This story is a spin-off from an omake I wrote for Another Way, where Brandish isn't deflected...
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Yet Another Way [Worm AU Fanfic]
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Ack
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This story is a spin-off from an omake I wrote for Another Way, where Brandish isn't deflected from the closet.
Bad things happen.
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.
Index
Introduction: A Death in the Family (below)
Part Two: Family Matters
Bad things happen.
1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.
2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.
3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion.
Index
Introduction: A Death in the Family (below)
Part Two: Family Matters
Last edited:
Ack
(Verified Ratbag) (Unverified Great Old One)
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Yet Another Way
Introduction: A Death in the Family
A/N: The first three sentences are taken directly from canon.
Marquis surrounded himself in plates of bone that resembled the petals of a flower blooming in reverse, and sank into the ground.
Any other day, Brandish would have followed him into the room below. A wine cellar, it seemed.
Instead, she turned and charged for the closet, creating a sword out of the crackling energy her power provided, slashing through the plates of bone that had surrounded it, then drawing the blade back to thrust through the wooden door-
Marquis emerged between her and the closet door and ducked away, trying to draw her from her target. She plunged the sword into the heavy wood and through it, smelling the smoke from the charred door. Fuck you, Marquis. Whatever you're protecting is gone.
And then she heard the high-pitched cry, cut off a moment later. From within the closet. And she smelled the burning flesh.
"NO!" screamed Marquis. He held his hand out; the bones emerged from his hand, forming into a flat-based battering ram, smashing her backward until she formed into her invulnerable ball shape. A moment later, it spread outward, forming a barrier of bone around Marquis and the closet.
Manpower stepped forward, looking at Brandish and Lady Photon. "What the fuck just happened?" he asked.
The bone barrier dropped. Marquis was revealed, but now he was carrying a burden. A girl. A toddler, not much younger than Vicky. The girl was brown haired, freckle-faced, and wore a silk nightgown with lace at the collar and sleeves. It looked expensive for something a child would wear. There was a neat burn in the nightgown, just below the breastbone.
"Daddy," she breathed, then what little life was left in her was gone forever.
"Oh, god," whispered Lady Photon. "Your daughter?"
Tears were streaming down Marquis' face, unheeded. "The most precious treasure in the world. Her name was Amelia." Lowering his face, he planted a kiss on his child's brow.
"Christ, man, I'm sorry," Manpower muttered awkwardly. "We didn't know -"
"You didn't know?" Marquis asked, his head coming up. "You didn't know?"
His left arm still supporting his dead child, the hand turned; bone shot out to strike Manpower and drive him backward, fastening him to the wall in a cage of spikes driven deep into the wall.
"Did you even look?" he raged, turning his attention to Lady Photon. "Did you even try to find out?" Shards of bone speared from the floor, surrounding her. In a moment, she was entombed in a sarcophagus, only her face showing. Her arms, visible in relief, were crossed over her chest, the palms pressed to her shoulders.
Brandish ignited her light-sword once more, then the most terrible pain lanced into her back. She screamed at the tearing agony, as the spike of bone punched out through her chest.
But he doesn't hurt women or children!
Instinctively, she shifted to her invulnerable form, then back to human, once she was away from the bone spike. But the hole through her body was still there; she dropped to her knees, coughing blood.
"Congratulations, Brandish dear," he murmured to her, stepping closer. Bone encased her hands, pulled them behind her back. "Many have tried my resolve when it came to hurting women and children. Jack Slash came the closest, but even he failed. But you … you managed it. If I had let my weapon hurt you, then we would not have come to this. I failed my Amelia once. I will not fail her memory – murderer."
Bone shards speared throughout her body, entering every organ, setting off a blaze of agony. She went to her invulnerable form once more, went to human.
They were still there.
Marquis stood looking down at her, with absolutely no pity on his face.
And then the real agony began.
The next morning, the caretaker at the Brockton Bay cemetery found an elaborate tomb constructed of some smooth hard white material, where none had been the day before. Two angels, intricately carved, held a plaque which read:
On a much smaller plaque, out of view of the casual onlooker, there was a different message:
Don't even think about moving her – Marquis
An anonymous phone tip led ambulance personnel to a car on the outskirts of town, which held five people. Or rather, what had once been five people. Their skeletons were twisted, partly shrunken and partly expanded, to a degree far beyond grotesquerie. That they were still alive was a tribute to the art of whoever had left them in such a condition.
