Yet Another Way

Introduction: A Death in the Family

A/N: The first three sentences are taken directly from canon.

1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it.

2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations.

3) I will accept any legitimate criticism of my work. However, I reserve the right to ignore anyone who says "That's wrong" without showing how it is wrong, and suggesting how it can be made right. Posting negative reviews from an anonymous account is a good way to have said reviews deleted.

Marquis surrounded himself in plates of bone that resembled the petals of a flower blooming in reverse, and sank into the ground.

Any other day, Brandish would have followed him into the room below. A wine cellar, it seemed.

Instead, she turned and charged for the closet, creating a sword out of the crackling energy her power provided, slashing through the plates of bone that had surrounded it, then drawing the blade back to thrust through the wooden door-

Marquis emerged between her and the closet door and ducked away, trying to draw her from her target. She plunged the sword into the heavy wood and through it, smelling the smoke from the charred door. Fuck you, Marquis. Whatever you're protecting is gone.

And then she heard the high-pitched cry, cut off a moment later. From within the closet. And she smelled the burning flesh.

"NO!" screamed Marquis. He held his hand out; the bones emerged from his hand, forming into a flat-based battering ram, smashing her backward until she formed into her invulnerable ball shape. A moment later, it spread outward, forming a barrier of bone around Marquis and the closet.

Manpower stepped forward, looking at Brandish and Lady Photon. "What the fuck just happened?" he asked.

The bone barrier dropped. Marquis was revealed, but now he was carrying a burden. A girl. A toddler, not much younger than Vicky. The girl was brown haired, freckle-faced, and wore a silk nightgown with lace at the collar and sleeves. It looked expensive for something a child would wear. There was a neat burn in the nightgown, just below the breastbone.

"Daddy," she breathed, then what little life was left in her was gone forever.

"Oh, god," whispered Lady Photon. "Your daughter?"

Tears were streaming down Marquis' face, unheeded. "The most precious treasure in the world. Her name was Amelia." Lowering his face, he planted a kiss on his child's brow.

"Christ, man, I'm sorry," Manpower muttered awkwardly. "We didn't know -"

"You didn't know?" Marquis asked, his head coming up. "You didn't know?"

His left arm still supporting his dead child, the hand turned; bone shot out to strike Manpower and drive him backward, fastening him to the wall in a cage of spikes driven deep into the wall.

"Did you even look?" he raged, turning his attention to Lady Photon. "Did you even try to find out?" Shards of bone speared from the floor, surrounding her. In a moment, she was entombed in a sarcophagus, only her face showing. Her arms, visible in relief, were crossed over her chest, the palms pressed to her shoulders.

Brandish ignited her light-sword once more, then the most terrible pain lanced into her back. She screamed at the tearing agony, as the spike of bone punched out through her chest.

But he doesn't hurt women or children!

Instinctively, she shifted to her invulnerable form, then back to human, once she was away from the bone spike. But the hole through her body was still there; she dropped to her knees, coughing blood.

"Congratulations, Brandish dear," he murmured to her, stepping closer. Bone encased her hands, pulled them behind her back. "Many have tried my resolve when it came to hurting women and children. Jack Slash came the closest, but even he failed. But you … you managed it. If I had let my weapon hurt you, then we would not have come to this. I failed my Amelia once. I will not fail her memory – murderer."

Bone shards speared throughout her body, entering every organ, setting off a blaze of agony. She went to her invulnerable form once more, went to human.

They were still there.

Marquis stood looking down at her, with absolutely no pity on his face.

And then the real agony began.

The next morning, the caretaker at the Brockton Bay cemetery found an elaborate tomb constructed of some smooth hard white material, where none had been the day before. Two angels, intricately carved, held a plaque which read:

AMELIA CLAIRE LAVERE

BELOVED DAUGHTER

TAKEN FAR TOO SOON

1994-2000

"REST EASY, MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS ..."

