It was his power, right? He created copies of people that reflected what they hated most about themselves. Threw in a few mistruths, like the ‘I’d go back’, if they’d fuck with the target’s head enough. Right?

I had to deal with it like I’d deal with any emotion power or secret-penetrating thinker power. If I melted down now or did something that impacted innumerable others, I’d just be doing what my sister did.

And there was way, way more to that line of thought, and I was nowhere near being able to tackle it.

I was in a position to go after Backwoods.

Trophy Wife shouted, “Flier!” as I made my approach. Backwoods responded by throwing down a spike, surrounding himself in spiked branches.

I couldn’t plow through, but I could dodge through, if—

The Huntsmen were motioning, waving arms in certain directions. The ones on the left waved me left, the ones in cover to the right waved me right.

I headed left, because the only consistent message was not to fly straight for him.

As I got closer, branches forked, stabbing out, and then bloomed, exploding into foliage with gray-green leaves and tiny white flowers. They grew with enough violence I could imagine I would have been scraped up, if not outright flayed or stabbed with a branch that then expanded out into five branches pointing out in different directions.

I could see some spots where the foliage was already grown, perhaps strategically located to block the defending capes from being able to shoot. As I flew over, toward the Huntsmen, they motioned again. This time it was unanimous. Up.

I flew up and over, giving the growths an extra-wide berth.

Leaves and flowers came to pieces, detonating into what might have been poisonous gas or pollen, a heavy cloud that was about as dark as green could get while still being green.

Backwoods began to make other growths sprout and bloom, filling the area.

“I’m guessing they weren’t up to talking,” the leader of the Huntsmen said.

I shook my head.

Two Huntsmen were holding their ground behind cover that in itself had enough cover that the branch detonations wouldn’t reach them. One used the length of a bus with some cars on the opposite end. Another used a bus stop. It seemed someone had tried to drive on the sidewalk to circumvent the traffic, out of selfishness or because the villains had spooked them, but they’d hit the stop and the mailbox that was built into the one side of the stop. That car was the added cover for the cape there.

The third Huntsman was crouched by a row of cars, looking through a succession of windshields and rear windows to get a blurry sense of what was going on.

Three more were guiding the crowd. They weren’t having a lot of luck in convincing people to get the fuck out.