Worse, they still wore costumes, or the remains of costumes, that identified them as five of the six members of the Brockton Bay Brigade. Of the sixth member, Brandish, no trace was ever found.
They were admitted to palliative care in a parahuman asylum, where they would live out the rest of their lives under the care of others.
"Crystal, Victoria, Eric, come in please."
The three children trooped into the director's office. She had done her best to make sure that it wasn't spartan and unfriendly to children, with beanbags and a colourful play area, to which Eric headed immediately. Accompanied by their carer, Crystal and Victoria fronted up to the desk.
Director Kelly looked them over. A not unkind woman, she liked to think that she had a certain empathy with children. It had been more than a month since they had been taken into care, following the … incapacitation … of their respective parents. Crystal, a solemn eight-year-old, seemed to be bearing up well, although there were reports of her younger brother crying at night and wetting the bed. Of course, he was only four, so there were some allowances to be made.
Victoria, on the other hand, did her best to be cheerful and upbeat; Kelly knew that she cried, but only when she thought nobody could see.
Their parents hadn't died, but what had happened to them was almost as bad; they could never exist in normal society, never live without care. They were healthy and young and would be a burden on the state for many years to come. She had viewed photographs of what had been done to them, and then burned the photographs. It didn't matter; she would never forget the images.
And left behind, there were the children. They wouldn't even be allowed to see their parents until they reached the age of majority; they could send them letters or speak to them over the phone before then. Of course, the Pelhams and Mark Dallon would be unable to reply, what had been done to them had left them entirely incapable of speech or writing, or even seeing in the same direction with both eyes at once.
She didn't even want to know what had happened to Carol Dallon.
"You wanted to see us, Miss Kelly?" asked Crystal politely.
Kelly nodded. "Yes. As it happens, there's a nice man with the very best of references who is willing to take in all three of you. Jenny will be going with you, of course. She'll take care of you while you're living in his house."
She had checked over the references herself, and had been impressed. A large house, a professed tolerance of the rambunctiousness of young children, and plenty of outdoor space for them to play in.
"Can I still send letters to Mommy and Daddy?" asked Victoria.
"Of course," Kelly assured her. "We'll be sending all the photographs you have of them, so you can put them up in your rooms."
"Good," Crystal stated. "Eric, come here."
Eric looked up from bashing a plastic locomotive on to the floor, and trotted over to his big sister. "What?" he asked.
"We've got a new Daddy, and Jenny's going to be like our Mommy," Crystal explained to him.
"I don't want a new Daddy or Mommy," he whined.
"Well, they won't be our real daddies or mommies," Vicky explained brightly. "They'll just be taking care of us until our real daddies and mommies come back from their secret mission."
Kelly was mildly impressed. The children had obviously come up with an explanation as to why they couldn't see or speak to their parents, independently of the so-called child experts who regularly checked to make sure that they had 'natural and healthy development'. It wasn't a bad one, either.
She pressed a button on her intercom. "Send him in, please."
The door opened, and a tall man with long brown hair, tied back, entered the room. "Hello," he greeted them. "I'm guessing you're Crystal," he posited, pointing at Eric.
Crystal giggled. "No, silly. I'm Crystal."
The man rubbed his chin, as if in thought. "Then you must be Eric," he decided, pointing at Vicky.
Vicky shook her head, giggling harder than Crystal. "No, I'm Vicky."
The man dropped to one knee before them. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you all, Crystal, Vicky, Eric." He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke their names.
"What's your name?" asked Vicky.
"Oh, silly me, I forgot to introduce myself." The man smiled brilliantly. "My name is Mark."
End of Introduction
Part Two
Introduction: A Death in the Family
A/N: The first three sentences are taken directly from canon.
Marquis surrounded himself in plates of bone that resembled the petals of a flower blooming in reverse, and sank into the ground.
Any other day, Brandish would have followed him into the room below. A wine cellar, it seemed.
Instead, she turned and charged for the closet, creating a sword out of the crackling energy her power provided, slashing through the plates of bone that had surrounded it, then drawing the blade back to thrust through the wooden door-
Marquis emerged between her and the closet door and ducked away, trying to draw her from her target. She plunged the sword into the heavy wood and through it, smelling the smoke from the charred door. Fuck you, Marquis. Whatever you're protecting is gone.
And then she heard the high-pitched cry, cut off a moment later. From within the closet. And she smelled the burning flesh.
