I Swear I’m Still the Hero!

Umbra finally staggered to a stop in the middle of an empty stretch of road and then, with far less grace than she would have preferred, collapsed down onto one knee before letting herself sink fully onto the asphalt. Her armour scraped loudly against the surface, and for several long moments she could do nothing but sit there, shoulders rising and falling as she dragged heavy breaths into her lungs.

They had been running across Hamilton for what felt like hours without pause, racing from one outbreak to the next. Every time they thought they had contained a pocket of infestation, another call would come in, or Farah would spot unnatural movement from above, and they would be forced to change direction yet again. They had saved who they could, pulling families from houses, escorting stragglers toward evacuation points, and cutting down broodmothers wherever they found them. Each grotesque creature had required effort and focus to destroy, and every street between those battles had been filled with lesser monsters that could not simply be ignored.

Yet for all of their effort, the chaos did not appear to be diminishing in any meaningful way.

It was as though the Witch’s influence was spreading faster than they could cauterize it, like a fire racing ahead of the firefighters sent to contain it. The Witch was moving too far and too quickly across the city for Umbra and Farah to clean this nightmare up in any neat or controlled fashion.

Something more drastic might soon be required, and the thought sat heavily in Umbra’s mind.

“My… my love,” she managed between breaths.

Farah descended from the sky and settled beside her, folding her wings carefully before lowering herself to the ground. She still looked immaculate at a glance, her golden aura undimmed and her garments untouched by grime, but there was no disguising the exhaustion that had crept into her eyes. Even an angel had limits, however much she preferred not to acknowledge them.

“Yes, dearest?” Farah replied gently as she leaned her shoulder against Umbra’s armoured side, seeking and offering comfort at once.

Umbra hesitated for only a moment before speaking the conclusion she had been avoiding. “I think we cannot avoid collateral any longer.”

Farah’s expression tightened, and a faint grimace crossed her otherwise serene features. “I was thinking the same,” she admitted quietly. “We have destroyed more than twenty broodmothers tonight, and I have lost count of the spawn that followed them. I do not understand how the enemy has managed to create so many in such a short time.”

Umbra stared down the empty road, her jaw clenched. “If the Witch is sacrificing more of herself to accelerate production, that would explain it. It would also mean this will only escalate.”

Farah nodded slowly. “Acting as carefully as we have been is merely delaying the inevitable. We are containing symptoms, not the source. And neither you nor I are endless fonts of energy, no matter how much we might wish it so.”

Umbra turned slightly and drew Farah closer, her gauntleted arm wrapping around the angel’s waist with protective familiarity. Farah responded in kind, one wing stretching outward to encircle Umbra in a soft, luminous embrace.

“No,” Umbra murmured. “We are not endless. We should return and speak with the Government officials coordinating this response. We cannot make a decision of that magnitude on their behalf, but it must at least be discussed.”

Farah exhaled softly. “Agreed. And I would very much appreciate a moment to rest. Even I must admit that the strain is accumulating.”

Umbra gave a faint, weary chuckle. “I need food,” she confessed. “The hunger is becoming… distracting.”

They remained seated together for a few minutes more, allowing their breathing to steady and their muscles to cool. The city around them still echoed with distant sirens and sporadic gunfire, a reminder that the crisis was far from resolved, but they could not afford to collapse entirely in the street.

Eventually, with visible reluctance, Umbra pushed herself back to her feet and helped Farah up as well. They began making their way toward the military’s forward operating base. Every step felt heavier than the last, and Umbra found herself fantasizing briefly about sleep so deep it would last for days. However, duty, as always, proved to be a stronger stimulant than fatigue.

When they arrived at the warehouse perimeter, armed personnel recognized them immediately and waved them through without hesitation. Umbra ducked slightly to pass through the main entrance but still managed to bump her horn against the metal doorframe with an audible clang.

She muttered something under her breath that was decidedly unknightly.

Inside, the warehouse had been transformed into a hive of activity. Folding tables were covered in maps and laptops, radios crackled continuously, and medics moved between cots set up along one wall. The air smelled of sweat, antiseptic, and stale coffee.

Umbra had barely taken in the scene when a voice called out to her.

“Mrs. Steelblight.”

She turned to see Captain Murphy striding toward her with purposeful urgency. His uniform was slightly rumpled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, but his posture remained disciplined.

“I’ve been attempting to call you back to base,” he said. “We have a development.”

Umbra let out a long, tired sigh. “So much for a brief respite,” she replied. “How may I assist, Captain?”

“If you would follow me,” Murphy said, gesturing toward the far end of the warehouse. “We have someone in protective custody who may possess relevant intelligence.”

Umbra raised a brow at that but nodded, and she and Farah followed him across the warehouse floor. They passed clusters of soldiers reviewing footage and others receiving updates from the field. Eventually, Murphy led them toward a quieter section where several cots had been arranged for detainees or evacuees under observation.

A woman stood near one of the cots, speaking in low tones to a figure seated there.

Umbra froze mid-step.

The seated individual was unmistakably reptilian in form, with black scales that caught the overhead lights in dull reflections. Even at a distance, she could feel it.

