Return of the Hero 8 - The Problem

Despite telling himself that he wouldn't look into it, curiosity won out and Lucas did a brief search into Solarianism. It really wasn't anything special; just a US-based religion that worshipped the rising sun or something. Their home page and what little information he could find talked more about where to find their temples and their outreach programs rather than their theology, which is what he was truly interested in.

That, in turn, led him down a rabbit hole. He looked up a couple of the other new religions; including Arcanism, the Scientology-style offshoot that worshipped magic rather than science, or perhaps a bit of both, and a few other minor ones. None were as interesting or big as Arcanism or Solarianism. But most importantly, he found himself smirking and cackling as he reread some of the old myths.

Zeus' swan story, which was an absolutely hilarious read considering he actually knew the guy. There were also some of Heracles' myths, the missing stories of Cu Chulainn, and a number of other 'mythological' stories that were hilariously wrong. Lucas would have to tease all of them about it, next time he met them. Assuming next time he tried to call he actually got heaven, and not a demon.

And that was how George found him. At ten o'clock in the late morning, arms trembling from doing a few pushups; barely ten at a time, he was ashamed, with the smart TV on and opened to the internet as he browsed and watched videos on what people thought about the myths.

"That's not right!" he protested, pointing one hand at the TV screen as the commentator talked about the ancient history of Greece, and Heracles' mythos.

"What's not right?" George asked, and Lucas nearly leapt out of his skin. His brother had opted not to use the door like a normal person; no, he had to fly and land on the patio to enter from the balcony, which is why Lucas hadn't noticed him.

"Jesus, George! Warn a guy, will you?" he complained, settling back down on the couch and huffing at his brother. He just flashed a smile, not in his superhero costume like expected but dressed in thick jeans, a leather jacket, and flight goggles that were pulled up onto his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatcha watching?" he asked, peering at the tv. He frowned. "The history of Hercules? I forgot how much of a history nerd you are."

"It's Heracles," Lucas snapped. "You only call him Hercules when -" he cut himself off, biting his tongue and glaring at the tv for a moment. He only called Heracles Hercules when he was annoyed with the man and wanted to bug him. But he couldn't' say that. He...I want someone to talk to about all this, he realized, leaning back on the couch.

It wasn't just because it was the right thing to do. He wanted to tell them.

"Right, I don't care. How was it while I was gone?" George interrupted Lucas' thoughts, and it took a moment for him to collect himself, eyeing his younger brother. Visually, he looked ok. There were bags under his eyes and a haunted light buried deep beneath the mask he wore.

"Fine. Figured out my body is too weak to play with my magic too much," Lucas lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers, which had fresh bandages. "How was your thing?"

"Huh. Weird. That usually only happens with people a-rank or above." George said conversationally. Lucas heard the tone in his voice. Heard a little something that he was too old, too used to dealing with everything from angels and devils to gods, to not notice. He wasn't dancing around a subject, perse, but he and Elizabeth both had the same sort of reaction when he mentioned that.

"And? How was work?" Lucas pressed, letting it slide in favor of caring for his brother's mental state. George was silent for a long, tense moment, the video playing in the background.

"Three c-class heroes died. Two b-class. I had to go in and recover the bodies, then close the rift myself, so I'm a little tired." George said bluntly.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Anyone you knew?" he asked genuinely. George's jaw tightened.

"Yeah. One of the c-classers I'd worked with before a few times; he was a good porter. Had an escape ability, could meld into shadows. He - he got a little too comfortable with the others in the group and was jumped by a needle hound. He died maybe an hour before I was sent in." He said, crossing his arms. Lucas silently waited for him to continue, to try and blame himself or anything else, but he never did.

He didn't need to. His magic spoke for him. Outside, wind howled against the glass, pounding against the windows in time with his breaths. Lucas folded his hands in his lap and let George find himself, pushing no further.

"Sorry," he said after a short moment, unzipping his jacket. "That's part of the job, but it never gets easier."

"No," Lucas agreed quietly, feeling out George's magic. Just like Elizabeth's, his magic was skewed. It was all roaring wind and a breeze that pretended not to listen, very little of the genuinely carefree, happy boy he knew. Part of it was probably where he was mentally right now. Part of it, however, ran deeper.