"NO!" screamed Marquis. He held his hand out; the bones emerged from his hand, forming into a flat-based battering ram, smashing her backward until she formed into her invulnerable ball shape. A moment later, it spread outward, forming a barrier of bone around Marquis and the closet.
Manpower stepped forward, looking at Brandish and Lady Photon. "What the fuck just happened?" he asked.
The bone barrier dropped. Marquis was revealed, but now he was carrying a burden. A girl. A toddler, not much younger than Vicky. The girl was brown haired, freckle-faced, and wore a silk nightgown with lace at the collar and sleeves. It looked expensive for something a child would wear. There was a neat burn in the nightgown, just below the breastbone.
"Daddy," she breathed, then what little life was left in her was gone forever.
"Oh, god," whispered Lady Photon. "Your daughter?"
Tears were streaming down Marquis' face, unheeded. "The most precious treasure in the world. Her name was Amelia." Lowering his face, he planted a kiss on his child's brow.
"Christ, man, I'm sorry," Manpower muttered awkwardly. "We didn't know -"
"You didn't know?" Marquis asked, his head coming up. "You didn't know?"
His left arm still supporting his dead child, the hand turned; bone shot out to strike Manpower and drive him backward, fastening him to the wall in a cage of spikes driven deep into the wall.
"Did you even look?" he raged, turning his attention to Lady Photon. "Did you even try to find out?" Shards of bone speared from the floor, surrounding her. In a moment, she was entombed in a sarcophagus, only her face showing. Her arms, visible in relief, were crossed over her chest, the palms pressed to her shoulders.
Brandish ignited her light-sword once more, then the most terrible pain lanced into her back. She screamed at the tearing agony, as the spike of bone punched out through her chest.
But he doesn't hurt women or children!
Instinctively, she shifted to her invulnerable form, then back to human, once she was away from the bone spike. But the hole through her body was still there; she dropped to her knees, coughing blood.
"Congratulations, Brandish dear," he murmured to her, stepping closer. Bone encased her hands, pulled them behind her back. "Many have tried my resolve when it came to hurting women and children. Jack Slash came the closest, but even he failed. But you … you managed it. If I had let my weapon hurt you, then we would not have come to this. I failed my Amelia once. I will not fail her memory – murderer."
Bone shards speared throughout her body, entering every organ, setting off a blaze of agony. She went to her invulnerable form once more, went to human.
They were still there.
Marquis stood looking down at her, with absolutely no pity on his face.
And then the real agony began.
<><>
The next morning, the caretaker at the Brockton Bay cemetery found an elaborate tomb constructed of some smooth hard white material, where none had been the day before. Two angels, intricately carved, held a plaque which read:
AMELIA CLAIRE LAVERE
BELOVED DAUGHTER
TAKEN FAR TOO SOON
1994-2000
"REST EASY, MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS ..."
BELOVED DAUGHTER
TAKEN FAR TOO SOON
1994-2000
"REST EASY, MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS ..."
On a much smaller plaque, out of view of the casual onlooker, there was a different message:
Don't even think about moving her – Marquis
<><>
An anonymous phone tip led ambulance personnel to a car on the outskirts of town, which held five people. Or rather, what had once been five people. Their skeletons were twisted, partly shrunken and partly expanded, to a degree far beyond grotesquerie. That they were still alive was a tribute to the art of whoever had left them in such a condition.
Worse, they still wore costumes, or the remains of costumes, that identified them as five of the six members of the Brockton Bay Brigade. Of the sixth member, Brandish, no trace was ever found.
They were admitted to palliative care in a parahuman asylum, where they would live out the rest of their lives under the care of others.
<><>
"Crystal, Victoria, Eric, come in please."
The three children trooped into the director's office. She had done her best to make sure that it wasn't spartan and unfriendly to children, with beanbags and a colourful play area, to which Eric headed immediately. Accompanied by their carer, Crystal and Victoria fronted up to the desk.
Director Kelly looked them over. A not unkind woman, she liked to think that she had a certain empathy with children. It had been more than a month since they had been taken into care, following the … incapacitation … of their respective parents. Crystal, a solemn eight-year-old, seemed to be bearing up well, although there were reports of her younger brother crying at night and wetting the bed. Of course, he was only four, so there were some allowances to be made.
Victoria, on the other hand, did her best to be cheerful and upbeat; Kelly knew that she cried, but only when she thought nobody could see.
