Chapter Text
Zoé Lee walks into school at 8:00 AM on the dot like she's hiding a bomb inside her ratty, old — but heavily customized and dearly beloved — mailman's bag.
It's not a bomb. Instead, it's a tiny goddess in the guise of an anthropomorphic wasp.
After a whole lot of panicked shrieking, throwing the nearest improvised projectiles she could find, and tripping on her towel (painfully falling on her butt, of course, good thing her dad wasn't home), the creature introduced herself, using the name Vesppa, and explained everything she could about her sudden appearance. She doesn't know the reason, and Zoé certainly has no more clue than the so-called 'Kwami', but the goddess apparently chose her as the latest in a long, long — like, talking millennia here — line of magical warriors, endowed with a number of mystical abilities as a result of bearing what Vesppa called a 'Miraculous' — the gemstone-turned-piercing inside the little black wooden box she found outside her bathroom door, both of which are currently buried deep within her bag. Upon invoking Vesppa's name, and uttering some kind of magical catchphrase, Zoé can, supposedly, become one of these magical warriors.
Like a superhero. Like the Avengers, who saved her life, her dad's, and all of New York City just a few months ago, when aliens rained fire from a punctured hole in the sky and blew up the apartment she'd grown up in her whole life. It was the briefest of encounters — in particular, with the Hulk, who'd easily held up tons of rubble she and her dad had found themselves trapped under, extending a massive hand she could crawl onto and gruffly pulling her to safety, swiftly followed by her slightly worse for wear father.
She had been scared of him before. Many in New York had been, given his battle with the Abomination just a couple boroughs over, and the lives lost in the clash between the two titans. But in that moment, she'd seen nothing but a gentle (if surly) giant, trying his best to help a couple of innocent people out of a bad situation.
In any other circumstances, Zoé would be excited at the prospect of becoming a magical, wasp-themed heroine — after all, isn't she meant to pay it forward? To save others the way she was saved? She's been trying to do her part in balancing the karmic scales by doing volunteer work at the nearest soup kitchen, and after-hours here at school — with the clubs that haven't expelled or banned her yet, anyway — but this seems like a golden opportunity, if ever there was one, to make the biggest possible impact as a lone, fourteen year-old aspiring artist, living paycheck to paycheck with her single, struggling comic strip author dad, fresh from having their lives up-ended by a narrowly averted alien invasion.
Zoé, however, can't help but feel dread at the potential prospect of becoming a superhero, now that it's not just plausible, but quite literally just a magical 'password' away. She doesn't exactly have the character for heroics, to put it mildly; her confidence flags at the slightest hint of confrontation, she hates being the center of attention, and she's kind of opposed to most forms of violence, physical or otherwise, unless they prove the only remaining recourse.
To make matters worse, it sure seems like the magical creature offering her power beyond her ken might be at least a little bit evil. Vesppa claimed herself the 'Kwami of Subjugation', and made no secret of her worldview; she seems to think that mortals are only worth a damn when they're forced to work together under strong, singular leadership and vision, and seems rather sure that this is bound to eventually happen under the rule of one of her champions, exerting her divine power — which, incidentally, would allow her to magically paralyze her victims and force them to do her bidding, if and when activated.
That's…not exactly the kind of thing she associates with heroism, even if Vesppa insists that her power is meant to be used for the greater good, and that she would have complete control over how it's executed, regardless of Vesppa's rather bloodthirsty preferences.
Maybe if she uses the power just once, things will be a little clearer. Maybe the reason she was chosen will make itself known, even if she's pretty sure she'll still feel unworthy after. So, Zoé carries the goddess and the Miraculous around, waiting for…something. Some kind of signal from the cosmos, or whatever gods are watching. Maybe Thor'll fly by and give me a thumbs-up, she thinks, mildly amused.
Sadly, the skies above are seriously lacking in the Norse god department today.
Zoé walks by several small groups as Brooklyn Visions slowly fills out for the beginning of the school day, some of which leer at her with suspicion, all of which talk in hushed tones. She tries not to let it bother her — to remind herself, as her school counselor advised her, that not everyone is actually talking about her, and that even if they are, she shouldn't care, but it's…hard. Not two weeks back, she was outed as pansexual against her will, and not content with that, the so far anonymous bully also revealed her crush on her best friend from childhood.
"Hey, Zo. You look like you didn't sleep worth a damn."
Said best friend, who's now apparently the only person willing to talk to her like a normal human being, greets her with a one-armed hug from behind.
She sighs, managing a tired smile. "Kind of an understatement." —she mutters. "Hi, Jess."
It would be funny, if the irony didn't hurt so much. Brooklyn Visions touts itself an open-minded, progressive school, and it sure seemed that way at first. But being pan and into your best friend for ages seems to be the wrong flavor of queer, at least for this place. She's heard the word 'pervert', or some variation of it, more times in the past few days than in her whole life prior to this. She still has her dad in her corner, and Jessica didn't seem to mind her long-running crush at all — not that she reciprocated it either, sadly, or really seemed to want to discuss it in any detail — but it sure feels isolating to be banned from the prestigious, advertise-it-in-the-brochure LGBTQ+ after-school club when she's verifiably a card-carrying member of the '+' part of the acronym.
It makes her feel a little guilty, because the pride she feels in being pan is real and important to her, but she does…kinda…maybe wish she was just gay sometimes — or hell, straight altogether. It would've been a lot less complicated, and she would've avoided so much angst from the whole process of figuring out she was into Jess.
She knows any pain in this exercise of self-expression is worth it — hell, it's life-affirming, even — but that doesn't really lessen the sting.
