A/N: Chap 11 review responses are in my forums like normal. This is the final chapter before Part II begins. While it providers a different POV for some of what happened, there are a few nuggets of important information for the next arc.

Thanks all for reading.

Chapter Twelve: Chorus

The little Fiat rental rattled as Hannah drove over the causeway to the Isla De Palomas off the tip of Spain. The former military base bristled with hastily erected tents and more humanity than it could comfortably hold.

This was the fourth camp she'd visited that morning, ever since footage surfaced last night explaining why the cape volunteers who arrived in Morocco to fight the sudden, unexpected appearance of Leviathan found themselves with nothing to fight.

The grainy footage was provided by one of the French volunteers who came to aid in the last-minute evacuation from Tangier. People knew about Ashbeast's path into Morocco, but no one was expecting Moord Nag's Hausa parahuman warlords to use it as an opportunity to commit genocide. When the reality of the situation made itself known across the Mediterranean, volunteers acted before governments could formulate a plan. Average citizens began ferrying people across the straight from North Africa into Spain and France.

The brave yachtsman recorded Leviathan's first devastating attack in the middle of Tangier ferry terminal. At first it looked like a normal, if particularly vicious, Endbringer attack. It all changed when Leviathan's behavior suddenly shifted in a way that left the world's Thinkers scratching their heads.

Leviathan stopped in the middle of the bay, ignoring thousands of helpless victims, and spun its head toward the terminal causeway as if looking for a specific individual.

The witness must have been using a camera with a powerful telephoto lens because he was able to telescope the image enough that Militia could see a pale figure running through the crowds as if the civilians weren't there at all, casually bowling people over. He then leapt fifty feet across a stretch of the bay to a parking area off the water and directly in front of the Endbringer.

Leviathan watched this man's every move like a cat watching a mouse. And when the figure stood alone, shouting something no one could hear, Militia and beside her Armsmaster both felt a surge of shock.

With ash-white skin and now visible red tattoo looping from his eyes to around his chest like a snake, the figure of Daniel Hebert was unmistakable on the television.

Leviathan surged forward with both claws and water echo in a personal attack Militia had seen reserved only for the likes of Alexandria, Eidolon or Legend. Somehow Daniel Hebert plowed through a water echo, grabbed the thirty-foot tall city-destroyer and threw him into a parking lot inland.

Not even Alexandria could have man-handled the beast like that.

Hebert chased after, withstanding a water attack that reduced a few bystanders to paste, and then again pushed Leviathan back inland, away from the refugees.

The Protectorate and European parahuman volunteers arrived with unaffiliated capes and local villains to a fight that appeared to be over. They turned instead to assisting with the evacuation well into the night. Leviathan was nowhere to be seen.

The explosion that rocked the countryside and lit the sky up three hours later at first looked like a repeat of London. It wasn't until enough ash settled late the next day that Militia and the other capes realized what happened.

Ashbeast was dead. Somehow, Hebert either led or manhandled Leviathan far enough inland to use the two against each other. Dragon's sonar and satellite detected Leviathan escaping near the coastal city of Lareche in the predawn hours of the next day. There was no sign of Hebert, only a massive crater near what was once the village of Moulay Abdeslam.

She and Armsmaster both saw the video while staying in the home of El Campeador, Spain's most powerful flying brute and the de facto leader of that nation's cape community. She and the other American heroes were scheduled to return via Strider's teleportation the next morning when El Campeador himself walked into his spacious parlor where he was hosting a dozen foreign heroes and announced the news of Ashbeast's death.

She and the others watched on El Campeador's massive flat-screen television the shaky footage, and then watched Dragon's public report, until she realized who she was looking at.

"I thought the Heberts died in Tunisia," Armsmaster said. "Where have they been for the past year?"

"More importantly," Miss Militia said. "Where's his daughter?"

The next morning was spent on the phone, calling anyone she could to ask about teenaged American capes in the refugee camps. It wasn't until she got a hold of an adjutant in the country's army that she heard the rumor of a cape in one of the refugee centers that healed a boy, only to collapse in pain doing so.

After three hours of driving and visiting various refugee camps, she was praying that Isla de Palomas panned out better than the first three.

The base commander stood in the small parking area set between tents and the old barracks from the base's history. He was a tall man, with a slight belly and a hairline that long ago lost the fight to cover his head.

"Miss Militia?" His English was passable but heavily accented. "I am Fernando Bunuel, Commander of this facility. A pleasure."

Hannah had a much better command on Spanish and switched accordingly. "Yes, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Did you get my message?"

