Osiris Fraternal Order

From far outside the atmosphere, the planet Nezmia was like a gem. Much of its surface that was not covered in brilliant oceans was instead claimed by vast purple forests. Even the oceans had their share of flora, vast lilies visible from orbit. Entering into that orbit now was a small vessel, slender, a domed prow flaring out before the rest of its long, narrow form, primarily composed of tube-like extensions that ringed the engine. The name Saga'venger was inscribed in the peculiar circular Tethysian letters on the hull. As it entered the atmosphere, the ring of tendrils that had been rigid enough to serve as an exhaust pipe began to shift behind the glowing prow. As it came in to land, the craft performed an elegant flip with the aid of thrusters, the tendrils extending out as landing gear to cushion the impact such that it did not even cause the round, blue fruit to fall from the nearby trees. Within the craft, Aepyon Haibeysspawn of the Order of the Silver Lantern grinned as they pushed off from the cockpit chair and swam to the crew compartment, their bright pink and white robe flowing around them, designed flawlessly to not interfere with their mobility. After several moments of hammering on the door, it slid open to reveal their two siblings, Arez and Avyar. It was Arez who opened the door, yawning at being so abruptly woken, dressed in a form-fitting pyjama bodysuit that would also serve as a survival capsule if some disaster jettisoned them into space while they slept. Avyar merely glared from their bunk. Though there were marks of family in their facial structures – not an essential feature of Tethysi reproduction, but a conscious choice of their parents – the three were not alike. Aepyon’s pale hair-like tendrils were tied tightly atop their head, while Arez had shaved themself bald. Avyar however wore theirs long, a practice becoming more popular among younger Tethysi. Arez and Aepyon had similar greenish teal skin and scales, while Avyar’s tended to the blue. Most of all, their personalities were at complete odds.
“What is it?” Arez demanded sleepily, rubbing their bald scalp, on which the lightest fuzz was starting to grow back. Then, they stopped. “Have we made landfall?”
“Oh, I have found us somewhere super cool!” Aepyon exclaimed giddily, somewhat enjoying the wince their slang elicited from their siblings. It was an affectation they had picked up from a particularly rebellious yet peaceful culture where they had spent several years. Arez pushed past them and looked out of the viewscreen, and could not hide a slight smile.
“This does seem quite the picturesque locale. Quite suitable for a duel.”
“Yes!” Aepyon leapt at the chance. “My losing streak ends today!”
“Hold onto that optimism,” Arez said, their smile broadening.
“Please don’t,” Avyar sighed, already changing into their deep magenta robes. Once the three were dressed, breathing masks donned with care, they disembarked into the small clearing in which their craft had landed.
“Right here?” Aepyon asked, already drawing their Wingbow, its length covered in small fins like feathers on a pinion. They were stalled as Arez raised a hand in a yellow-trimmed sleeve.
“Do you hear that?” they asked, and a moment later Aepyon did. A distant rustling, growing closer. They readied themselves immediately, Arez lowering their Wingspear while Avyar flicked a feather from their sleeve, which morphed smoothly into a small quillpistol. A child emerged, though it took a moment to recognise him as such, for he was not much shorter than Avyar’s 168 centimetres. His skin was a rich green, and his mouth was covered with a thin veil of skin.
“So… this planet is inhabited?” Avyar muttered, with a censorious glance at Aepyon.
“Hello, could I help you?” the child asked. That they could understand the language suggested that the Setting Assimilation of the three Tethysi had already completed, though not, perhaps, without hiccups. Sensing that one or both of their siblings was about to give a sardonic reply, Arez took the initiative.
“Yes, could you direct us to the closest civilisation please? We are newcomers here.”
“Okay!” the child replied, and hurried away. Arez and Aepyon had to move quickly to keep up, while Avyar followed at a greater distance. Eventually they came to a small castle in the forest, sturdily fashioned from smooth stone. The drawbridge was down, and as the two Tethysi entered they found themselves surrounded by other children of various ages, skin tones and heights, though all were on the tall side.
“Something seems peculiar here,” Arez whispered. Aepyon nodded.
“The castle looks pre-industrial, but the stones are too neat. They were definitely machined,” they replied, before turning to the youths. “Is there a greater civilisation nearby? A place of scientific advancement?”
“That would be Winteria Proxima, over there,” a child replied, pointing northeast.
“How old are you?” Arez asked, still looking around carefully. None of the individuals here seemed past their adolescence.
“I am 7 years old, my parents sent me to this town 3 days ago. Actually, all of us are here from age 7!” the child they had first encountered replied.
“You are sent to live in a castle in the forest at age 7? Savage,” Aepyon nodded approvingly.