Their parents hadn't died, but what had happened to them was almost as bad; they could never exist in normal society, never live without care. They were healthy and young and would be a burden on the state for many years to come. She had viewed photographs of what had been done to them, and then burned the photographs. It didn't matter; she would never forget the images.
And left behind, there were the children. They wouldn't even be allowed to see their parents until they reached the age of majority; they could send them letters or speak to them over the phone before then. Of course, the Pelhams and Mark Dallon would be unable to reply, what had been done to them had left them entirely incapable of speech or writing, or even seeing in the same direction with both eyes at once.
She didn't even want to know what had happened to Carol Dallon.
"You wanted to see us, Miss Kelly?" asked Crystal politely.
Kelly nodded. "Yes. As it happens, there's a nice man with the very best of references who is willing to take in all three of you. Jenny will be going with you, of course. She'll take care of you while you're living in his house."
She had checked over the references herself, and had been impressed. A large house, a professed tolerance of the rambunctiousness of young children, and plenty of outdoor space for them to play in.
"Can I still send letters to Mommy and Daddy?" asked Victoria.
"Of course," Kelly assured her. "We'll be sending all the photographs you have of them, so you can put them up in your rooms."
"Good," Crystal stated. "Eric, come here."
Eric looked up from bashing a plastic locomotive on to the floor, and trotted over to his big sister. "What?" he asked.
"We've got a new Daddy, and Jenny's going to be like our Mommy," Crystal explained to him.
"I don't want a new Daddy or Mommy," he whined.
"Well, they won't be our real daddies or mommies," Vicky explained brightly. "They'll just be taking care of us until our real daddies and mommies come back from their secret mission."
Kelly was mildly impressed. The children had obviously come up with an explanation as to why they couldn't see or speak to their parents, independently of the so-called child experts who regularly checked to make sure that they had 'natural and healthy development'. It wasn't a bad one, either.
She pressed a button on her intercom. "Send him in, please."
The door opened, and a tall man with long brown hair, tied back, entered the room. "Hello," he greeted them. "I'm guessing you're Crystal," he posited, pointing at Eric.
Crystal giggled. "No, silly. I'm Crystal."
The man rubbed his chin, as if in thought. "Then you must be Eric," he decided, pointing at Vicky.
Vicky shook her head, giggling harder than Crystal. "No, I'm Vicky."
The man dropped to one knee before them. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you all, Crystal, Vicky, Eric." He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke their names.
"What's your name?" asked Vicky.
"Oh, silly me, I forgot to introduce myself." The man smiled brilliantly. "My name is Mark."
End of Introduction
Part Two
Last edited:
Chojomeka
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I can definitely see the PRT and The Protectorate using the fate of the Brockton Bay Brigade as a deterrent to vigilantism and solo heroics, sort of like a anti-New Wave movement; "It's better to be a trained professional than it is to end up like the Brockton Bay Brigade!"
Sinner_sb
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I like the twist, and as much as I think that Marquis is a 'monster' as a crimelord, I like to believe that he would be the 'better man' and raise the new wave kids right, being a good father and not abusive. In a way that in a cliche he would hope to hear from Amy when he meets her in death that he was a great father.
Ack
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Well, her last word was "Daddy ..." so he already knows that.
Sinner_sb
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I think that he wouldn't find it enough, she was in a easy age to please, now, ask that again after puberty, with him scaring off boys, dealing with mood swings, school and stuff. Refer to that other post of mine with Marquis dealing with Amy's first period as an example.
Ack
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Drask
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Honestly I would say the Marquis was one of the least monstrous people in the whole of Worm. He gave his rules, and then stuck to them religiously, and IMO it wouldn't actually be guaranteed that he would snap like in this scene.
Sinner_sb
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Hence crimelord. I don't consider whoever lead the teeth, the other gangs at the time, and then Lung, and the other modern gangs crimelords, save Kaiser. I agree that Marquis is the less bad option of the time and the only one who has a possibility of redeeming himself.
pepperjack
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Saw that coming. Right from "very best of references." Nasty nasty nasty.
Ack
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Oh, definitely.
Originally, I was going to make it a one-shot where he killed the men and left the women alive, but with just enough physical infirmity that they wouldn't ever be able to come after him.
