, it would run for five minutes, and those five minutes were an affront to both God and common sense in my eyes!

Currently, he was trying to argue for the removal of the V.I. integrated into each Hydroponic facility to oversee the automation and replace it with factory workers. Yeah, the man wanted to go back to labourers.

Now, in fairness, the few good suggestions he had were invaluable, pointing out quick fixes that could shave off manufacturing times by entire minutes, as well as a few metric tons in materials.

I just wish those moments of genius were closer together and not so spread apart.

"It's not just for cost saving, I'll have you know! It could also help reduce the risk of riots, let a few rowdy people burn off some energy!" The man points at my drone as he speaks, causing me to move it further back.

"Ignoring the morals of that," I say, knowing that was shady even without giving his point any deeper thought, "it still doesn't make up for the loss in what the factories will produce."

And it was true, the Alliance had been extremely generous with the amount of resources they were pouring into my ideas, and it was still projected to barely slow the bleeding.

"Which is why we can use the materials we save by scrapping it to build another!" The man snapped back.

"At which point you run into the limit of how many people are working non-essential jobs, which is a lot lower than you might think," I say, even as I see his lips purse in disagreement. Because in his eyes what constituted as 'non-essential' job was a lot different from mine.

Perhaps, if he had his way, people working in shops or bookstores would be forced to work in these manufactories. Which was logical, to an extent, because what value were those people producing that could measure up to food and water?

The answer, and one I knew the leaders of the Alliance had already considered, was peace of mind.

Yes, logically speaking, everyone should be working to ensure the city didn't starve or die of thirst. Unfortunately, the moment anyone tried to force the issue would be the moment the city would have full on rebellions.

The carefully crafted, painfully delicate, illusion of normalcy that the Protectorate and its allies had crafted was a good part of the reason as to why things had yet to get so bad.

"Regardless, I'm not doing it," I said, putting an end to the discussion.

"Y'know, there's such a thing as give and take," the man said, making me question, for a moment, the wisdom of promising myself not to snap at people.

"Such things have to be of equal value, what you're asking for is too much, and frankly not feasible," I instead say.

We bicker for a few more minutes, but eventually -because I had been placed in charge of the project, as a gesture of trust- I got my way. Have you ever seen a grown thirty-something man sulk before? Because I now have, and it's pretty sad.

Apart from the odd quibble like that, things were going reasonably well. Cars left broken on the street from the recent riots were being repurposed into factories and filters, the Protectorate were using those PR skills for my benefit -for once- and nothing had exploded yet.

I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My work on my totally-going-to kill-an-Endbringer spear was still going slow, and I was -more and more- eyeing my built up charges and debating on whether I should begin dipping into them.

Technically speaking, I had all the knowledge I needed, this was more a case of applying that knowledge. Yet I couldn't help but wonder whether a new speciality might reveal some hidden clue…

With great reluctance, I resisted the temptation. There was a reason I was building up those charges, and not just dipping my toes into every specialty that caught my fancy.

I already had plenty of breadth in my knowhow, but I hadn't fully explored any of the paths my power had opened up. I had no depth, in other words.

If the previous examples held weight, progressing to the fourth and fifth levels of my tech trees would unlock continental, and then planetary levels of understanding regarding my technology.

Which would be unimaginably useful for my plan against Scion, but wouldn't help in the slightest for the upcoming battle.

Now, some might say that thinking in the short term is wise when you're about to go fight an Endbringer. Perhaps so, but there was only so much time I was willing to put off on starting my the greater scope of my campaign against the remaining entity.

Because if Mary's Titan had somehow figured out how to sense magic, even if poorly, then that boded poorly for any plans of mine that operated in the long term.

No, any charge I gained now had to be spent on what was vital for killing Scion.

Besides despite how temperamental my new spear was -I winced as it sparked ominously once again- I already knew how to mitigate the risks and claim victory.

It wasn't a plan devoid of risk, but funnily enough I was almost at the point of rendering myself superfluous, so even my death wouldn't be an instant loss condition anymore. I smiled at the thought, the terrible weight I had chosen to take on lightening at the thought.

Yes, not long now, and after I can finally rest.

AN: Yo, guys. It was a weird couple of days when I wrote this. My charging cable suddenly stopped working for my computer when it was at ten percent so I switched over to writing on my IPad after 600 words. Then someone else managed to get it working (I tried six times and they got it in one go?!) so I returned back to writing on my computer.

So, if you notice any weird formatting? That's why.

In other news, Chubster is now awake, something has happened to Brockton Bay off screen and things within the pocket dimension are going swimmingly!

Finally, you should expect a delay for the next chapter. I need to prep for an interview, first one I've been able to get in about a year. Expect the next update to be around Saturday or Sunday.

Thanks for reading, please leave a comment. I get lonely.

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Entire Work ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Chapter Index Comments Share Download

Work Header

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Parahumans Series - Wildbow

Relationship:

Alexander/City Building

Characters:

Rebecca Costa-Brown | AlexandriaDragon (Parahumans)Director James TaggEmily PiggotColin Wallis | Armsmaster | DefiantBastion (Parahumans)

Additional Tags:

Self-InsertCYOAEndbringerA man finds his hobbyThe rest of the world is terrifiedCausing major wars by accidentTeehee~Misunderstandings

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2025-02-16Updated:2026-02-25Words:229,706Chapters:83/?Comments:559Kudos:1,458Bookmarks:363Hits:86,862

(End)Bringing You A New Home! (Endbringer SI)

10moorem

Chapter 77: Chapter 77: Cramming

Summary:

The PRT do what the PRT do best, much to the horror of Alexander.

Chapter Text

Chapter 77: Cramming

A week is a painfully short span of time, a mere seven rotations of the planet Earth.

Yet a person's sense of time, like many things, was susceptible to perception and, to the citizens of Boston, a week was instead far too long

The first few hours had been quick, explosive really. Both metaphorically and very literally. Panic grew, people marched in the streets and blood flowed freely. Things stabilised once the Alliance fully formed, and began cracking down on the worst offenders.

However, once that the thunder of violence was no longer as loud, despair had begun to creep in.

People stayed home, or moved through the day like puppets, tiredly repeating the same motions day in and day out, trying to pretend everything was still the same.

The sky gave away the lie, that unceasing dark expanse where the sun did not rise.

Familiarity bred contempt however, contempt for the listlessness and contempt for their situation. Perhaps this growing tension could have boiled into yet another period of violence, one that had the potential to destroy the careful peace that the Alliance had managed to salvage.

Before that could happen, a miracle occurred. Contact with the outside world.

The Alliance, desperate for a win, announced publicly that a group of Tinkers operating outside the pocket dimension had contacted them, in hopes of freeing the city.

Good for some, rather annoying for others.

-Alexander POV-

I look upon my monitor with dread, wondering to myself how Sanzang and the PRT had convinced me that this was in anyway a good idea.

"Oh, I don't like this," I squirm in my seat, my microphone picking up my mutter and causing a few faces to turn.

"Not comfortable with public speaking?" Weld questioned me, appearing sympathetic as the large crowd clambered for attention and answers from beyond the curtain.

"I carry out all my work through proxy and still haven't given you a name to call me by, what do you think?"

The snarky response must have been a poor deflection, because he only seemed to grow more understanding. "I get it, not a lot of people like it, to tell you the truth."

Weld looked towards the curtain, the lights from countless devices making the curtain almost seem translucent, shadows dancing across the large sheet of fabric.

"I can't say I've ever drawn this kind of crowd, not even my reputation is this big," Weld said, still sounding annoyingly consoling.

