With flight, a wrenching of my body, and my forcefield gripping the floor and hauling me to one side, I tore myself free of that faint grip, getting some distance from the Simurgh. She folded wings around herself, a shield, while rubble circled around her, making the approach complicated.

I wasn’t the only one she’d gripped. She’d reached out across the room, targeting everyone present who wasn’t one of the compromised individuals she’d drawn in.

Chevalier was here, and put his sword out like a wall, some of his squadron gripping the channel that bifurcated the two great blades.

The screaming in my ears reached a new pitch, the Simurgh unfurled her wings and raised one long, thin arm, and the blade twitched, the blade turning so it was no longer perpendicular to the ground. The material of his costume and the blade seemed resistant to her efforts… good thing, because if it hadn’t been, she might have turned his weapon so the blade was poised to catch anyone and everyone she threw.

Rubble moved, metal pipes lifted themselves free from piles of debris and pointed, poised to catch the people she was about to fling. The lens I wore highlighted it where I couldn’t see it with my own eyes in the gloom. Where things moved, the lines were more unsure, while fixtures like pillars and doorways were marked out, firm.

I flew, ready to intercept, or to be in a position to intercept. I still had the flash gun, and I clipped it to my belt, where it swung and banged against my leg as I turned in the air. It was another weak point, a thing she could grab. But there wasn’t a great way to handle carrying the thing.

She’d done this before. I’d watched videos and simulations of prior Simurgh encounters, before they were taken down. I’d seen these mass-telekinetic-flings before, modeled in three-dimensional programs, each individual stripped down to being a dull gray render of a human being, without costume, colors, gender, or personality.

Always toward the end of fights, if she did it at all, always only after she’d sang long enough. After she had her hooks in.

This is real, I thought to myself. The thoughts couldn’t have sounded further from being the proud, confident heroine I’d dreamed of being, once. Tremulous, wavering, and a half-step away from a downward spiral. What had I done that I hadn’t realized I was doing? I couldn’t clearly remember if I’d dropped that piece of rubble on my sister. I’d forgotten stuff, or… not forgotten. I’d failed to think of things. Like my gun. I’d left it behind. Could have really used it now.