But then I thought, "She killed his daughter." And his thought process about not hurting her earlier was accurate. So he made an example of her - or rather, a non-example, as no-one will ever find her body - and vented the remainder of his rage on the rest of them. They're alive, but they'll never be 'heroes' again. Or even 'human beings'.
And then, because he doesn't like the idea of kids growing up without parents, he decided to do the right thing and raise them properly.
Ack
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We shall see.
Ack
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None who can do it to that extent.
This is from when Taylor was injured during the Leviathan fight:
If there aren't healers who can fix people crippled in an Endbringer fight, then there aren't healers who can fix what Marquis did.
Chojomeka
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abyssmal_kismet
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And yet, at time of canon, there is both Amy and Scapegoat. I suppose, it could just be a coincidence.
Ack
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Scapegoat could not fix what Marquis did to them. Not even remotely.
Amy is known as the best healer in the world. This is covered more completely in the Hostage Situation thread.
Healing as a power on its own does not exist in Worm. It exists as a side effect of some powers, but these are relatively rare, as healing is not a conflict-inducing ability.
Firedon
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Isn't Scapegoat the one who takes on the injuries of those he heals? I really can't see someone like that not taking a look at them and going 'nope'.
abyssmal_kismet
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Temporarily, as I remember it, though admittedly it's been a while since I've read that part.
On further thought, what would be counted as an "injury" by his power seems arbitrary to me. This case might not be counted as one, or it might be. Who knows?
Ack
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I don't have a stance against them.
I'm just writing stories where some of their more questionable decisions have poor outcomes.
What? Heroes not winning at every turn? Unthinkable, I tell you. Unthinkable.
Ack
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He takes on their injuries until he can pass them on to someone else.
Taylor was more or less blinded; her eyes had healed the actual damage, but had scarred or whatever. He took that damage on. But he would be unable to see himself until he passed it on to someone else.
edale
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Admitedly it's been a while since I read any Scapegoat stuff, but as I recall he had a self-healing power that used dimensional shenanigans to revert back to his natural state.
I also recall something about him taking the injuries on with a timeframe, and when the time ended the 'healed' person got the injuries back, potentially worse due to those dimensional shenanigans or if he took any damage on while the effect was active.
I might be wrong though, it's kinda vague.
Ragnarok
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Your statement would hold a lot more water if I hadn't read you constantly attacking the BBB and defending Marquis in your non-story posts in the various Another Way threads.
Firedon
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Yeah, it's temporarily, I think. But the BBB is hard to recognize as human. Taking that on even if it would be temporary? It might just be me, but I don't think someone would go for it.
Ack
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Please read more carefully.
Those non-story posts were defending Marquis' point of view against people attacking the story and his motivations, flinging fanon thick and fast.
Marquis did refrain from hurting women and children. His organisation didn't deal drugs. During the fight, he did disintegrate an attack of his when Brandish threw herself in front of it.
The Brockton Bay Brigade did invade his home without doing more than find that he lived there. They did fling lethal, wall-penetrating attacks around, almost killing Amy twice by sheer negligence; she was only saved by Marquis' quick actions. The second time, they cynically and hypocritically made use of his dislike for hurting women to deliberately put him in a position where he had to choose between defending his daughter or defending himself. The fact that they didn't know that she was there was immaterial; they should have found out.
Brandish, who deliberately put herself in danger in the full knowledge that Marquis would ensure that no lethal attack touched her, critically wounded him as soon as she was able. And then, when he was down, disabled and surrendered, she put a blade to his throat with the full intent of murdering him if she got an excuse to do so. Not a reason. An excuse.
The Brockton Bay Brigade came close to committing murder three times in that encounter. They didn't even show any remorse about almost killing a six year old girl twice.
The villain was more heroic, and showed more restraint, than the heroes.
After all, what idiot gives a known murderer the incentive to abandon his principles in the middle of a fight?
Ragnarok
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Exactly what I'm talking about. You put Marquis up on a pedestal and shame the Brigade. You utterly refuse to consider that they were in any way right.
Newsflash: The unwritten rules are next to nonexistent. Tattletale was lying to Taylor when she talked about how important they are.
Newsflash: The unwritten rules are next to nonexistent. Tattletale was lying to Taylor when she talked about how important they are.
Xilph
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And they mattered even less this far back in the timeline, what's that got to do with any of what they said? The only stuff they said related to mixing secret and cape identities after all was that if they could research them enough to figure out his name and address why didn't they check if he lived with anyone before starting a cape fight in his house?