Perhaps some might have thought he was humble bragging, but I knew he wasn't. Weld was one of the more public faces for Case-53's, the young man having used his good looks to promote the struggles of those like him.

The boy had been in adverts, teen dramas and even dating shows, all to try to get his face out there.

"Any advice? And don't say 'picture them naked' because that's never worked."

The gunmetal grey of weld's face broke into an amused smile at that, as he turned back around to face my drone.

"Just get out there and do it," he said, simply.

I blinked.

"That's it?"

"The more you wait, the more you'll overcomplicate things. The more you overcomplicate, the more you'll stress out. The PRT will head off any difficult questions and you're not required to be some master orator. So just go out there and do it, I promise it's not going to be nearly as bad as you're making it out to be in your head."

I nod, not entirely convinced, only to blush in embarrassment as I realise he can't see me do so. "Right," I instead say, a waving hand catching my eye a second later.

Oh, seems they're ready for me.

Fuck.

"Good luck," Weld gives me a thumbs up.

With a small shiver, I guide my drone past the red curtains

-Ben Jennings POV-

It was a bad time to be a reporter. Not because of the chaos, murder, general lawlessness and other such things, of course - no, those tended to be good for their careers.

It was bad because lines of communication had gone down, forcing them to spread information through word of mouth and crazy people shouting in the streets.

Christ, it was like they had gone back to the dark ages.

But, just like his grand pappy said: 'where there were downs, there would be ups' - or something like that.

In Ben's case, that was this interview, one which he unfortunately had to share with the rest of the city's reporters, as well as a good portion of the populace.

He elbowed the man to his side, getting a grunt and glare from the man, as he attempted to pry some space for himself.

If you don't want an elbow then stop pushing against me, old man!

The local park, where this was taking place, would be enough to comfortably house a large audience in normal circumstances.

These weren't normal circumstances, and this crowd was not merely 'large'.

Damn near the entire city had shown up just to get a glimpse of these 'Prometheans'.

The lights around the stage shifted slightly, darkening around the edges and brightening in the centre. He leaned forwards, knowing this was a PR trick to force attention towards the centre, meaning the show was about to start.

The crowd quieted down some, likely noticing the same thing he had.

The curtain brushed aside, allowing a small rectangular drone to hover towards the podium. It made for a rather queer sight, such a small thing on a stage that was clearly too big for it.

The only thing that prevented a chuckle was a closer look at the machine itself.

While it appeared simple, it was anything but. Elegant metal filigree covered the outside of the drone, resembling intricate Celtic knots. There was also the presence to it, Ben couldn't quite put his finger to it.

It felt sharp. Like something had cut it's way out of another world and into this one.

Clearly the product of a talented Tinker, and not one that was local, so the PRT hadn't simply lied to get everyone's hopes up.

"Greetings, people of Boston. I am…Recluse, of the Prometheans," came the electronic voice of the cape operating the piece of tinkertech. The pause that might have been confused for an act of drama instead felt like the cape had simply made the name up on the spot.

Ben felt a smile curl its way past his lips.

Not someone used to speaking with others, if the name hadn't given it away.

He could work with that.

"As you have no doubt heard from the Alliance, I represent a team of Tinkers who chose to investigate this pocket dimension. Upon finding the city of Boston still alive, we quickly contacted the newly formed alliance and offered our expertise. We have already helped set up advanced filtration, autonomous hydroponics and helped clear the streets of obstacles."

There was a pause, seemingly the cape wondering whether they had to say anything else, before continuing.

"I hope to continue working with the Alliance in finding a way to free you from your current circumstances, thank you for listening," they finished, rushing the ending slightly.

Ben picked up the continuous mention of the recently founded Alliance, the partnership between the PRT, Ambassadors and Blastgerm and wondered whether anyone had coached them to keep mentioning their involvement. If not it showed a cannier mind then he had expected from an independent group.

"I will be open for a short round of questions, please raise your hands so I can call on you."

Ben obediently raised his hand, shifting his body so as to be more visible, as did almost everyone else. There were some shouting questions, but they would be ignored, he knew from a long time of experience.

The drone's camera surveyed the sea of risen hands, drooping slightly, before a single manipulator extended from the body of the machine to point at a man near the front.

"You first, what is the very first question your city wants to ask us?"

The man slowly lowered his hand, muttering something too indistinct to pick up. Clearly the cape didn't hear it either as it floated a little closer.

"I'm sorry could you repeat that?"

"…The local Celebrity News wants to know whether you're dating anyone?" A nervous question came from the man.

There was a moment of profoundly awkward silence.

"…No, no I am not. Nor do I currently wish to. Next question," the drone once more pointed, clearly wishing to forget the last ten seconds.

"Yes, hello! Boston Daily wants to know what your next plans are?"

Bit of a boring question, but it had to be asked, and at least it wasn't as bad as the last one.

The drone hummed, "I assume you mean after the current projects are done? To preface, our plans are subject to change depending on future circumstances. However, following the installation of water filters and hydroponics we'll be moving on to medicine. Given the cramped environment, sewage runoff and lack of sunlight a pandemic is not unlikely. Therefore our next objective will be the creation of a factory to create common pharmaceutical products, hygiene products and face masks."

Ben frowned in thought. It wouldn't have been the first thing he would have thought of. Ben was assuming the Tinker would seek to equip the Alliance and police forces with weaponry of some kind, to better protect against roving gangs like the Teeth. Instead they had focused on something he hadn't even thought of. Perhaps they had some experience with a similar problem?

Another was picked, and the woman in a sleek black suit rose to ask her question.

"What do you plan to do about those psychopaths that hit one of your factories?" The venom at which she asked the question, not even mentioning whatever agency she represented, told him this was a personal question.

He didn't know whether to be impressed by her initiative or appalled by her lack of professionalism.

There was a moment of silence as the drone's operator gave the question some thought.

"I can't speak for other groups, such as the Protectorate, but I will tell you I am not unaware of those groups. With the amount of drones currently at my disposal our methods of dealing with such people are limited, however we have been funnelling whatever information we've gained on their movements directly to the Alliance. Furthermore, we have set up small manufactories to help equip those brave individuals who are meant to face them. For the moment, that will have to be enough."

The drone turned quickly, ignoring the frowning woman, who looked as if she was about to say something more. Yet, a quick grab by the person sitting next to her returned her to her seat. Probably associates then.

The manipulator turned in his direction.

"Next!"

Abruptly, he realised it was pointing at him.

Coughing to himself, and trying to organise his thoughts, he asked his question.

"Greetings Recluse, while we are all very grateful for your help, information regarding your group has been hard to come by. Could you provide some more information?"

The drone's lights flickered for a moment, before answering.

"Yes, I suppose that makes sense," the drone sighed, Ben getting the feeling whoever was on the other side was vaguely annoyed at having to reveal any amount of information on themselves.

"As mentioned before, we are the Prometheans. I am Recluse, and in addition to me there are three other members to our little group. We are all Tinkers who disliked the idea of joining the Protectorate, for one reason or another, and banded together for survival. We have been active for some years now, focused on flying under the radar, collaborating with willing Tinkers through proxies and investigating unusual phenomena. The latter of which brought your situation to our attention. Is that sufficient?"

Ben nodded, even though it wasn't. Part of being a good reporter was knowing when to push and when not to. The faint edge of annoyance told him that Recluse wasn't about to offer anymore information about himself or his group.

Not to say they hadn't slipped up and given him some juicy info, however.

Recluse had specifically mentioned the Protectorate when talking about groups they had been avoiding.

Which implied they were American in origin, that was interesting. How had the PRT, and all it's many Thinkers, missed such a group when they were operating in their own backyard? Or maybe they did know about them, and merely hadn't informed the public of their existence?

