She was growing, but not in a smooth way. Rather, in staggered stages, parts of her lunged into being. A black stone wolf’s head, three hands reaching up to grasp at one another’s wrists, winding and almost braiding together in their efforts. Forking, another wolf’s head. A curl of what could have been hair or horn writ in more black stone with traces of white. More curlings and decorative growths.

Until there was a silhouette, a vaguely woman-shaped figure with head turned skyward, back arched and chest and stomach thrust up and out, ‘arms’ dangling. She had no face, but instead a morass of that hair-like, horn-like curling of black stone, like a curtain of it was draped over her head. Three large wolf heads framed her neck and helped form one of her shoulders. Everything below was a jumble, images so layered and lost in one another that they were almost pure decoration.

The black-lightning cracks around her were intense, with more straight lines than the other disaster.

She didn’t move a muscle, if she even had muscles. But she did open her eyes. Amber eyes all up and down her body, some so small the chains of them looked like veins of gold, appearing in cracks and the centers of curls. In tumbles of blacks tone hair and open mouths. Everywhere but where a human silhouette should have eyes. Each bright in the midst of smoke and snow, contrasted by the blackness of her.

“These might be the new conductors,” Antares said. “Architects, maybe, because they’re building something.”

The screen showed a distant view of the others. Kronos, turned to look to one side. The fuming Titan, now visible at her full height. Maybe six or seven stories tall, small compared to the others, her head more like a cowl or hood of black crystal, no face visible beneath, with the gas leaking out resembling long hair left to drape out, tumbling down her front until it dissolved.

“We’ve got another appearing,” Larue said.

“Don’t say that,” Armstrong said. Stress was clear on the man’s face.

“I’m sorry, sir. One more in Gimel.”

“Cameras. We need eyes on them. Who are they?”

Who did we lose? Eric thought.

He stole a glance back at Antares, but she was stone still, tense.

⊙

“Was it cool?” Vessel asked.

“It was… not uncool. Guy in charge invited me over, told people to give me the royal treatment. They had hired this punk band that night, teenage guys with dirt under their fingernails, shirtless with sixpacks, stubble on their chin. Crazy hair. Handed me a beer, y’know, me being a minor. I said something lame like I couldn’t, and this guy who looked like he could rip someone’s head clear off their neck told me if I was willing to go to war, I could drink. Then the band pulled me up on stage.”

“Fun,” Armiger said.