“Everyone on duty is on rest mode. Head back home, relax. Everyone at rest is with me. Prepare for war.”

⊙

Clouds of silvery poison gas rolled across black sand. Soldiers in gas masks ran up a hill and slid down the other side, to where rocks provided some cover.

Valkyrie walked through the poison gas, protected by shadows that had granted her boons before fading away. Her eyes teared up slightly, but that might have been the silicate dust rather than the chemical weapons.

Her flock was in step behind her, their feet scuffing in the fine sand. Her shadows were likewise in step, but they made no sound, left no tracks. They had their own boons, but some had decided to wear the gas masks regardless. They wore no uniforms, but there was a commonality that tied them together, because their clothes had all come from the same stores at the same stops, or because they’d all come so close to the foot of the mountain that was her power and then they’d come back.

Subdued, but not submissive. Quieter, not quieted.

Each and all of them remembered dying. Many remembered dying at her hands. It was a select few of those that she had brought into her flock.

Nineteen individuals, favoring the young and disciplined, the powerful, and the needy.

Then she’d been forced to stop. The umber horse Disaster had reared her ugly head and made her imminent presence known.

The soldiers that had gone down the slope were none the wiser. Valkyrie approached within fifteen paces of them, then raised her rifle.

It was only right that she kill, when expecting it of her soldiers. She knew which of her flock would kill and which might aim just off to the side, so they could claim loyalty and let their consciences rest easy.

She had brought the killers and capturers.

The skirmish that followed was quick and brutal. They were matched in numbers, but Valkyrie’s number included ten parahumans, eight being members of her flock, and six shadows, the power shared out among them to allow for greater number, intimidation and distraction, at the cost of less raw ability.

The opposing group was twelve or so Europeans who had hired themselves out as mercenaries. Scum who enjoyed hurting people, pillaging, and looting to the extent that they were staying on Bet for it. Staying despite dwindling food and climate, health risks and diminishing numbers.

Scum with powers. She scanned her eyes over the glimmers. Images of violence and pain. For five individuals in the group, the images were closely mirrored.

One of the groups that had figured out how to create triggers.

She identified the powers as best as she could, by looking at the glimmers and identifying the agents by name and title.

The Solemn Child. A tall, broad shouldered man with a red sash. She aimed to take fire, and someone on the enemy side raised a wall.