Either one would make for a good scoop.

He retreated back into the crowd, now carefully listening for any other hints that Recluse might drop.

-Alexander POV-

"Well that went well," Sanzang commented.

"UUUGGGHHHH!!!"

I was holding my head in my hands, having just finished screaming into a freshly fabricated pillow.

Oh, by all means, the conference had gone well enough. The entire purpose of it had been to raise hope and humanise my drones to the people of Boston. In that regard, even my awkward mannerisms had helped, everyone could relate to feeling put on the spot, after all.

And my goal, increasing the level of trust the Alliance had in me? That had succeeded too, the PRT especially being delighted that I was willing to go along with their PR stunt. Blastgerm and the Ambassadors had also been grateful, if to a lesser extent.

But still, those questions!

So many of them were completely inane! It wasn't just that first guy, after the first dozen questions they had descended upon me like roaches! I swear I saw one guy beating another over the head with his microphone, and the people around him hadn't cared, they just kept piling questions onto me!

Who are you dating? What's your gender? What are your political views? What's your opinion on racism? Should Capes be allowed to own businesses? What's your view on the Birdcage?

That's not even mentioning the questions that had been specific to Boston! Why and how they thought I would know any of their prior issues in great detail I could not tell you, but they seemed adamant in knowing my answers!

It was a real struggle to not start crying after the first hour mark.

Sanzang had just hung back, occasionally offering a thumb up.

The prick.

"Just two more days, Alexander, you've got this. Just two more days of sucking up to insane wackjobs and people who want to know way too much about you," I consoled myself, not knowing whether I was talking about the PRT or the journalists. Both fit the mark.

"How is the spear coming along anyway," Sanzang asked, clearly trying to divert my attention to more pleasant topics.

I allowed it for obvious reasons.

"It's going. Nothing revolutionary, unfortunately, but it's no longer so fragile that it'll break from swinging it."

Or holding it, for that matter. My first version of the spear had been trash.

The materials, trans-dimensional super materials that laughed in the face of physics, did not play well with each other, sometimes shearing each other apart violently.

Ideally, I would have liked to keep my spear in my base, only teleporting it to me for the killing blow.

Unfortunately, I couldn't be sure that Thanatos couldn't prevent such a thing from happening. It had probably gained a good deal of insight in how my teleports functioned, after being surprised by my drones, and that understanding would only deepen when I personally entered Boston.

If it figured out enough to interdict it, and prevent my spears arrival, then I would probably be screwed.

Given the materials involved in its creation, I couldn't make it quickly. In a battle against a Titan? Yeah, no.

"It should be ready by then," I said, pausing slightly. "Perhaps I should make another to leave with Renji, just in case my first gets broken during the fight?"

"That would be a wise course of action."

I got back to work, fiddling with a loose wire in the spears innards, attempting to eke out another percentage of efficiency. My drones had be set to autopilot, but would ping me if anything came up.

Now alone, I continued to improve upon my work, hoping it would be enough.

AN: Yo, I'm back. Only a day late because of that interview, better than expected. Said interview went alright by the way. Answered all the questions well, did alright on the test. If I don't get the job it'll be because someone did better than me, rather than because I did badly.

Alexander continues to make strides to becoming somewhat socialised. He fucking hates it, by the way. A press conference is something the PRT decided upon, because of course they did, all while Alexander continues to cram improvements into his spear.

So yeah, he's pretty busy at the moment. Good thing he doesn't need to sleep.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment. Those make me feel nice and fuzzy!

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Rebecca Costa-Brown | AlexandriaDragon (Parahumans)Director James TaggEmily PiggotColin Wallis | Armsmaster | DefiantBastion (Parahumans)

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Self-InsertCYOAEndbringerA man finds his hobbyThe rest of the world is terrifiedCausing major wars by accidentTeehee~Misunderstandings

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English

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Published:2025-02-16Updated:2026-02-25Words:229,706Chapters:83/?Comments:559Kudos:1,458Bookmarks:363Hits:86,862

(End)Bringing You A New Home! (Endbringer SI)

10moorem

Chapter 78: Chapter 78: Blood and Bone

Summary:

In which Hemorrhagia learns the magic of bloodletting and ritual killings!

Chapter Text

Chapter 78: Blood and Bone

-Alexander POV-

My hands tweak a circuit, gently and methodically altering the component to be more suitable for the task at hand. Microscopic black holes and radiation treating subtly warping the material, only my implacable hold over the wire preventing it from spontaneously sublimating into plasma.

The spear was looking better, the ugly mass of wires and jutting out components had been replaced with a sleek black casing that held microscopic circuitry of alien design.

I did not dare to activate it, the sheer amount of work that would be necessary to rebuild it made any true test unfeasible. On another table, copies of the first design of the spear were present in all their ugliness. Just looking at them made me feel anxious, memories of having to untangle wires from each other making me wince.

They would be the backup, the last ditch resort.

This one, however…

With a final pulse of ionising radiation the distortions in space-time abated, leaving me to once again seal the casing of my magnum opus.

I picked my weapon up, the heft acceptable.

Slowly, I went through a couple of practice runs, the style gained from my forays into SilkPunk.

It didn't translate well, my movements were jerky and unsure, my previous caution not helping matters either.

Holding back a frown, I encased my own body in my power, puppeting my own body. The swings and jabs were smoother now, flowing from stance to stance, yet I had no doubt I was missing quite a lot of nuance when it came to spearplay.

SilkPunk had only given me the basics, and that was more a teaching of culture rather than something the specialisation was meant for. Let me tell you, having to work out a half decent set of moves from lessons on art wasn't easy.

It was actually why I had picked the spear over any other weapon, it was one of the simpler weapons, needing less time to become adept in its usage. It also had other benefits, such as a longer range, but I'd be lying if my main reason for learning it wasn't along the lines of: 'Stick pointy end in enemy, stupid'.

I had been given some tips and tricks by the Paragons, but the time constraints meant that attempting to formally learn would only use up precious time for minimal gain. I had a week, and I could either use that week to build a weapon capable of killing a Titan, ingratiate myself with the locals or pick up the skill of using a pointy stick.

I only had time for two of those.

Sayonara, sick spear skills! One day I would learn to spin one around my body and strike a cool pose!

Alas, that would not be today.

Eventually, I stopped moving through my amateurish forms, as satisfied as I could be.

My eyes drifted towards my computer, the device I was using to keep in contact with my drones.

(Technically unnecessary, since I had my MIU, but I liked the tactile feedback!)

It was night time in Boston, or rather it was the period of time everyone in the city agreed to be night time, not having a sun to set and all.

I briefly considered using my drones for something, but what would I even do? The Titan was under constant watch, the building of new facilities was proceeding apace and each faction of the Alliance had one of my drones in their bases for liaison purposes. Seven drones, three lent out to coordinate, two to aid in building, one to etch runes across the city and the last to keep watch on the most dangerous threat in Boston.

There was nothing else to do right now.

I began to turn back to my spear but, as if by divine providence, my computer chimed an alert.

I stopped, heart dropping into my stomach as I made my way towards the laptop.

Nothing should have been happening tonight, so for what reason was I being called?

-Hemorrhagia POV-

Things had changed in Boston, and not just because they had been taken to an entirely different realm, much more than that had changed.

And, at the same time, nothing had changed at all.

The crowd roared, a man dressed in a shredded shirt and jeans clobbering another into the floor, his victim sputtered, reaching his hand upwards. Perhaps it had been to try and grab his attacker or perhaps it was an appeal to mercy, either way it was ignored as the man atop him rained down more blows.