“My parents are not savages!” the child complained. “They told me that I would have to go to the forest when I was 5 and I trained since then!”
“Sorry little dude, I didn’t mean it like that,” Aepyon replied. “Wait, 5 or 7?”
“You have my sincere apologies for my sibling’s behaviour,” Arez pushed Aepyon aside.
“Oh, are you brothers?” the child asked.
“Siblings,” Arez corrected, and Aepyon noticed the signs of an oncoming lecture on Tethysi biology and culture. Hurriedly, they pulled Arez into a whisper.
“Let’s just go,” they hissed, “talking to these children won’t do us any good.” Arez reluctantly nodded, and the two said their goodbyes to the odd assemblage.

Avyar met them not long after leaving the castle, heading in the direction they had been given.
“So, what should our next course of action be?” Arez mused out loud.
“Go somewhere else and hope no-one disturbs us?” Avyar suggested.
“We should see what the place is like first, c’mon,” Aepyon whined.
“At the very least it would be wise to make contact with some form of leadership in this nation,” Arez decided, and Avyar rolled their eyes.
“If that’s the case,” they said, lifting their Autobiography from their hip.
“What are you…” Arez began, but Avyar had already begun writing, licking the nib of a quill to supply it with ink.
“Setting Join,” they proclaimed as they wrote. There was an immediate shift, their body stretching to three metres in height, their robes morphing into clothes of a marginally similar fashion to those of the youths. Their mask faded from existence along with their scales and tendrils as a veil of skin covered their mouth. “Now that is weird,” Avyar said, their voice altered by the transformation. They stumbled for a moment before finding their balance.
“We should investigate further before such measures!” Arez chided, but their complaints were overshadowed by Aepyon’s excitement.
“So, who are you?” Aepyon asked, bouncing on the balls of their webbed feet.
“Eridian. Physically female,” Avyar replied, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “A junior security officer for Project: Lunea. Only child, parents deceased, rejected cultural convention to pursue this career. Not bad.”
“Lunea?” Arez repeated, glancing across the sky to see if the planet’s moon was visible.
“That’s a secret,” Avyar raised a finger to their covered mouth, causing Arez to choke back an expletive in growing exasperation. “Anyway, the capital is this way.” The Tethysi followed their altered sibling at a quick pace, but it still took them several hours to reach the city’s outskirts. It was indeed vastly more advanced than the crude fort they had visited, enough to elicit an impressed whistle that burbled through Aepyon’s mask. Equally notable were the people they passed.
“It seems you are not an exception,” Arez said to Avyar. Indeed, the Eridians were all of domineering stature, the females moreso than the males. All seemed fascinated with the newcomers as they made their way deeper into the city, an amassing crowd starting to follow at a distance. “So, if we are to do this formally, we should be escorted to meet with the local leader, or their representative,” Arez continued, glancing around uneasily. “Avyar, guide us there please.”
“Take us to your leader,” Aepyon added, altering the harmonics of their mask to distort the words, causing some of the nearby Eridians to shrink back from the sound.
“What? You don’t know where the leader’s house is?” Avyar loudly replied in mock surprise, looking around at the crowd. “Everyone else here does. Where are you from? You look nothing like us, you must surely be from outer space!” There was the unpleasant sound of grinding teeth from Arez’ mask speakers, but it was drowned out by the hubbub that rose from the surrounding people. As if invited, they rushed forward to bombard the two Tethysi with questions. Arez endured it for several seconds before erupting.
“Could you all please shut up! If none see fit to direct me to a representative of your leadership, I shall gladly depart and never set foot here again!”
“Chill, they are just curious,” Aepyon whispered.
“I heard everything.” Those of the crowd who had not fallen silent at Arez’ outburst did so now, though the speaker seemed no different than the others. Indeed, Aepyon found it difficult to even commit the newcomer’s appearance to memory. “I am Wirox. Come, follow me.” Aepyon glanced subtly at Avyar, who gave the slightest nod. Reassured, they took Arez’ arm and steered the other Tethysian after the Eridian, leaving their transformed sibling to whatever mischief they felt like dabbling in. After some time, they arrived at a large, pleasant abode, where an aide offered to take their weapons but did not insist when they demurred. “You probably don’t know how long we have searched to find other life out there,” Wirox said conversationally, preparing some variety of tea. Arez declined, but Aepyon happily accepted, finding it curious but palatable once filtered through their mask.
“I gathered as much from the earlier response, though I should confess that we did not come to this planet intending to make contact with an indigenous population,” Arez replied.
“Oh? Then what did you come here to do?”