On a much smaller plaque, out of view of the casual onlooker, there was a different message:

Don't even think about moving her – Marquis

An anonymous phone tip led ambulance personnel to a car on the outskirts of town, which held five people. Or rather, what had once been five people. Their skeletons were twisted, partly shrunken and partly expanded, to a degree far beyond grotesquerie. That they were still alive was a tribute to the art of whoever had left them in such a condition.

Worse, they still wore costumes, or the remains of costumes, that identified them as five of the six members of the Brockton Bay Brigade. Of the sixth member, Brandish, no trace was ever found.

They were admitted to palliative care in a parahuman asylum, where they would live out the rest of their lives under the care of others.

"Crystal, Victoria, Eric, come in please."

The three children trooped into the director's office. She had done her best to make sure that it wasn't spartan and unfriendly to children, with beanbags and a colourful play area, to which Eric headed immediately. Accompanied by their carer, Crystal and Victoria fronted up to the desk.

Director Kelly looked them over. A not unkind woman, she liked to think that she had a certain empathy with children. It had been more than a month since they had been taken into care, following the … incapacitation … of their respective parents. Crystal, a solemn eight-year-old, seemed to be bearing up well, although there were reports of her younger brother crying at night and wetting the bed. Of course, he was only four, so there were some allowances to be made.

Victoria, on the other hand, did her best to be cheerful and upbeat; Kelly knew that she cried, but only when she thought nobody could see.

Their parents hadn't died, but what had happened to them was almost as bad; they could never exist in normal society, never live without care. They were healthy and young and would be a burden on the state for many years to come. She had viewed photographs of what had been done to them, and then burned the photographs. It didn't matter; she would never forget the images.

And left behind, there were the children. They wouldn't even be allowed to see their parents until they reached the age of majority; they could send them letters or speak to them over the phone before then. Of course, the Pelhams and Mark Dallon would be unable to reply, what had been done to them had left them entirely incapable of speech or writing, or even seeing in the same direction with both eyes at once.

She didn't even want to know what had happened to Carol Dallon.

"You wanted to see us, Miss Kelly?" asked Crystal politely.

Kelly nodded. "Yes. As it happens, there's a nice man with the very best of references who is willing to take in all three of you. Jenny will be going with you, of course. She'll take care of you while you're living in his house."

She had checked over the references herself, and had been impressed. A large house, a professed tolerance of the rambunctiousness of young children, and plenty of outdoor space for them to play in.

"Can I still send letters to Mommy and Daddy?" asked Victoria.

"Of course," Kelly assured her. "We'll be sending all the photographs you have of them, so you can put them up in your rooms."

"Good," Crystal stated. "Eric, come here."

Eric looked up from bashing a plastic locomotive on to the floor, and trotted over to his big sister. "What?" he asked.

"We've got a new Daddy, and Jenny's going to be like our Mommy," Crystal explained to him.

"I don't want a new Daddy or Mommy," he whined.

"Well, they won't be our real daddies or mommies," Vicky explained brightly. "They'll just be taking care of us until our real daddies and mommies come back from their secret mission."

Kelly was mildly impressed. The children had obviously come up with an explanation as to why they couldn't see or speak to their parents, independently of the so-called child experts who regularly checked to make sure that they had 'natural and healthy development'. It wasn't a bad one, either.

She pressed a button on her intercom. "Send him in, please."

The door opened, and a tall man with long brown hair, tied back, entered the room. "Hello," he greeted them. "I'm guessing you're Crystal," he posited, pointing at Eric.

Crystal giggled. "No, silly. I'm Crystal."

The man rubbed his chin, as if in thought. "Then you must be Eric," he decided, pointing at Vicky.

Vicky shook her head, giggling harder than Crystal. "No, I'm Vicky."

The man dropped to one knee before them. "Well, I'm very pleased to meet you all, Crystal, Vicky, Eric." He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke their names.

"What's your name?" asked Vicky.

"Oh, silly me, I forgot to introduce myself." The man smiled brilliantly. "My name is Mark."

End of Introduction