Eventually, after several loud cracks, the arm fell to the floor, limp and unmoving.

The air was electric, her fellow Teeth members shouting and cracking jokes, high on the thrill of the blood sport going on beneath them. By all means she should be as well, it was everything she had wanted.

No more fucking PRT trying to control what they did, no more useless government trying to rein them in, it was just them now. The Teeth had ballooned in size following the city's relocation, many banding up for protection and others being forced into it.

If the former had been hoping for an easy existence where they peacefully slotted into their gang, hoping to keep their heads down, they were in for a rude awakening now. Because there was no 'easy way'. You either killed and lived, or you died. Such was the Teeth's recruitment policy, they didn't need the weak and unbloodied.

So now, just as had been done to her, the lies they had told themselves were being painfully stripped away. Peace, Justice, honour, and all that other horse shit? All lies, all easily exposed as bullshit.

No, the only thing you could rely upon was the strength of yourself and your group, fuck anything else!

This was being proven true right now, as another man brutally killed another, so why wasn't she enjoying herself?

Her eyes drew back to the freshly spilt blood.

The sight reminded her of why, it was that unfamiliar prickling sensation, the one that had been hounding her for the past few days. She frowned, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as the sensation washed over her like a full body chill.

"Still getting those feelings?" The question came from the figure sitting at her left, a tall and elegant woman draped in spikes and pieces of bone.

The butcher reclined upon her seat like a satisfied predator, eyes lazily roaming across the remaining few who had yet to go through the trial. Behind the relaxed demeanour, Hemorrhagia knew, was a whirlwind of screaming and insane voices, all eager to pull the woman in a direction of their choosing.

For this was the Butcher, the leader of the Teeth and all around crazy person - even by her standards.

"Yeah," she replied, the full body chills having dissipated. "Still don't know what it is, it's certainly not me feeling sorry for those scraps of meat. Nah, it's more physical, like I can feel something every time they die." The explanation was lacking, and Hemorrhagia could feel anger bubbling up at her inability to properly explain it.

The Butcher's expression didn't change, but she could tell they were thinking deeply at what she had said.

"Might be a Master," they murmured, and Hemorrhagia was only half sure it was meant for her ears and not theirs. "There was a cape back in '98, he could cause people to feel things from a distance. Just small, brief, things."

Hemorrhagia leaned forwards, insane or not, the Butcher was a treasure trove of experience and memory, and when they spoke like that it typically did well to listen.

"They hung around near us for a while, tried to make us feel guilt every time we did something they deemed 'bad'." The Butcher grinned at that, eyes flashing with amusement.

"Funny fucker. Well, he was trying to Pavlov us, condition us to slowly become less villainous."

"And what happened?"

The grin widened, a full toothed smile that now exuded a much more malicious sort of merriment.

"The first time he tried it on me he alerted my danger sense. Finding him turned out to be pretty easy, since he tried slipping away once he realised he had fucked up. Unfortunately for him-" she pointed at her eyes "-we've got good eyes, so I spotted him making a break for it."

Bloodsight, Hemorrhagia surmised.

"Pulled the fucker's spine out from his ass for that, he screamed like a bitch the entire time," the Butcher chuckled. "Perhaps someone's trying to do something similar?"

Hemorrhagia considered it, but shook her head. It didn't feel like that was the case, and she had learnt to trust her gut.

"Nah, don't think that's it it's almost like…"

She struggled to put the words together, English wholly failing to describe the sensations she was experiencing.

"…Like an energy," she eventually said, underwhelmed by how insufficient of an explanation it was.

"Every time one of those things die," she waved her hand towards the arena, which was being cleaned up for the next match, "I feel something happen, like a live wire rolling through me."

Something inexplicable passed through the Butcher's eyes, there and gone before Hemorrhagia could decipher its meaning.

"Anything else feel different?"

She almost shook her head, but stopped. Unbidden, her right arm rose of its own accord, reaching out to the blood-soaked stone below. For a moment, she thought the Butcher had been right, that this was a Master effect.

Except she had been under the control of many would-be Masters over the years, if never for very long, so she knew what it felt like. This was odder, more surreal. Her right hand may have rose against her will, and yet it was her own will.

The thought was disquieting in its dissonance, her mind holding two opposing feelings as true.

Then her eyes widened, and her breath hitched.

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but had that blood just moved?

But that wasn't her power! She could only control her own blood, not other peoples!

"Well now," Butcher hungrily murmured beside her, her eyes seeing the same thing she had. Which meant it wasn't a hallucination, this was happening!

The chuckle started small, before the Butcher began cackling at full volume for a solid couple of seconds. None so much as glanced their way, too used to the Butcher's mercurial moods.

"You said you felt that way every time someone died?" The Butcher cocked her head to the side as she asked this, her eyes wandering in the same manner they always did when she was speaking to the previous Butchers.

"Uh huh? Yeah?"

Then her eyes fixed themselves back on to her, horrifying in their intensity.

"Guess we'll be needing more people then. Been meaning to have another raid"

Hemorrhagia could only nod, not bothering to question her boss, only knowing she was in one of those moods again.

The pace was lightning fast after that, only pausing to throw the last few uninitiated into a free for all where only one walked away alive, the gang were quickly roused for combat, eyes alight with greed and bloodlust.

Their numbers had swelled over the past few days, the Teeth before the incident had barely reached thirty individuals, their way of operating deadly to all but the most seasoned members of the gang.

Personally, they had preferred that, no use surrounding yourself with the weak.

However, now that the city was up for grabs and resources were short? They had eased standards and begun recruiting in mass.

Hemorrhagia watched with a small amount of awe, seeing the sea of people methodically begin lining up, hefting an assortment of different weaponry and gear. It was a heady feeling, standing before this legion of followers, knowing that you had command over them.

Not uncontested command, not yet at least.

Her eyes darted towards Quarrel, considering, but ultimately thought better of it.

No, she wouldn't challenge her for the title just yet, it wasn't the right time.

Still, her eyes lingered on the flecks of blood that even the most determined of cleaners hadn't been able to wash off, the dried substance calling to her even now.

Her lips unconsciously curled into a smile, pleased yet not knowing why she felt that way.

Well, whatever. She trusted her gut, and right now it promised that things would be getting interesting for her.

For them all.

And after this, who knew? Maybe she would indeed become the fifteenth.

AN: Ugh, feel like I whiffed the last parts. A couple of things first, it was my birthday yesterday – it was good- and second; the results for that interview finally came back. I supposedly passed all of the requirements, apparently that was getting over 70%, but they only had room for two new hires and there were indeed two that scored better than me. Bit sad, but I already have another interview coming up which is more my speed, so at least there's that.

In more story related matters, it turns out that introducing magic to an area can have certain affects. Not something you usually have to worry about, since the humanity of Earth Bet isn't all that good at using magic. However if you're the member of a gang with lots of rituals, bloodletting, wearing the bones of your enemy, etc? Then you might be able to get more out of it than most.

Hemorrhagia especially, given that her power revolves around the same substance that is calling the magic down on them. We'll see how that goes for them.

Thanks for reading, sorry for the shorter chapter, and please leave a comment

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Category:

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Fandom:

Parahumans Series - Wildbow

Relationship:

Alexander/City Building

Characters:

Rebecca Costa-Brown | AlexandriaDragon (Parahumans)Director James TaggEmily PiggotColin Wallis | Armsmaster | DefiantBastion (Parahumans)

Additional Tags:

Self-InsertCYOAEndbringerA man finds his hobbyThe rest of the world is terrifiedCausing major wars by accidentTeehee~Misunderstandings

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2025-02-16Updated:2026-02-25Words:229,706Chapters:83/?Comments:559Kudos:1,458Bookmarks:363Hits:86,862

(End)Bringing You A New Home! (Endbringer SI)

10moorem

Chapter 79: Chapter 79: Chaos

Summary:

Am sleep deprived.