“We came here to fight, dude,” Aepyon put in, taking another sip.
“We were seeking a picturesque location to serve as a backdrop to our duelling,” Arez clarified, having failed to hide a wince.
“Well, have you found the right planet! Here we have lots of sports and a lot of good food.”
“Our dietary restrictions are…” Arez began.
“Wait, really?” Aepyon interrupted. “People usually don’t want us fighting on their planets.”
“We would not do that. If you want to duel, you can duel. Call the rest of your people here, you are welcome to stay here for as long as you want!”
“If we can get this translation fixed…” Arez muttered under their breath.

Over the next few weeks, more Tethysi arrived. There was a customary exchange of knowledge, the libraries of the capital bustling as copies were made of many Eridian texts and space was made for the wealth of literature the visitors offered. There were a number of duels fought in one of the city’s many stadiums, which were packed to capacity as the Eridians came to watch the aliens fight each other or a champion from the planet’s own warriors. There were several overtures of romantic intent made towards the Tethysi, but all were rejected. Still, when Aepyon and their siblings left, accompanied by grand fanfare, the mood on the ship was one of melancholy. As their ship gracefully left the atmosphere and that very universe, they resolved to return to the colosseums of Nezmia one day.

Junior Security Officer Avyar never reported for duty, but by the time a report was submitted, she was already long gone, the only mark of her existence being the recordings of one of the most spectacular duels of the festivities.

The bank was like a military base. Guards were posted at every door – not just security, private mercenaries, as armed as the country’s lax laws would allow. That was unsurprising, given the prize within. Elga Mayflower shifted the view through her crystal ball, diving through the reinforced doors, across the main foyer filled with nervous customers, and down to the vault. Normally the lead incorporated into the steel walls would keep her gaze at bay, but the man hurrying down the stairs towards it would solve that for her. It had been a simple task to drop a seed of fear into the bank manager’s avaricious mind, and now she watched as he went through the lengthy process of unlocking the vault. The heavy door swung open, and she almost felt as though she could hear the screech of the metal and the sigh of relief that followed. The manager, a balding man in his late fifties, beheld the wealth he was temporarily assigned to holding. From over his shoulder, Elga watched too. It was all there. Gold, diamonds, art, all the usual treasures, but also something far more precious. She drew back, up through the floor to the main hall, where one of the thugs was harassing a middle-aged woman for taking too long to find her bank card, or so was Elga’s deduction. Her eye caught something as she was about to cancel the vision. There were a number of posters on the wall, bearing various likenesses. The frosty yet colourful Arctist, the flame-wreathed Incenduo twins, the ironclad Terrifying Magnetman, and other more forgettable figures. Then there was one depicted with robes as dark as her skin, a nose like a hook and piercing eyes under her wide-brimmed hat. Black Witch. Elga spat, and cancelled the vision. She had debuted as a supervillain four months before, lashing policemen to the front of the precinct to spell out her villain name – Hawthorn. She had thought that would be marvellous branding, but no. The press would have their way, regardless of her efforts. To the people of the city, she was Black Witch. Well, she would show them. She had little to fear from the hired guns, vault lock or other security measures. Her primary concern was one man. Returning to the crystal ball, she scanned the city for him. It should not be too difficult. Two and a half metres tall, broad as a door, clad in vibrant blue, arms like bags of footballs… there. She found him on a roof near the bank, hunched between the stairway entrance and some pipes. Lying in wait. He would have to be dealt with first. She snatched up her pointy hat, gathered up her robes – burnt umber, not black – assembled her satchel and pouches, and checked herself in the mirror. Her nose was long, as was her chin, but she was still sure they had altered things in that poster. What would complete her look today… yes. She snapped her fingers, and a faint gold veil cascaded from the hat’s rim. With that in place, she took up her broom and left her small apartment in the slums, soaring up into the smoggy sky.

She approached his hiding spot warily. His physical might was incredible, easily enough to kill her if she made a mistake. As she floated silently towards his wide back, tensed to react at an instant’s notice, she became aware of a noise. He was laughing, low and menacing. She drew back an arm, magic flaring, then realised it was not laughter. He was crying. At irregular intervals, his sobbing was interrupted by a gulp, after which it intensified before receding as he ran out of breath. She folded the gladiolus petal she was holding into her palm and lifted a rhododendron petal from a pouch, before hovering closer.
“Swolord?” she whispered. His fist came around in a savage arc, fast as a hammer-thrower about to launch. The rhododendron blazed, and she was magically shunted millimetres out of range of the mallet-like fist. She raised the gladiolus, but then saw his face. Tears and snot streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto the ‘S’ formed from two muscular arms emblazoned on his chest, a few droplets landing in the four-litre tub of ice cream in his lap. He looked at his fist, now half-buried in the stone of the stairway access, and bawled louder.