"That's why we don't want you to go into the gates." George admitted, moving over to sit in front of Lucas, on the coffee table. Lucas closed his eyes. Yeah. He would have reached this answer sooner anyways, but it was about time to come clean. That was the only way he could help them. Not right now, of course, George and Elizabeth had to be together, but sooner than later. "I know you don't want to hear this, but we are doing it to protect you. And Elizabeth and I already discussed this, so we don't want it to come as a surprise if you soon find out you're more powerful than a d-rank."

Lucas opened his eyes, meeting George's own blankly. "What makes you say that?" he asked, more out of his own curiosity.

"Just what we can feel from you. Weaker heroes don't injure themselves with their powers when their bodies are weak, either. You are most probably a-rank or higher. But I want you to know that we will keep that a secret. We don't want you to go into the gates. I don't want to lose my brother again." He admitted, and that little admission hurt more than anything else. Lucas heart clenched, his lips pressed together to keep them from trembling as he reached out and laid a hand on George's shoulder.

"Nothing's going to hurt me, George," he promised. George just smiled, that kind of smile that said he thought his words were empty platitudes.

"You can't promise that. No one can." he said ."That's the kind of world we live in, now. We will try to protect you, but." he trailed off.

"You don't need to protect me," Lucas assured him, standing, a fire igniting in his chest. Next time the two twins were together, he'd show them. He'd work out, figure out what he could do without blowing his hand off, then show them. "Let me be your big brother, yeah? It's my job to look after my baby brother,"

"I'm serious, Lucas," George said, though a small smile still danced on his face. Lucas laughed, a deep, chesty laugh as he set his hands on his hips.

"So am I," he said.

***

Lucas greatly underestimated how busy both George and Elizabeth were. Elizabeth got called to another gate opening while she was already at one, and George had to go help close one that opened in Wyoming, where there weren't enough Heroes to handle the b-rank gate that opened. Occasionally they were called out together, and Lucas ended up seeing them for maybe a few days at a time for that first month. Both of them assured him that it would calm down soon - apparently gate appearances increased drastically around the solstices and equinoxes, and the summer solstice had just passed - but until that time he was left largely to his own devices.

Which worked out fine. It let him do some physical conditioning in preparation for his big revelation. Not just any physical conditioning; Heracles-style, holy-magic assisted, hell training because his weak body was increasingly pissing him off. He ate well. Not just the cheap ramen or delivery food Elizabeth and George seemed so inclined to eat, but actual food. Chicken and dirty rice. Fresh veggies. Healthy breakfasts. Good, unhealthy soul food that he cooked and was far better for the body simply because it was fresh and of decent quality.

Plus, that gave him the excuse to get out of that penthouse and go on walks and runs when he felt up to it. Once or twice he went to a bar, a sports bar, with money Elizabeth had given him for spending, just to see how bar culture had changed. It grated on his nerves and pride to have to rely on them for money, but he was still recovering and adjusting, and he knew better than to rush that.

Thankfully, beer was still a thing. So was whiskey. All the micro-breweries he had grown used to before falling into a coma - no, he hadn't drunk alcohol before the legal limit, why would anyone accuse him of such a thing, that's preposterous and totally in-character - were gone, replaced with just the basic stuff, and some new brews like Wizards Wonder and The Cyclone.

Lucas was actually pretty miffed his brother hadn't told him he had a beer named after him. That was actually cool.

Sports, on the other hand, were both changed and...not. MMA, football, American football, those sorts of things still existed, but they were not nearly as interesting to the average viewer than body-cam footage of superheroes delving into gates, clearly carefully edited to cut out the worst parts, or what Lucas could only describe as Superhero Gladiators.

They'd arrive in a coliseum, a stadium, beat the snot out of each other at superhuman speed with lightening and elements being thrown around with arbitrary rules, and the winner would move on. Or, alternatively, monsters would be thrown into the ring, and the superheroes would fight them. Lucas saw it for what it was; they chose monsters the heroes clearly knew how to fight because Heroes could never lose to monsters, but that didn't make it less entertaining.

Even he cheered when a woman in what could only be described as a wrestling outfit suplexed a monster that looked like a dinosaur with way too many spikes. That was just good, clean fun. Though he was certain PETA wasn't happy...if they were even still around.