Chapter Text

Chapter 79: Chaos

-Seargent Kyras POV-

William Kyras had been a member of the PRT troopers for about three years, rising to his rank in such a short time by having the luck of not dying long enough. Such stories were far from uncommon in the PRT, going up against superpowered lunatics lead to a good deal of attrition.

So, in spite of his age and experience, he was in charge of his own personal squad, taking orders from further up in the chain. It was an okay gig, provided you knew the tips and tricks for surviving.

Rule 1: Always take the menial tasks if you can. If you're standing guard in the cells, counting ammunition, going to PR events or performing maintenance then you're not in the field fighting parahumans. Making sure to arrange your duties early is key for this, since a number of squads also know this trick.

Rule 2: If you somehow get sent into the field anyway, an inevitability regardless of how hard you push against it, then make sure to throw out the PRT handbook immediately. The people who wrote it clearly never had to fight Animos, now in the form of a quadrupedal beast of pure muscle and hate.

The sergeant dived, barely rolling out of the way of a clawed finger the size of a short sword. He scrambled up, not bothering to look behind him as he began using the discarded cars that littered the street as cover.

He heard a screech of tortured metal behind him, the sound sending pinpricks down his spine as he continued to run, taking great care to place as many obstacles between him and the roided out monster behind him.

The PRT handbook, in this situation, would suggest grouping up with your fellows and combining the use of their containment foam sprayers to render Animos immobile.

The spray of off-colour, that he saw in the corner of his eye, making contact with, and not slowing the beast behind him down at all, proved what a horrible idea that would be.

Parahumans were too varied, too unpredictable, for any handbook or rules of engagement to fully apply, not unless they were created for the sole purpose of countering a specific parahuman, that is.

Now, the PRT kept up to date with parahumans of interest, cataloguing their powers and coming up with strategies against them. But all of the most specific cases always required the aid of a parahuman, the PRT seemingly not bothering with coming up with ideas for when the troopers had to face such threats alone.

It had always struck him as odd, and incredibly self-sabotaging to boot. He had sent a complaint up the chain when one of his men had died in such a situation, bleeding out after an altercation with Hemorrhagia.

Nothing had come of it.

So all that was left to do was adapt.

"Jenkins! Get ready!" He made sure to put his all into the cry, not wanting the sound of Animos barrelling through cars and barricades to drown him out.

He was left vindicated in his ability to plan when a sharp crack tore through the sound of shattering concrete and metal being ripped apart, as well as a pained howl behind him.

He grinned, pumping his arms and legs even harder, adrenaline carrying him that extra few steps as the streets went alight with the sound of automatic weaponry.

Sergeant Wiiliam, not one to miss capitalising on the moment, smoothly turned around to being his gun up and began firing on the man that had been hunting him. The prey now becoming the hunter.

Animos, now that Sergeant Kyras could see him properly, was slowly stepping back, the hulking beast that was his changer form pocketed by small weeping holes that bled crimson. The largest wound was courtesy of the sniper rifle round shot by Jenkins, scoring a larger hole in one of Animos' knees – bits of white bone jutting out from the ruined joint.

His M27 IAR joined the fire, causing the beast to jerk it's head away, the bullets missing the creature's eyes by inches. He attempted to adjust his aim, but a raised limb prevented the shots from reaching its face again.

Animos snarled, animalistic eyes scanning the area, locating the source of the covering fire and calculating his chances. The eyes turned back to him, burning coals of anger and humiliation.

He could do it, Kyras knew, Animos could eat up the distance between them in a couple of bounds, claw out his throat and drink him dry.

But it would take time, and Kyras wouldn't go down without buying all the time he could for his squad to shoot the bastard to death, and Animos knew this.

Kyras grinned mockingly behind his helmet, even knowing that Animos couldn't see it. He could see the decision the man had come to, the way his weight was shifting backwards.

The parahuman darted to the left, momentarily ducking under the cover of one of the few vehicles he hadn't destroyed, before racing into an alleyway and running away.

He and his squad kept their weapons trained, members of his squad that had taken a higher position keeping a close eye on the man as he fled the scene.

"Looks like we're in the clear, Sarge," came the lazy drawl of Jenkins.

Unprofessional? Perhaps, but Kyras had gone to great lengths to ensure that his squad obtained maximum cohesion, and if that meant suffering the occasional breach in protocol then so be it.

"Copy that, Jenkins. Good shooting everyone."

He got a few whoops and cheers on the radio, and he couldn't help a chuckle leaving his throat, likely the adrenaline leaving his system.

"Don't suppose we should go after him?"

The question was asked by the newcomer to their squad, Private Dale. The man was still a bit stiff, too fresh from bootcamp to crack a joke or make a breach in proper procedures, not yet at least.

"Nah, we'll call it in but it would be stupid to head after him. The only reason we survived the bastard was good positioning and a plan. Without that? We'd be toast."

It was always a sobering realisation to understand just how close you'd brushed by death, that if anything had gone differently you'd be six feet under. This fight wasn't any different.

Everything had gone perfectly. They'd gotten early warning, managed to come up with a decent plan, their surroundings favoured them and Animos had decided to think with his head and retreated.

Yet he had still nearly been gored to death six times in the process of leading him into the killing zone.

Just as he was contemplating his many near deaths, the radio in his helmet crackled to life. "Alert, Troopers in areas B2 to B7, anomalous sightings have been reported. Unknown projections in large amounts have begun gathering near Charles Avenue. All units within range, please respond."

William listened closely for a second more, before realising, with a sinking pit in his stomach, that was it. No suspected Master, no reason for why the projections were converging in that avenue and no reports on their capabilities.

That would mean the ones who had called it in hadn't been able to relay any more information.

Which spoke volumes for how deadly that avenue had become.

He debated ignoring it, he and his squad weren't in those sectors, even if they were close. He could choose to pursue another objective and not be called out over it. Sure, he may get a few side eyes but that was better than all his men dying.

Then his radio lit up once again.

"Copy that, Tango Iota heading there now, over."

"Understood. Gamma Bravo will be there, over."

"Gotcha, Delta Alpha heading your way, over!"

More and more voices added to the call to arms. Including, he noted with some annoyance, squads outside the B2 to B7 sectors. Suicidal battle junkies, all of them!

Well, he supposed this wasn't a job you got if you were a coward, at least no typically.

Seeing the expectant looks on his squad's face, he sighed and began mentally plotting out a route in his head, one which conveniently added an extra five minutes to their estimated arrival.

"This is Echo Romeo squad, we'll start making our way to you, over," he radioed in, much to the approval of his team.

-Butcher POV-

Quarrel stared in fascination. This wasn't something any of the Butcher's had ever seen before.

'Well, there was that sorority party. That got pretty bloody too,' a voice crudely cut in, much to the laughter of the others.

She twitched, memories that weren't her own flashing before her eyes. Spashes of red coating pink banners, bodies lying still on the ground, laughter.

Her vision cut back, now showing a spiral of red fluid converging upon a pile of dead bodies that they had stacked high. Hemorrhagia was laughing, somehow even more unhinged than usual. Blood flowed around her, cradling her like a lover as she laughed like a lunatic.

'Hot damn, wish I had tapped that,' one voice leered.

'I did,' the last butcher smugly proclaimed.

She ignored them, still watching carefully, still alert for a possible Master.