“B-Black Witch?” he blubbered once he had regained a phantom of decorum. Her lip curled at the name, but she held back from lashing out. He had come close to killing her many times in their previous encounters, closer than she had to killing him. This was an opportunity to find an alternative path.
“What’s wrong, Swolord?” she asked, subtly activating a poppy seed to magically enhance her consoling words.
“D-did you hear about yesterday?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, you fought Mammoth Mothman,” she replied. “I could see that fight from the slums.”
“Apparently… he’ll never walk again.”
“That is the least that tends to happen when you punch through someone’s stomach. Thorax? Whatever. Besides, he’s being locked away in a specially-made prison anyway, what does it matter?” Swolord quietened for a few seconds.
“Did you know he was a father?” he said eventually. She rolled her eyes.
“Oh yes. His kid died a few months before his debut, didn’t he? He was trying to find some way to bring him back, and instead gained the ability to turn into a giant furry moth-person. It happens.”
“One of them. It was in the news this morning. His other child… is still alive, and now…” the sobs resumed.
“Really?” she sighed, burning another poppy seed to reduce the bite of her scorn. “You realise pretty much all of the villains you fight regularly have a tragic backstory?”
“What?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“Oh yes. The Incenduo are orphans, who gained their powers from the house fire that took their parents. Snoroscerous is technically in a coma, Spinespine’s bone condition will probably kill her in a few years, Knifinger awakened his powers while hugging his husband, who died in prison after their relationship was revealed… I could go on.”
“I didn’t know any of this,” he whimpered. “I just punched and punched, thinking I was embodying justice and doing good.”
“Honestly, trying to embody justice through violence is arguably far from ‘good’ in the first place.”
“Really?” He blinked, wiping his face and lowering the tub of ice cream, which looked like it had defrosted a while ago. “Maximuman said that I was doing the right thing.”
“Maximuman is a government crony living in a taxpayer-funded mansion who calls slumfolk ‘peasants’,” she said.
“Slumfolk… You said you saw my fight from the slums. Do you live there?”
“Well, I…” she began, and was completely unprepared for the bear-like hug he swept her into.
“I can’t imagine how tough it must be for you!” he howled. “You must be suffering every day, you probably have a grandma to look after and a little brother you haven’t seen in years!”
“Something like that,” she muttered, peeling herself away and wondering if she had used too many poppy seeds as she picked out a hyssop and snapdragon to magically clean his face and chest.
“That bank… Are you wanting the money to help the poor? You are far more noble than I ever was. I’ll help you!”
“Oh thank you!” she said, burning a Hydrangea petal so that her gratitude would really sink in. His blush told her it had. “Just to be careful though, how about a little disguise?”

Vobris, soldier for hire, chewed some tobacco while looking over the line of people trying to avoid meeting his gaze as they waited to enter the bank. His gun arm itched. Across from him, his comrade Benz picked her nose, her even larger gun slung on its strap. He felt a momentary fuzz in his mind, which clarified a moment later. That gun. How dare she have a gun like that while he was forced to carry this pathetic thing.
“Hey, gimme that,” he snarled at her. The people between them flinched and drew back from his sudden accosting, and she flicked a lazy eye in his direction.
“You what?”
“Gimme that gun. I want it.”
“Buzz off.”
“You…” he began, growling as he strode across the entrance towards her. From the side of the building, Elga lowered the now-wilted yellow hyacinth petal and crept around the back. One of the guards from the rear was already hurrying to see what the commotion was, and she flicked a tarragon seed to ensure he would not just return after seeing it was nothing much. That left one more. She wove a zinnia flower through her hands, then mixed in a red rose and a hint of geranium. Overwhelmed by being left alone and with strange feelings awakening towards their departed comrade, the final guard rushed away.
“Follow me,” she whispered, and crept to the doors. She was in clear view of the cameras, but had planted sleepiness and ill-attention into the security chief’s mind days before, at the same time as she had whispered influence into the manager’s mind, and triggered them now. Behind her, a massive floral form moved. Swolord was a vision in white rose, honeysuckle, snapdragon and geranium, with hints of fennel and daisy. His entire upper torso was covered, and acanthus leaves formed a mask to hide his features. A belladonna silenced the alarms as he pulled the locked door open, and they slipped inside. They slipped through the corridors, avoiding guard posts she had mapped out during her scrying. There was no avoiding the two at the vault, but she had saved something special. She walked out towards them brazenly, Swolord behind. As they raised their weapons and were about to shout, a shower of candytuft flowers filled the air as she spread them from the satchel at her side. The guards blinked, then went back to talking, completely ignoring the two people who walked between them. At the vault door, she began methodically following the procedure she had watched the manager perform. She was almost finished when she heard the gasp behind her. “Ah, right on time,” she said, turning to see the manager himself at the bottom of the stairs. She could see the need she had reawakened, and invited him to input the final biometric measure to unlock the vault and sate his desperate worry. Instead he shrank back, so she sighed and nodded to Swolord, who tapped him on the head with a knuckle. The little man collapsed unconscious.