"Yes," he said, pleased to speak his native tongue. "But it appears you did not get mine. I have your girl. She collapsed yesterday and finally confessed her identity."

Militia blinked in surprise. "Confessed?"

"She'd lied to our census people because she wanted to stay in the camp. So her father could find her. She said it was her father who fought Leviathan."

Militia shook her head as she followed the old officer into the camp. "It was, we saw confirmation last night. It's possible her dad had a role in killing Ashbeast, too."

"My God! I'm glad you are here. She is very ill, Miss Militia. I fear she will die without more aide than we can give her, here."

"Do you know what's wrong?"

"She says only that it is genetic."

When he led her to the camp's medical tent, she was surprised to see one of the refugees working with the camp's overworked doctor to perform parahuman healing. Like many capes from non-Western nations, the young woman didn't bother with a mask as she touched a young man's swollen, infected knee. It glowed and was suddenly whole.

With that job done, the woman looked at Miss Militia, then glanced to a cot set at the back of the tent.

"She has done much for this camp," Command Bunuel said softly from behind Militia as they walked into the tent. "Our healer has a limited effect, so the child's touch helped guide the healing. The people here call her Angel. She has helped me calm the new parahuman triggers. The people knew she sacrificed herself to heal a little boy. And now they know it was her father who saved them from Leviathan."

The girl on the cot barely resembled the young woman Militia first saw in Brockton Bay. For one, she'd lost a lot of weight from her already too-thin frame. Her hair looked lank, unwashed and clumped together from sweat and dirt. Her now prominent cheeks had a high flush of fever and her dried, split lips looked almost blue.

Her eyes cracked open, little pools of glimmering emerald stared unfocused for the longest time before her pupils contracted.

"What are you doing here?" The girl's voice sounded like a flute made of sandpaper, rough and high pitched and completely different than their last meeting.

"I volunteer for all Endbringer fights, everywhere. No, the question is what you're doing here, Taylor."

The girl squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head into the bunched blanket that served as her pillow.

In a choked whisper, she said, "My dad said he'd find me."

Hannah had seen many terrible things in her life. So, one more should not have broken her heart as thoroughly as this. "Oh, sweetie."

Behind her the commander continued extolling Taylor's virtues. He sounded completely smitten with the young girl, like a doting grandfather.

At her request, the commander himself scooped the stick-thin girl from the cot and carried her out of the tent. The moment she stepped outside, though, Hannah tensed. A dense crowd of refugees stood just outside, most women and children. The air above their heads fluttered with various insects flying in an obviously directed pattern.

When Bunuel emerged and the refugees focused on the girl in his arms, Hannah understood. She walked forward, aware of the quiet, dignified respect the refugees showed the young cape in their midst, touching her as if she were a saint as Bunuel carried her.

She didn't hear what Bunuel shared with the girl as he secured her in Militia's rental, but she had no doubt it was a heartfelt goodbye. She took the opportunity to send a text to Armsmaster to let him know she'd found the girl and to hold transport until she arrived.

~~Theogony~~

~~Theogony~~

Hannah watched as Zoe Barnes leaned over to move a strand of lank hair from Taylor's forehead. The Barnes were the only emergency contact the PRT could find on record at Arcadia High School for the Hebert's, but fortunately they came without hesitation as soon as Taylor arrived at Brockton General.

Zoe covered her mouth in horror when she saw how wasted and ill Taylor looked. Militia couldn't blame her.

"It's been a year," Zoe said, restating herself for the third time. "I don't understand. Were they in Africa the entire time? What was Daniel thinking, letting her get this sick?"

"The last time I spoke, Taylor insisted that only her father could help her," Hannah explained again. "We don't know the details, but Parahuman powers act in strange ways. We can't always predict what a particular parahuman needs. We not even sure what Taylor's power is, aside from a healing power that hurts her. But before her death Mrs. Hebert completed a Guardian of Minor Power of Attorney naming you, Mrs. Barnes, as Taylor's attorney in fact for medical decisions. We'd like your consent for Panacea."

"Oh! Yes, of course!"

The proper form was signed, and as soon as Panacea arrived at the hospital she went straight to the semi-private room the PRT was holding Taylor. The healer cape's first reaction was that of a typical teen—snark. "Wow, she looks like shit. Where's she been since she blew my sister through a wall?"

Hannah had forgotten about the initial incident until then. "We don't know for sure, but we believe her father personally beat back Leviathan and might have killed Ashbeast."

"Danny did that?" Alan Barnes gaped in shock, while his wife just covered her mouth with her hands as if in prayer.

"Huh, good for him," Panacea said, as if talking about a school attendance award. "So, consent form's signed? I'm all legal?"