Yet nothing came of it.

Just as Hemorrhagia said, the effects -whatever they were- were only increasing with every body added to the pile, the blood that had begun streaming towards the makeshift altar now congealing to cover the lower half of the pile – enveloping it like some sort of cocoon.

Her men were dragging men and women out into the streets, their screams as they saw the bloody remains of almost three dozen people cut off as they were made to join the dead.

"Well? How many more?"

The question cut off her friend's laughter, peeling back into loose chuckles as she tried to compose herself.

"Nearly. I can feel it, it's building up to…something. I can't tell what, but it's close!"

Quarrel nodded, ready to teleport out at a moment's notice, much to the jeering of the voices in her head.

'BOO!'

'Show some fucking spine! Poke the fucking ominous corpse pile, asslicker!

It didn't take very long, they had all but emptied out an entire neighbourhood to do this, one that regularly paid protection money to a rival gang of theirs. So even if this flopped it could still be used to send a message.

A man gurgled, blindly grasping at his ruined throat, wetly choking as his life-giving fluids dripped to the floor. He shuddered, falling to the floor, and then went still. His blood continued to desert him, reaching for the altar of human corpses. Quarrel would even later swear that she saw the pooling blood form into a reaching hand moments before it began.

The deep crimson glow brightened, flaring up as the last of the man's life force was sucked up. The light swelled, compressed down into an even darker shade of red, and then exploded in a squall of gore.

Quarrel shielded her eyes, not sensing any danger and thus not bothering to teleport. She felt sticky warmth on the few parts of her body not covered by her costume, blood and viscera coating her form.

She repressed the urge to gag when she opened her eyes. Not because of the blood, but because of the sheer time it would take to get this washed out.

'Fuck, did it get in the mini-gun?'

The voices, unlike Quarrel herself, seemed very pleased with the massive blood splatter that coated the entire avenue. She winced, hand reaching up to her head as she tried to drown out the cheering with her own thoughts.

When that had passed, she looked around, expected to find something suitably dramatic for the amount of effort they had put in.

There was not, just a lot of blood and exploded corpses.

Which, while cool, wasn't very helpful.

The only thing that stopped Quarrel from packing her shit up and leaving was the expression she saw on Hermorrhagia's face – what little she could see with the mask on, that is.

She appeared fascinated.

Her eyes were fixed on the blood that now coated her form, seeing something that Quarrel could not.

"Hemorrhagia?" She tried breaking her subordinate out of her trance.

Nothing.

"Jen?" She tried again, this time using her name, and the familiar shortening of that name made something in Quarrel's chest tighten.

Right, that was what she used to call Hemorrhagia before she had taken on the mantle, how long had that been again? Why had she stopped using it?

The mocking laughter of the voices at that thought didn't make her head any clearer and, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't grasp the answer to her question.

The call shook the other cape out of her thoughts, Hemorrhagia turning to look at her with a beaming smile – mania present and undeniable.

"Boss! Look at this! Isn't it wonderful?" She held up her bloody hand, nothing remarkable about it to Quarrel's eyes.

No, that wasn't quite true. Her blood vision was picking something up, something so subtle she had almost missed it.

If she focused she could almost make out…circles?

Yes, circles! In each drop of blood, so tiny they almost couldn't be seen, and in the circles there were symbols, sigils, etchings, all in a language she didn't know.

Quarrel's mouth felt dry, and even the voices were uncharacteristically silent. She felt as if she were at the precipice of something huge, an understanding that could dwarf anything that came before.

"Jen…" She reached her friend's side, about to question her further.

And that's when she felt it, her power screaming in her ear. The blood at their feet was rippling.

Before she knew it she had grabbed Jen and teleported to a nearby roof, explosive force rippling out from her and crushing the tiles beneath her feet.

The blood where they previously stood erupted. With a resounding crack that sent shivers up the spine of everyone present, something came through the pool of sanguine.

It was a man, or it seemed like one. It had all the features, arms, legs and a face, but the proportions were wrong. The spine of the being seemed stretched out, and it's arms and legs seemed to bend as if broken before snapping back into proper place again and again.

And, most importantly, it was made purely of blood.

A projection?

The thing's hand had been reaching for where they had been and found nothing. That seemed to confuse whatever the being was, a ragged growl that almost seemed perplexed coming from its ruined throat.

The same ruined throat she had just seen in one of the many victims they had sacrificed.

The realisation sent a wave of cold through her body, and she craned her neck in search of that same man.

He was there, still exactly where he had fallen, and now that she was properly taking him in, the features of both this thing and the corpse were an eery match.

The blood rippled again, another soaking blood red thing tearing itself away from the red. It threw itself against one of their gang members, who had begun backing up the moment they had seen her teleport themselves away.

Another ripple, another roar of utter hatred.

Their minions seemed to snap out of their shock, quickly unloading bullets into the quickly growing crimson horde.

Quarrel, who was by this point, nocking an arrow into her enormous bow, watched as the bullets ripped through the animated bodies of red, sparks lighting up the back of the road as they ricocheted off the wall.

But, in spite of the bullets being able to bore holes straight through the copies of the dead, it didn't seem to matter. Even when the higher calibre rounds started blowing off limbs, the mob of projections just kept coming.

It wasn't that they were simply stubborn, although they were, but more that no injury truly seemed to impede them. They used muscle that had been ripped out, they screamed with missing throats and they ran even when they were missing a leg. Like none of it truly hurt them.

Seeing physical attacks weren't working, she discarded her arrow, and instead focused on the crowd with her power and attempted to cause them pain.

Nothing.

She cursed, spitting out a particularly foul insult as she desperately began to think.

Her non-powered minions were useless here, and she was distinctly lacking in esoteric ways of killing.

She turned to Hemorrhagia, still watching the ongoing carnage with shock. Quarrel shoved her, and she gasped at the sudden movement, turning to face her with uncomprehending eyes.

"Jen, they're made of blood! Do something!"

"I," she choked, "I can't, I've tried! It's like there's something else controlling them, and that same energy is inside them!" The women shook her head, eyes wide as she looked at the mob of projections that were slowly ripping her men apart.

Quarrel growled, quickly putting a plan together.

"Jen, get out of here. Alert the others. I'll try to get there attention, lead them on a merry chase through our enemies territory," she said, attaching her bow back around her torso.

Then, she was gone, not even waiting for her subordinate to answer her.

She reappeared in front of the growing horde.

The explosion, deliberately weakened to a force that wouldn't kill, sent both forces, projections and the teeth, hurtling backwards.

"OI, fuckers! Retreat for now! I'll be dealing with these bastards!"

The crimson figures lying on the ground shuddered and, between one blink and the next, they were back on their feet, charging at her.

She grinned, teleporting, yet again, right in front of them.

"WELL?" She didn't turn, but she could hear the scraping of boots on tarmac as they hurried to carry out her will.

That was good, she'd need them if she wanted to properly conquer this place.

What wasn't so good was the fact that she'd done zilch to the entities that had once again begun charging at her. Perhaps more troublingly was the fact that the pool of blood had yet to stop disgorging projections, their numbers swelling far beyond what they had sacrificed.

She teleported behind them, far enough away that they weren't sent towards her men by the explosion.

They turned as one, beginning to make their way towards her with an eerie coordination.

Well then, time to make an omelette out of these broken eggs.

AN: Was just about to go to sleep when I realised I hadn't posted. Whoops, teehee.

So the Teeth do a fucky wucky and accidentally summon the ghosts/grudges of a lot of dead people. Yeah, they might be able to do magic with an area so suffused in the energy, but they can't control it. Which is going to become a problem for everyone shortly.