“That felt mean,” Swolord muttered.
“Pass me his hand,” Elga commanded, and it was proffered. She touched it to the keyplate, and the door screeched open.
“Gather what you can, those poor people need all the help she can get!” she said, and Swolord nodded resolutely. Meanwhile, she nonchalantly slipped deeper, until she found the reinforced containers with the hazard markings. She smiled as she knelt to touch one, raising a pouch lined with evergreen clematis and tiger lily. With a swirl of petals, it vanished within the tiny bag, and she moved on to the next.
“Stop!” came a booming voice. She turned, and saw a figure in the vault doorway. Shorter than Swolord, but not by much thanks to his mechanised armour, jet gauntlets primed and a golden ‘M’ embossed on his chestplate, Maximuman stood glaring at them through glowing lenses.
“I thought you would come here, Black Witch,” he snarled, his voice distorted by his helmet. Then, he turned to Swolord. “And with a friend.” An instant later, the massive flowery form was hurtling backwards, overturning crates and scattering paper as he was struck in the chest by a powered fist. Maximuman turned to her. She activated some holly and sage, barely catching the faintest whiff of their scents before his fist hammered into her warding arms. Even reinforced, the bones broke, but the strike was still halted. He harrumphed in irritation, the exhaust on the elbow of his left arm flaring as he charged it for another strike, but it never landed. A massive vine-wrapped hand landed on his shoulder, Swolord spinning him around before delivering an uppercut that drove the armoured head and shoulders through the steel and lead ceiling into the concrete beyond. He grabbed at a flailing leg, but it sprouted blades that lacerated his palm as Maximuman flexed and broke free, his helm dented but unbroken. He landed heavily and immediately launched himself at Swolord with that same terrible speed, but the erstwhile hero was ready for him this time. Their fists collided, two pairs of feet being driven into the stone floor as it absorbed the impact, gold and notes blown away by the shockwave. Elga turned away, her arms already healing thanks to the sage, and hurriedly absorbed another container.
“One more,” she whispered.
“No, stop!” Maximuman roared, his voice even more incoherent as Swolord slammed his head into the ground once, twice, three times before being driven off by a rapid succession of punches like two jackhammers. “Anything but those, do you know what those will do in the wrong hands?”
“Silence, villain!” Swolord bellowed, delivering a haymaker that shattered the proud ‘M’ and left Maximuman slumped in the ruin that had been an extremely valuable sculpture. Elga winced, though not at the savage attack or cultural destruction. She should have expected Swolord’s habits to cause a problem.
“Wait… Swolord, is that you?” Maximuman wheezed. “What has she done to you? Please, if you are still in there, stop her! With the dragon bones in those containers, she could create a curse that would bring ruin and misery to the entire city!”
“Lies! She is here to help the…” he began, then looked around, and spotted her sheepishly trying to sneak out of the vault. “Poor,” he finished, looking around at the wealth. “You didn’t take any of the money,” he said.
“Yeah… about that…” she began. He leapt at her, but with a snap of her fingers the spells woven across his form activated. His massive fist redirected into his own face instead of hers as geraniums bloomed down his arm, while honeysuckle wrapped around his ankles and wrists to bring him down, bound, to his knees in front of her.
“But… I thought…” he said desperately.
“Sorry,” she smiled, a tansy in one hand and nasturtium in the other. “I am also just evil.” She brought them together, whispered the spell and threw them in to the room as she closed the vault door on his outraged face. She made five steps before the blast sent her stumbling, the still unlocked vault door blown off its hinges, but containing the worst of the blast. She looked back, but all she could see was the already damaged ceiling of the vault collapsing. Only one more thing to do.

The Black Witch had already retrieved her broom from an alley and escaped into the sky by the time Swolord dug himself free, carrying Maximuman under one arm. He collapsed as rescue crews hurried to check on him and his charge, his eyes leaden. They flickered open at a flicker of white. Rustling in the wind through a fallen wall, a small shrub nestled atop the ruin. The white flowers dotting its branches spelled out a name. Hawthorn.