It was jarring when something he thought was standard just no longer existed. It was like stepping into a whole new world, an opposite dimension that was in some ways incredibly similar and in many ways jarringly different.

Near the end of that first six weeks in Elizabeth's penthouse, however, he ran into his first gate, and finally figured out what had been bugging him so much about where and why they appeared. It was during one of his early morning runs. The sun was just cresting the horizon, igniting the sky in reds and oranges. The city was just starting to wake, a few cars trundling down the road, a few people getting up and moving, coffee shops opening their doors.

Lucas felt sick to his stomach. He hated running in the city. Sweat matted his forehead, his simple grey shirt sticking to hi scrawny, but quickly filling out, body, feet propelling him along the pavement. Pollution stung his lungs, filling his body with toxins that he had to purge out of his system every night. And the natural energy of the land -

Whatever was going on today, it was making his head spin and eyes burn. Anger, fear, worry, all those emotions burned through the land, crashing against him even though he had closed himself off the best he could. Spirits screamed. The blasted internet filled the air, Wi-Fi from a hundred different spots crackling like waves to his senses, but still he ran.

He ran, until, for a brief moment, he paused, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees, panting, sweat dripping down hi nose.

Two large buildings lay just to his left, apartment buildings or something, with a narrow alleyway filled with dumpsters and trash between them. He looked over.

And saw a gate swirl into existence. It was like watching the air tear apart like paper - a frighteningly familiar sight from his millennia of war. Shards of air like broken glass did not herald the arrival of the Unspoken Ones minions, much to his immediate relief. Instead it looked to him more like a zipper, jagged edges that might be sewn back together, not needing to be healed like a gaping wound.

The portal was red in color. A deep, crimson blood red, the surface rippling as if it was a viscous liquid. Lucas reached out briefly with his senses, touching it and feeling the natural energy of the portal. It felt like anger. Hatred. Burning eyes and a swirling head because of it. Ah, he realized. That's what it is. The natural energy of the cities is connecting the gates to specific places...I bet I know a way to fix it, but it'd take a lot of work. Complete redesign of the urban landscape to sit with the natural energy, not fight it like it is now. Lucas had half a mind to go over and touch the gate, but then something else happened.

A demon poked its head through.

It was a little thing. An imp, maybe, with a skeletal head and cute little horns poking up out of the top of its red, fleshless skull. A crooked nose of bone hung from its face, teeth bared in an eternal smile, red fire burning in its eyes. Lucas recognized the sort. He'd estimate it as a, what, a b-rank creature based on this world's ranking systems? Not an imp, but an Imp Commander, that managed thousands of the lesser, almost bestial demons.

It met his eyes, and froze. Lucas raised an eyebrow, straightening up, shoulders squaring.

The Imp Commander raised its shaking, skeletal hands - loose skin hanging over bone - in surrender and promptly pulled its way back into the portal. Lucas huffed and turned away, confident nothing in that gate would want to step through, now.

"I thought creatures weren't supposed to exit gates for a few hours? Something about building up the opening and magical energy," he muttered, resuming his run. Unfortunately he didn't have his phone with him to report the gate, but it didn't matter much. That thing wouldn't be a problem. Only a block further, and he nearly ran into a superhero; a young man of maybe eighteen, with dyed blue hair and an armored spandex blue outfit. A white cape hung from his shoulders. "Oh, good," he said, after dodging the young man.

"You alright?" he asked, flashing a cheesy grin. "Want an autograph?"

"I'm good. No, I think I heard something in that alleyway a block back. Might want to check it out." He told the young man, then resumed his run once more.

Well, that was probably at least a b-rank gate, he mused as he continued, flexing his hand. Which means George and Elizabeth will be back. Probably together, since it's their hometown. His conditioning wasn't perfect. But, at this point, it was high time he had this conversation with them. He was done waiting. He would have caused a commotion himself if they didn't come back soon.

He'd figured out why the gates were forming in the city. And, more importantly, he wanted to tell someone. What magic he could channel would be good enough for a proper demonstration.

Whistling to himself, the pollution still burning his lungs and foul emotions running high from the mess that was the city's chaotic natural energy, he ran all the way home, and readied himself for an interesting conversation that had been a long time coming.