I found myself squirming, just seeing it. They were sharp fingers, too. They pushed at his flesh and the points threatened to cut through, spilling out the contents.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Precipice said. “No. No, sorry. Call me if you need me.”

With that, the projection winked out of existence. The camera that had been floating where the head was returned to Cryptid’s shoulder.

“Cryptid,” I said. “This form—”

“Heads up!” Kenzie reported. I heard a voice in the background. “Okay, no, not you. My team! Heads up! Capricorn is just now arriving and he’s wanting to blitz right away. Give him reasons not to or he’s going to jump in.”

There was no reason not to let him jump in. He knew well enough not to attack Error, with the risk.

I was ready to fly in—my feet momentarily left the ground, before finding it again. I turned to Cryptid.

“Do not, under any, any circumstance, give birth to whatever those things are. Not on this battlefield.”

He bristled, puffing up.

“We need this to go well,” I said. “Please.”

He shifted position, bringing his rear end forward, settling down into the slouching kind of sit that some dogs and cats managed, when their construction didn’t normally allow for that degree of slouch.

Settling in to do nothing, it seemed.

I left it at that, because I had to. I gave Swansong a small smile as I passed her.

I saw Etna reacting with a measure of panic as the heroes came in. She backed up toward the loading bay door where there was more cover, separating herself from the other villains and their mooks.

There were guns, but guns drew attention. It was attention from Fume Hood, who gassed the heaviest concentrations, attention from me.

Calm, collected. If we were going to pull this off—

We had to do this right.

I hated how much I sounded like my mother in my own head, when I thought that.

The effect on the scene was little different from the old cowboy movies, when the convoy passed through a valley, only for the valley entrances and exits to be blocked, rocks pushed over. In those scenes, the attackers appeared at the fringes, on either side of the valley, attacking from established, fortified positions.

So it was here. Attacks from alleys and from rooftops. They were surrounded.

Cleat balled up into a mass of spiked armor, then moved all at once, with a speed that surprised me.

Not him. It wasn’t his power.

The path he traveled had a logic to it—it wasn’t a straight line. It was a curve.

Nearly invisible in the gloom, with no lights shining on that specific area, Trial had thrown chain to Cleat, and now Cleat was his wrecking ball.

Massive, crushing swings raked through building faces and toward the good guy capes.

Cleat came around again, whipcrack fast.