Hannah waved the form at her. Panacea stepped forward and touched the girl's arm just above a line of stylistic tattoos that circled her wrist. Not even a second later the powerful healer screamed and jerked her hand away.

"Son of a bitch!" she shouted.

Hannah stared, dumbfounded, at the burn blisters already forming on the tips of the healer's fingers. She ran to the door and shouted, "I need medical attention in here!"

Half an hour later in a private meeting room, after the second degree burns on Panacea's fingers were treated, the young healer finally gave her report.

"I can't heal her."

"Because of the burns?"

Panacea shook her head. "I was fine just touching her, but the moment I used my power to figure out what was wrong, her skin burned me. Thing is? It felt like a warning. I can't say why, but I know if I try again, it'll kill me."

Hannah couldn't help but frown. "Did you get anything from her?"

The teen, who happened to be the single most powerful healing cape in the world, gave a Gallic shrug. "Yeah. She has no Corona Pollentia or Gemma, and her blood wasn't normal, at all. I don't know what the fuck she is, but she's not a parahuman. At least, not like any I've seen."

~~Theogony~~

~~Theogony~~

When Hannah got the call from the hospital and the PRT agents on site that Taylor Hebert was abducted, all she could feel was shame. Somehow, she'd let another person down despite all her best efforts.

An hour later, when the preliminary investigation revealed who abducted her, she felt betrayal and rage. It was only the Protectorate's affiliate relationship with Canada's Guild that kept the whole situation from exploding.

Narwhal came in of her own volition late the next afternoon following her abduction of Taylor Hebert and the subsequent disappearance of the young girl.

The Toronto cape as always looked spectacular, clad in a shimmering array of thumb-sized violet forcefields that clung to a body that, if not for being seven-feet-tall, would have been perfect. She waved at the handful of visitors in the Brockton Bay Protectorate gift shop and even knelt down to sign an autograph for a star-struck little boy.

Even pre-pubescent boys were enamored of the buxom giantess with the glowing unicorn horn she projected from her forehead, Hannah thought with just a touch of jealousy. Hannah's most ardent fans were subscribers of Trucks 'n Guns. She would never, ever forgive their PR department for that nightmare.

Narwhal's public smile faltered a little when she saw her friend by the door, but if nothing else Narwhal was both strong and brave. She set her full, violet lips and headed toward her old friend.

"So, who has the pleasure of yelling at me first?"

It took a lifetime of training and patience for Hannah to keep her voice steady. "Do you think this is a joke?"

"No, M. I don't. I can see you're upset. I'll be happy to do the official debrief, and then after I would like ten minutes of your time off the record."

"Narwhal…" Hannah forced herself to take a breath. "You abducted an unrelated minor child from the ICU of an American hospital. This isn't a joke—there's a real possibility you're facing charges."

"Then we should get this over with."

Rather than duck her head to a ridiculous degree in the low-ceilinged halls of the converted offshore oil rig that served as the Protectorate Headquarters, Narwhal simply allowed her horn to flicker away.

They moved not to one of the interrogation rooms, but because of Narhwal's status as the head of another authorized Parahuman organization, to a conference room. However, the three PRT agents in full gear, Armsmaster and even Emily Piggot, the director of the regional PRT office, conveyed just how serious the situation was.

"Armsmaster," Narwhal said. "I'm sorry I missed you in Morocco. Director Piggot." She sounded brisk and professional, not like a cape facing a potential international crisis.

Armsmaster simply nodded. Director Piggot looked particularly unpleasant that morning. Her egg-shaped body was barely contained in the pantsuit she wore, and her skin had the slightly jaundiced look she had when she was approaching the dialysis necessary to keep her alive.

"Thank you for coming," Piggot began.

"Of course. Is everything recording? I want to make an official statement."

Piggot looked to Armsmaster, who nodded. "Go ahead."

"Thank you. Today is August 18th, 2011. My cape name is Narwhal, the appointed head of the Guild, a parahuman hero organization sponsored jointly by the Canadian government and the American Protectorate. Last night, on August 17th, 2011, I was compelled by a known parahuman to abduct one Taylor Hebert, age 15, and take her to the Newfoundland Sea. Upon releasing her over Newfoundland, the compulsion ended."

Hannah didn't know whose jaw hit the floor first, her own, Piggot's or Armsmaster's. More astonishing still was when Piggot looked to the head of her local Protectorate team and he could only nod confirmation that the proto-lie detector he built into his helmet indicated Narwhal was telling the truth.

After a moment to absorb that, Piggot cleared her throat.