Stick around to see how Alexander solves this!

Thanks for reading, please leave a comment. Or I'll cry.

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Work Header

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Parahumans Series - Wildbow

Relationship:

Alexander/City Building

Characters:

Rebecca Costa-Brown | AlexandriaDragon (Parahumans)Director James TaggEmily PiggotColin Wallis | Armsmaster | DefiantBastion (Parahumans)

Additional Tags:

Self-InsertCYOAEndbringerA man finds his hobbyThe rest of the world is terrifiedCausing major wars by accidentTeehee~Misunderstandings

Language:

English

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Published:2025-02-16Updated:2026-02-25Words:229,706Chapters:83/?Comments:559Kudos:1,458Bookmarks:363Hits:86,862

(End)Bringing You A New Home! (Endbringer SI)

10moorem

Chapter 80: Chapter 80: Premature Arrival

Summary:

Alexander goes back to his roots as a girl-boss.

Chapter Text

Chapter 80: Premature Arrival

-Alexander POV-

"Of all the fucking-"

Things had gone pear shaped, positively sideways, one might even say royally fucked.

Because somehow there was a runaway magical reaction happening near the heart of Boston.

Which was something that should be impossible to do by accident, magic ran on intent after all – almost couldn't do without it.

Was it Thanatos? Had their understanding of magic really evolved to such an extent?

No, that wasn't it. I had been keeping tabs on the Titan, and they had been almost completely inactive – only occasionally warping space within the apartment in front of them at odd times of the day.

They hadn't even been near the avenue where the reaction had taken place!

Putting a pin on that thought I return my distraught gaze back to the screen before me.

Things had been going so well, too! The city had been slowly recovering, panic and mortality rates had been steadily dropping and my partnership with the Alliance had only been growing deeper.

So you could imagine my surprise when, a minute ago, I had found red alerts popping up and a panicking Armstrong calling me for a situation that was increasingly spiralling out of control.

He had told me of an entire army of projections, of blood red almost-people that were quickly swallowing district after district in their advance.

A quick perusal of my magical sensors confirmed one of my theories as to what was happening. This wasn't necromancy, though you could be forgiven for thinking that, the signature instead matched something else in my power granted knowledge.

It was grudges, an army of insane echoes of hatred and rage taking form to wreak a bloody swathe of vengeance and fury upon everyone.

Magic cared a lot about intent, as I had mentioned already. That was because magic was sensitive. Sensitive to thought, sensitive to emotion, sensitive to memory, if it came from a sentient being then magic was picking it up to some extent.

On it's own this didn't mean anything, since magic was also fickle, constantly picking up new inputs and discarding the old. It was why you needed physical structures for any long term magic use, the physical world providing the structure and surety that magic did not, perhaps could not, possess.

Except in cases like these, where enough of a feeling or thought was congealed into a small enough space, metastasising the magic and causing it to spread outwards.

Basically cancer for magic.

It was exactly as lovely as it sounds. Which was to say not at all.

There was an upper limit to this, fortunately, but that limit was well beyond a city.

"Armstrong, you'll need to get the civilians into the Endbringer bunkers," I said, already planning out solutions and quick fixes.

"Recluse, they can go through walls and seem to sense where people are! I don't think a bunker is going to help!" The voice from the monitor was hoarse, the panic obvious in every wet syllable that slipped through his lips.

"Not ordinarily," I corrected, "I've made a few adjustments to the bunkers using one of my drones. They should be able repel these entities. Oh, your headquarters also have those protections added in, Blastegerm and the Ambassadors too."

Oh wow, I could almost feel the stare on the other end of this call. Someone wasn't pleased with me doing that without permission. To his credit, he didn't lose focus, as his next few words pertained directly to the current crisis.

"You know what these are."

It wasn't a question.

"I do," I simply replied, carefully plotting out the best way to convince him that I know what I'm talking about.

"Powers are interdimensional in nature, places like these can occasionally super-charge a power beyond what it should allow…"

I trail off, hearing an aborted gasp from Armstrong, almost too soft to register.

Ah, that's right. He should have some familiarity with such a concept, being as high up in the PRT as he was. The incident at White Rock should be known to him.

Was I being rather deceptive in leading him on to believe that what was happening was a Parahuman effect? Sure, but it's not like I could explain to him that this was an invasion of magical curses that only the squiggles I had drawn in the bunkers could stop. That would simply get me thrown out of the call.

"We've imbued the bunkers with a power effect that can help cancel out other powers with hostile intent, which this would certainly qualify as."

There was a short period of silence, and from the sight of my drone I could see Armstrong's gaze burning into his computer, dissecting each word I had given him.

"Those are some interesting specialties you have," He commented lightly.

"Interesting specialities for interesting people," I calmly counter. So, the evacuation?"

Armstrong's calculating stare tightened at the reminder, turning to a man standing guard and ordering him to sound the alarms.

The man quickly left to fulfil his order.

"I'm going to have a lot of questions for you after this, you've been keeping a few secrets."

I shrugged, knowing well that he couldn't see me, having not turned the camera on.

"Assuming you're still alive," I casually respond, staring at another feed – this one showing Thanatos slowly tilting his head around in the direction of the growing horde.

"Assuming we're still alive," the man echoed with fatalistic humour.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well that's not great," Renji observed, eyeing my computer with some concern.

Bit of an understatement on Renji's part, really. Things were pretty fucked, despite a few silver linings.

The death toll wasn't too high, yet.

But that was only because the legion of grudges was, for whatever reason, choosing to rampage exclusively through the sections of the city I had already added protections to. The territories of the PRT, Blastgerm and the Ambassadors all possessed enchanted bunkers which most had gotten to fairly quickly, their warded structures defiantly pushing back against the wave of hateful echoes.

Even those on the outside were doing better than they should have, the various runes of fortune and protection my drone had doodled across the city after finishing with the bunkers paying dividends. To think that I had I had cursed myself about that only a few hours ago, the drone having continued to carry out its orders even after filling up the bunkers with runes was something I had previously seen as a failure of mine - wasting a few hours of precious time when that drone could have been diverted to other tasks.

The world was, as ever, determined to prove me a fool - yet it was to my advantage this time.

If they had gone in the opposite direction, to areas of the city where I had less influence, it probably would have been a bloodbath.

Not to say there weren't deaths, because there were, and that things wouldn't get worse if nothing was done, because it would, but for an army of grudges from beyond the veil they were accomplishing much less than they should, as they fruitlessly clawed against runic protections - wasting their energy on some of the only places that could repel them.

I had to quirk my lip up at that, pleased that my paranoid preparations were proving their worth.

But it would all be for naught if nothing else was done, the grudges might not be able to break in to the places I had enchanted but all they'd need to do was wait, and allow starvation to settle in.

Which meant the grudges needed to be dealt with.

Which meant…

I groaned, feeling headache bubble up.

I had to go in early.

I had to go in early, deal with the grudges, presumably while Thanatos would do their best to make me into sashimi. Lovely.

At least the civilians would already be in bunkers by the time I arrived, which would go a long way to ensuring minimal casualties for my fight with Mary's Titan.

"Renji," I called out, causing him to turn towards me, "Call Taizong and Sanzang down, they'll have to take over as Recluse. We're going in."

Renji, being the madman that he is, only vibrated with concealed excitement.

-Kamil Armstrong POV-

Looking out the third story window of his office, Armstrong had to conceal a shudder as a sea of red once again crashed against a wall of glowing script that covered the PRT headquarters.

There was so many of them now.

Everywhere he looked, down the main street, tucked into alleyways and even on the roofs of other buildings, they were there.