Her taint.

It clung to him faintly but undeniably, like a residual signature of her power.

Her grip tightened around the haft of her spear until the metal creaked softly in protest.

Umbra’s jaw tightened as she stared across the warehouse at the scaled young man sitting on the cot, her fingers flexing slowly around the shaft of her spear.

“Who is that?” she asked through her teeth, her voice low and carefully controlled.

Captain Murphy followed her gaze. “That’s Samuel Wilson. We believe he had direct contact with our high-priority target. He surrendered himself to one of our patrols and requested protective custody. He claims that someone calling herself ‘Umbra’ is responsible for his… current condition.” He hesitated slightly. “We assumed that wasn’t you.”

Umbra’s head snapped toward him, incredulity flashing openly across her face. “Did that horrid creature steal my name?” she demanded, her voice rising despite her efforts at composure.

Farah tilted her head slightly. “What is wrong, dearest?” she asked in Ganymedean, her tone gentle but concerned.

“The Witch of the Void has stolen my name,” Umbra replied in the same celestial tongue, her words seething with restrained fury. “She has been using it to spread her corruption and stain my legacy further. Does her depravity know no limits?”

Farah’s wings bristled faintly at her back. “That vile thing. How dare she twist your identity to shield her own wickedness?” she said, sharing fully in Umbra’s indignation.

Murphy blinked, looking between them as they conversed in a language he did not understand. “Uh… what’s going on?” he asked cautiously, having caught none of their exchange.

Umbra drew in a slow, deliberate breath and let it out through her nose. She straightened her posture, consciously reassembling the mask of nobility and restraint that she wore in public. She was a countess, a decorated hero, a representative of another world. She would not allow herself to appear petulant in front of military officials.

“I am displeased,” she said evenly, “at the prospect of my greatest foe appropriating my name, particularly after all she has already taken from me. However, that matter can be addressed later. I would like to speak with this man, if that is acceptable.”

“That is precisely why I brought you over,” Murphy replied. “We were hoping you could fill in any gaps between what he’s told us and what you know.”

“Understood.” Umbra inclined her head slightly. “Before I do so, however, I have a question.”

Murphy’s expression grew wary. “Go on.”

“How much collateral damage is considered acceptable?”

Murphy’s mouth tightened. “I don’t particularly like how that’s phrased.”

Umbra sighed faintly, though there was no mockery in it. “We have been attempting to cover as much ground as possible while minimizing structural damage and civilian risk. However, even as we eliminate broodmothers, new ones may already be forming. We are moving carefully, but at our current pace we are barely holding back the tide of her spawn.”

Murphy fell silent for a moment, clearly weighing her words. “What happens,” he asked slowly, “if you continue as you have been?”

Umbra met his gaze directly. “We are not inexhaustible, Captain. We will eventually tire ourselves, and when that occurs, your forces will find themselves overwhelmed within a day, perhaps less. After that, the infestation will spread beyond Hamilton. Auckland would likely be next. At that stage, you would face a far grimmer choice: the destruction of the entire metropolitan area, or the potential loss of the entire North Island later.”

Murphy rubbed a hand down his face, fatigue etched deeply into his features. “That’s… not a choice I envy.”

“It is not one I enjoy presenting,” Umbra replied.

He exhaled heavily. “I’ll speak to my superiors while you talk to Samuel. If you’re given authorization, what exactly are you proposing to do?”

Umbra did not hesitate. “I will cease exercising such restraint in my movements. I will prioritize efficiency over preservation of infrastructure. Farah, unbound, can eradicate entire clusters of hostile entities within minutes. Very little will withstand us. Unfortunately, nearby structures may not fare as well. You should anticipate extensive property damage. Homes may burn. Buildings may collapse.”

Murphy grimaced. “I don’t like it. But if the alternative is civilians being killed or turned into those… things…” He trailed off and shook his head. “If people make it out alive, then buildings can be rebuilt.”

“I am in agreement, Captain,” Umbra said. “Lives outweigh walls.”

“Alright,” he muttered. “I’ll get on comms.” He paused. “Go talk to the kid.”

“Very well.”

Murphy turned and headed back toward the center of the warehouse, already reaching for his radio.

Umbra quickly translated the exchange for Farah, who nodded solemnly, her expression resolute. Together they approached the cot where the scaled young man sat.

“Samuel Wilson,” Umbra said, her naturally raspy voice carrying easily across the short distance.

The boy startled violently at the sound of his name, nearly falling off the cot as he looked up at her. His eyes traveled upward slowly, climbing the height of her armored form, lingering on the horn before settling on her dark eyes.

Umbra glanced briefly at the woman who had been speaking to him. “You are dismissed for now,” she said calmly. “I will be speaking with him privately.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” the woman replied quickly, stepping away without argument.

Umbra’s gaze returned to Samuel, assessing him carefully. She could feel the faint trace of corrupted magic woven into his form, the signature not her own but undeniably born of the same dark source.

“Captain Murphy informs me that you possess information that may prove useful,” she said with a controlled tone, despite the storm still simmering beneath it. “I would like you to tell me everything.”