"Other than a few islands from the mountains on the west coast of the island, Newfoundland is under water. Are you telling us that you dumped a teenaged girl in the Atlantic Ocean?"

"She actually rolled out of my arms of her own volition, once she thanked me for saving her life. She carried an artifact that she assured me could let her breathe under water, and that was the last I saw of her."

"Truth." Armsmaster gasped the word, as if unable to believe it.

"Is this known cape able to compel you again?" Piggot said. "Are you or other members of the Guild in danger?"

Narwhal thought about it before nodding. "The cape in question is very powerful. I have no doubt she could compel me at will. However, the Guild has never known her to take any type of villainous action, ever. If she compelled me to take Ms. Hebert to Newfoundland, she felt it was both important and beneficial."

Hannah began to have a sneaking suspicion. "This…being who compelled you. She wouldn't happen to be from Maine, would she?"

"From? No. But her last residence was in Bangor, Maine. And yes, Miss Militia, she was the one who flew Taylor and her father out of the United States last year."

"And made the sun disappear over Bangor for twenty minutes in a celestial phenomenon seen all around the world?" Armsmaster spat the words, as if mortally offended that it happened.

Narwhal shrugged. "Like I said, she is a very powerful being. But never villainous. That completes my statement. Do any of you have any questions?"

"Do you know the identity of this cape?" Armsmaster said.

"I don't know this being's cape identity, no." She cleared her throat. "So, unless you intend to press charges, I would very much like ten minutes off the record with Director Piggot and Miss Militia. And, with your permission, my teammate Dragon would like to join us remotely."

"I am the head of the Protectorate ENE," Armsmaster said stiffly.

"You also have recording equipment in your helmet," Narwhal reminded him pointedly. "I would like to have a few words with my friend and Director Piggot off record. I have profound respect for you, Armsmaster, and I know that Dragon very much considers you a friend, but if Militia and Director Piggot agree, I need ten minutes, off-record."

"That's fine," Piggot said, albeit grudgingly. "The Guild has earned a measure of trust, but understand, Narwhal, I can't guarantee this is the end of this situation. Armsmaster, gentlemen?"

The agents left. After a moment of looking profoundly offended, so did Armsmaster.

When they were alone, Narwhal looked intently at Militia. "She was dying. It wasn't an illness that you could cure. The only thing that could save her life was under the water. That's why they fled to Africa—to get that artifact. My godmother told me-they had to find an artifact that would allow her to find the cure."

"Your godmother," Piggot said. She sounded...bothered at the idea. "The same woman who compelled you."

"She's been compelling me for years, Director. Usually about cleaning my room or finding better men to date. I know from your perspective it appears I did something wrong, but I assure you if I hadn't, Taylor Hebert would be dead."

"Why, though?" Hannah asked.

Narwhal shrugged. "Powers are bullshit. And some powers are more bullshit than others."

Piggot pursed her lips. "There's a lot you're not telling us. You know what's going on."

"I know more than you do, that's true. Not everything, though. I know what my Nana told me. She's Taylor's godmother too, by the way. I promise you; we will see her again. I can't say when, but we will be seeing Taylor Hebert again. Now, are we done?"

Without waiting for Piggot to answer, Hannah. "Thanks for coming, Sanna."

Narwhal walked out. When she was gone, Hannah cleared her throat.

"Panacea said that Taylor Hebert was not a parahuman."

Piggot just shook her head. "It doesn't matter. If it talks like a duck and blows laser beams from its ass, we'll call it a cape. It makes all our lives easier. Now go away, I've got a doctor's appointment to keep."

~~Theogony~~

~~Theogony~~

Hannah's phone rang.

Triumph, in shorts, a gray T-shirt and a domino mask for security, backed away from Aegis and Gallant, giving the younger boys a breather while Hannah answered her phone. It was early October, a month after Narwhal dumped a nearly-dead Taylor Hebert into the ocean at midnight.

"This is Militia."

"Milita, this is Dragon. Taylor Hebert was found floating off the coast of Prince Edward Island."

Militia tensed. "She's alive?"

"Very much so."

"Thank you for calling. Any chance for transport?"

"Yes. Narwhal is on her way now. I'll let her know you're coming with me."

The three boys looked at her in confusion.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?" Triumph asked.

The Wards team leader was only two months from graduating both high school and the Wards. He was young, but had a good head on his shoulders.

"That was Dragon. A person of interest has been located; I'm going to go fetch her. Good job, go ahead and finish your reps and then take the afternoon off."

She wasn't running when she reached the door, but her walk was fast and determined enough that people got out of her way.