Every few seconds a wave of red would crash against the barrier that his increasingly suspicious ally had crafted -without his knowledge, no less- and break against it. They reeled back, hateful and in pain – only to try again seconds later.

Because they did hate them. Armstrong was sure of it.

Even from here he could see the look in their eyes, the mad frothing fury that allowed for no exceptions. If they had to burn themselves against this building a million more times in order to get inside, they would do it.

Armstrong had seen a lot in his years. Insane parahumans, permanent cape effects that were horrifying in their effect, phenomena that defied description and a whole host of other sights. You didn't get to where he was and not bear witness to some truly terrifying things.

Yet what was pounding upon his door may have been one of the most unnerving.

Projections were not meant to hate. Even the ones that appeared to do so were always artificial in their supposed rage. Not this, this was visceral enough that he could feel it.

A chime from his computer thankfully knocked him out of his thoughts, allowing him to pull his eyes away from the army currently sieging his headquarters.

It was the Prometheans.

The sign of the icon on his computer, a simple insignia of an eagle carrying fire in its beak, brought complicated feelings to the forefront of his mind.

The group of Tinkers had, in many ways, been a blessing for Boston. They had provided food, water and stability to his city. They had helped to solidify ties between the PRT and their allies of convenience, easing communication and cohesion immensely.

Yet, it was apparent that they possessed secrets, and not simple ones either. Even before this catastrophe it had been obvious they weren't all they appeared to be. Many of their questions had been met with deflection, or outright silence.

Their motives were also suspect, call Armstrong a cynic but he absolutely did not believe a group a secret as the Prometheans were supposed to be would intervene in their crisis simply out of altruism.

Armstrong had been content to let them keep their secrets, he needed their help after all.

Then came the endless army of projections, and some of those secrets had come out.

Modifications to many important parts of the city, all done without anyone's knowledge. An uncomfortable amount of knowledge regarding parahuman powers, and their interactions with other dimensions. Extremely powerful Tinker specialisations, seriously a Power Tinker?!

Even one of those would have been cause for concern. Put together you had a group that could very easily be considered an S-class threat.

And that was simply what they had been forced to divulge because of the current catastrophe that was shaking Boston, who knew what else they were keeping secret.

So, with some trepidation, he answered the call.

"Recluse, what is-"

"Armstrong," the Tinker cut in, sounding more on edge than he'd ever heard him before, "There's a problem."

Armstrong couldn't help a sardonic chuckle escaping his lips. "Don't I know it. Your protections are working but those projections aren't going away."

The communications crackled slightly, "That's not what I meant. There's adifferent problem heading your way."

The words hit Armstrong like a sledgehammer, and for a moment he felt as if he couldn't breathe. Another issue? On top of all the others he had to deal with?

"Lay it on me," his voice trembled.

"It's the Fourth. They're heading here."

If the previous words had been a sledgehammer then this was more akin to a thermobaric bomb detonating directly in his face. He was left stunned, struck dumb by the horror that those words evoked in him.

His city had already had a brush with an Endbringer, their fleeting attention was what had brought them into this hell, and had led to all of the other tragedies in the past week or so.

So for there to be another headed this way?

"How? Why?" Armstrong felt as if he were not just asking Recluse, but the entire universe at this point – such was the enormity of unfairness that his city was experiencing.

"No way to say, neither the Endbringers involved, or the situation, are in any way normal. It could be for a multitude of reasons," Recluse, somewhat unhelpfully, said in response.

By now the shock was being flooded away from his system by something more familiar; rage.

"That bitch!" The coarse language, that he usually would have kept well restrained, flowed freely now, his control over himself weakened from a week of stress and horror – his breaking point finally reached by the news of anotherEndbringers coming.

"Uh...which bitch are you referring to?" A flummoxed voice came from his computer, now sounding a bit uncomfortable.

"Eris," he hissed. "It wasn't enough for her, was it? She plunged Japan into a war, set China ablaze and murdered so many heroes in India! And now she's coming here! To a place already beaten down! There's not enough words to describe how loathsome she is!"

"…Quite. Perhaps we should move on?" The voice seemed even more uncomfortable, if that was even possible.

Well, it's not every day a director of the PRT goes off at you.

Armstrong, with a will sharpened by a decade of command, leashed his anger back in and sighed, slumping down on his chair.

"Sorry, it's just the thought of that monster coming here angers me beyond words."

"…Understandable." The voice responded, a more guarded tone audible to him.

Armstrong felt a flicker of remorse, even past his emotional exhaustion, that his words had seemingly failed to lighten the man's discomfort, but he pushed past it.

"Your thoughts?"

"You're not going to like it."

"Well, tell me anyway," Armstrong said, beyond caring at this point.

"We allow Eris free reign to do what they wish."

There was a brief pause as Armstrong took that in.

"You're right, I don't like it."

"There's not much you can do to stop it, if anything this might be a blessing in disguise."

Armstrong had to suppress an instinctive expletive being thrown out when he heard Recluse suggest that.

"How in the world could Eris be a blessing?" The idea was nothing less than absurd to him.

Recluse sighed, and began to explain. "It's because of how this Endbringer operates, or at least how we assume it operates. It seeks out cities that have been attacked, and ruined, by Endbringers in the past, in this case Boston. When it arrives it begins to rebuild the city. This is usually done in such a way as to create more chaos in the long term. If Eris is attacked then they will go out of their way to kill anyone in the area that is affiliated with the attacking force."

Armstrong couldn't help but scowl, knowing the point that was being made.

"So just leave them alone and hope for the best? You realise those assumptions are just that right? Assumptions. The PRT have only come into contact with Erisonce, and they were the only ones present in Hyderabad. What if, when it's attacked, it wipes out everyone in the city?"

"Then everyone in the city dies, obviously," the annoyed voice of Recluse replies. "Again, we don't have much of a choice. Those projections aren't going away, and if given time they'll spread to the parts of the city we don't have control over, massacring thousands. You can't stop that, and I can't stop that, but perhaps Eris can."

Armstrong shook his head, nauseous at the thought. "It's a rather sorry day when we have to rely on an Endbringer to save us."

"Indeed," Recluse's words were bitter as he spoke them. "It should never have come to this."

"So, when Eris is inevitably attacked by those projections, the best we can do is hope?"

"Unfortunately."

Armstrong leaned back, taking it all in.

To his surprise, his mind wasn't on the coming walking disaster, it was instead focused on his office. The spruce table he had sat at for years, the wood marked by heavy machinery scraping across the top of the table. He gazed down upon the water mark that had been made from constantly placing his coffee on one specific spot.

He looked at the photos on his desk, Weld and the many others he had taken under his wing. Some were gone now, but many others were still with him. He looked upon the accolades hanging upon his wall.

And most of all he looked at the distant sky line of Boston, full of skyscrapers which had seen better days.

He took it all in, feeling an appreciation for it he rarely ever allowed himself to feel.

It might all be gone in an hour, after all.

"And the fifth?"

His answer was met by silence, and it almost comforted him that this enigmatic group didn't have all the answers. What would happen when the two Endbringers met was completely unknown, and there was nothing he could do to alter the outcome.

"Right then. I'll start making some calls."

AN: Alexander ain't happy, but at least he has a plan. In a small way this even helps him, because at least the civilians are already out of the way, for the most part. The next part of his plan was to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss Armstrong by telling him of Eris' approach. It's not like the director has any eyes outside of Boston at the moment, so he can't call bullshit.

So yeah, Alexander needs to deal with the grudges, kill Thanatos, fix the city and put it back where it belongs, all while not allowing it to be damaged too much. No biggee.

Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!

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