Powers were coming back into play. I was still grounded, but I could use a bit of flight. The winged Case Fifty-Three seemed to be in a similar boat. Half-mummy, dessicated with ‘feathers’ like straps, half-bird, with its body extending into wings that weren’t like a bat’s or a bird’s, draping down and out from the arms. They moved sideways more often than they moved forward, and a glimpse at their feet indicated why. Bladed feet, not talons, but a single blade in place of the middle toe, another at the heel. The hands were similar, it seemed, kept out of sight, hidden in the drapery of ‘wings’.

Etna had more globes of superheated glass forming in her hand. The other hand had her phone out. She’d been wearing a skimpier costume in the early fall when the weather was warm, but her outfit now was more along the evil sorceress look, with high collar and draping coat, all with a ‘flame’ cut. She looked down, checking her phone—

Swansong lunged. With her power not at full strength, the recoil of the blast wasn’t severe, and the resulting propulsion wasn’t too meaningful.

I had to trust her. I flew straight for Paris.

“No,” Etna said. She threw the globe.

Swansong shot it, but the recoil was just enough to burn her forward momentum, and her footing wasn’t secure, one foot not cooperating, the other foot absent. She landed on her knees, skidding on ice. As Etna formed a smaller globe and threw it, she blasted that too.

My attempt to close in on Paris was blocked by the Case Fifty-Three. A flap of the draping ‘wing’ saw him… not fly, not bound, definitely not a teleport, but slide through the air, upward and at a diagonal.

When he came down, he came down kicking, the blade sweeping down toward me.

Twisting around, throwing myself back, I kicked up to meet the claw with the bottom of my boot, forcefield active. My meager flight made my landing easier.

The slice at my boot was followed up by something heavy striking at my foot, almost twisting my ankle.

I could see it hanging in the air. A shadow, like a smear that followed the talon’s trajectory. It only lasted a couple of seconds.

The Harbinger went toe to toe with Contender, neither apparently using powers. Contender seemed to have the upper hand, pressing the offense, while the Harbinger did his best.

I couldn’t afford to help. By advancing, I could maintain some pressure, keep Paris on his toes, while occupying the aerial assassin here.

Wing ‘flapped’, and the assassin slid to my left. I saw one hand raise, another flap imminent, their head turning toward Swansong.