“O-oh,” Samuel stammered, his voice catching in his throat as he stared up at her towering figure. “You’re the knight.”

“I am,” Umbra replied, holding her voice steady despite the exhaustion that still lingered beneath it. “And the longer we remain idle in conversation, the more lives may be lost beyond these walls. So I must ask you to speak plainly and without omission. Tell me everything.”

There was a brief flicker of hesitation in Samuel’s eyes, as though he were still adjusting to the idea that the imposing armored woman before him was not about to strike him down. Then, as if some internal dam finally broke, the words began spilling out of him in a disorganized rush.

He told them about Luna first. About how she had been the first of their group to change after meeting the other Umbra. How she had come back different, excited, almost glowing with a strange sense of purpose. He described how Luna had insisted that what had happened to her was a gift, not a curse, and how she had spoken about this new Umbra as though she were some kind of misunderstood savior.

Then he spoke of Emily, who had transformed next. Of how Luna had invited all of them over under the guise of just hanging out, only for the gathering to turn into something far more serious. One by one, they had agreed to accept the “gift.” He made sure to emphasize that no one had been physically forced, that at the time they had all said yes willingly.

“But it didn’t feel normal,” Samuel said, wringing his scaled hands together. “Looking back, it’s like… like our thoughts were being nudged. Like violence didn’t seem as bad as it should have. Like the idea of fighting you two felt justified somehow.”

He explained how the group had slowly begun speaking about inevitable casualties as though they were unfortunate but necessary. How they believed that Umbra and Farah were interdimensional enforcers sent to destroy them. How Luna, especially, had become almost fervent in her belief that they were on the righteous side of some cosmic conflict.

“And they were so ready,” he added quietly. “Ready to fight. Ready to hurt people. Even Rachel… she was never like that before.”

Umbra remained silent while he spoke, but her gaze never left him. When he finished, she translated his account carefully for Farah, ensuring that no detail was lost. The angel listened intently with a grave expression.

When the explanation was complete, both women stood in thoughtful silence for several long seconds.

“We are here to kill the Witch and her spawn,” Umbra finally said, her tone solemn rather than cruel. “Any who retain their minds and memories will be given the opportunity to surrender. More than once, if circumstances permit. But I will not show mercy to those who refuse and continue to endanger innocents. The Witch of the Void is an existential threat to any world she touches.”

“The Witch of the Void?” Samuel repeated, blinking.

“That is who this false ‘Umbra’ truly is,” Umbra said, and there was unmistakable bitterness in her voice. “I do not know why she chose to appropriate my name. It was not enough for her to strip me of my humanity. She must now tarnish my identity as well.”

Samuel stared at her. “Wait. You were human?”

“Yes,” she answered simply. “I was born on Earth. I lived in Wellington until only a few weeks ago, by your reckoning.”

His eyes widened further. “You got isekai’d?”

Umbra gave a small nod. “If that is the term you prefer. Time progresses differently between worlds. One week here equates to approximately five years there.” Her posture softened slightly as she continued. “I built a new life, a new home, and when I was on the verge of defeating the Witch once and for all, she tore open a portal beneath us and fled here.”

She gestured faintly to the warehouse around them. “We must end her. She will not stop with this world. She will conquer it, strip it of its strength, and then return to mine. My new home is still recovering from her last campaign.”

Samuel absorbed that in silence. “Luna made you sound… really bad,” he admitted. “Like you were some kind of interdimensional police who just showed up to kill anyone different.”

Umbra frowned slightly. “I do not wish to kill them, Samuel. If it can be avoided.” She studied him more closely. “You are proof that resistance is possible. You accepted her gift, yet you chose to question it. You chose to surrender rather than participate in further harm. That is not weakness, it is strength.”

He blinked at her, visibly surprised.

“If your friends are merely influenced,” Umbra continued, “then there is hope. When the Witch of the Void dies, the hold she exerts over those she has altered may weaken or vanish entirely.”

“Really?” Samuel asked, hope creeping into his voice. “There’s a chance they could go back to normal?”

“There is a chance,” Umbra said carefully. “I will not promise certainty. But there is hope.”

He straightened slightly on the cot. “Can I do anything? I mean… can I help?”

Umbra regarded him for a long moment before giving a small, reassuring smile. She then lowered herself onto one knee so that he did not have to crane his neck so dramatically to meet her gaze.

“You can help,” she said. “Tell me everything you know about your friends. What they look like now, how they behave, and where they might go if pressed. Any detail could prove the difference between capturing them safely and losing them to chaos.”

“Okay,” he said quickly. “Just… Luna might be a bit fanatical. She really believes in this.”

“I understand,” Umbra replied. “Fanaticism is one of the Witch’s favored tools.”

She placed a gauntleted hand over her chest. “I swear to you that I will do everything within my power to save them, should the opportunity arise. You have my word as the Hero of Ganymede.”

“Like the moon?” Samuel asked automatically.

Umbra paused, then shook her head with a faint chuckle. “No. Merely an unusual coincidence.”

Despite everything, a faint, nervous smile tugged at Samuel’s mouth as he began describing his friends in detail, clinging to the fragile hope that perhaps they were not lost just yet.