And honestly, who could blame her? Jessica Keynes is everything Zoé is not. She's confident, bold, and does not take shit from anyone. She's athletic and buff, effortlessly gorgeous, and smart as a whip. Half the people in their class are infatuated with her, and despite her best efforts, she was powerless to stop herself from joining the statistic.
Quite frankly, the Miraculous would've been better placed in her hands. If she can't make it as a hero, then she might just give it to her, assuming Vesppa would let her.
"Still not used to the new place?" —Jess asks.
"No, not really." —she admits. "Everything is so…big. My dad and I are used to living small and cozy. Audrey's place makes me feel like…what's that thing where you're afraid of wide, open spaces?"
"Agoraphobia." —Jess promptly answers.
"Right. I like my living situation claustrophobic, I guess." —she grouses.
Jess snorts. "Lotta phobias with you, girl." —she drawls. "Doesn't really explain why you're clutching your bag like it might blow up if someone looks at it wrong, though."
The blonde blushes. "…no clue what you're talking about!"
"C'mon, Zo. I know you love the bag to pieces — literally, you've had to sew that thing back together so many times Dr. Frankenstein would love to study your technique — but you look like you're going through it, and I don't think your living sitch alone cuts it as an explanation."
Zoé purses her lips. If there's anyone in the world she trusts with something like this — besides her dad, of course, not that she's told him yet either — it's Jessica. Vesppa mentioned something off-hand about keeping the secret, but Zoé's not sure that's in the cards for her; it's too big, too important for someone of her rather flagging constitution to hold onto. Even if she pulled the trigger and transformed, she could never be a superhero on her own — if having Audrey Bourgeois as a mother has taught her anything she might somehow count as a positive, it's that having the right people at your side (and cutting out the people who aren't, her mother included) is the only way to make it through life.
"It's gonna sound crazy." —she admits, after a few moments.
Jessica snorts. "Try me. With my kind of life, I bet I've got you beat."
To be fair, she's not exaggerating — being adopted out of the blue by one of the richest, most enigmatic people in the world at the tender age of eight years old, not long after her parents's horrific double murder, sure makes for some wild life experiences.
"Okay." —she says, and motions for them to sneak away to the roof before class starts. Once there, she begins. "So…hypothetically speaking…" —Zoé says. "What would you say if I told you I maybe…might've…definitely…met-a-bloodthirsty-little-wasp-shaped-fairy-last-night?"
Jessica blinks once, twice. She then promptly puts the back of her hand against her forehead. "Well, I'd say a fever could've helped explain the way you're acting today, and yet..." —she jokes, awkwardly, then sees Zoé's cringing expression. "Oh. You're actually serious."
Zoé blushes. "N-no, forget it. I was just…thinking out loud! Y-yeah, it's…just an idea I had for a story!"
"Oh-ho-ho, no you don't." —Jessica declares, locking arms with her, a big grin plastered on her face as the school bell rings for first period. "I'll tell you what we're doing: I'm using my absurd privilege as a Keynes to get us out of school for today, we are locking ourselves in your room, and you will be telling me all about this evil fairy of yours."
"You're sure it's her?" —Dipper asks, nervously turning the charm he 'borrowed' from the Sanctum in his hand.
"Positive." —Nico says. "If the walking tin cans searching this area on a grid pattern weren't convincing enough, the death aura I'm sensing should be. The Kwami was in her pack, no doubt about it."
Ellie narrows her eyes. "Huh. Honestly? For a god's chosen champion, she, er, doesn't look like much."
The method they used to identify the Miraculous Holder is rather brilliant, in Nico's less than humble opinion; the magic of the Miraculous outright prevents most magical sensors and assorted dowsing methods from detecting the location of a Kwami, or the bond with their Holder, so the girl couldn't be tracked, but as an immortal creature — and further, one that can empower champions that more than likely took lives or died themselves in the line of duty — a Kwami would've been around a lot of death for a very long time. He can't sense the Kwami themself, but as a Son of Hades, and if he truly strains his focus and draws on his Chthonic heritage — almost as much as when he entered that death trance with the pomegranate seeds — he can sense the faint miasma of mortality clinging to the tiny cosmic deity.
Nico may not be very familiar with the gods and magicks of other pantheons and magical spheres, but there is nothing in this world, or any other, that he's more familiar with than death.
That's how Ellie, Dipper, and himself find themselves this fine morning, perched atop a swanky apartment building in Brooklyn across the street from the place their quarry lives in, huddled together after following her and her friend from Visions Academy — as Ellie shares her invisibility with them, and the Silence-enchanted amulet Dipper nervously holds further conceals their little improvised stakeout.
The person in question is called Zoé Lee, a fourteen-year-old arts and crafts-y type originally from Midtown that Rachel Elizabeth Dare would probably find adorable — he can almost picture having to physically hold the current Oracle of Delphi back from taking her under her wing. As it stands, Nico tends to agree with Ellie's assessment — she really doesn't look like much. Thin, a little on the scrawny side, kinda awkward and clumsy on her feet, seemingly fearful or distrusting of her peers…definitely not what he'd expect the chosen warrior of a god older than any pantheon on Earth would look like. The friend she's currently engaging in truancy with would've been a much better match to his mental image.
Then again, most half-bloods don't exactly match the lofty imagery of the myths. Even the ones lucky enough to make it to adulthood don't typically grow up to look like living statues with the chiseled features one might think of when the word 'demigod' is considered. Ares kids exempted, of course.
"I think the Kwami is supposed to beef up the Holder when the transformation happens." —Dipper says, a little uncertain, looking at his hastily scribbled notes. "Sort of a temporary 'this is your ideal self' kinda deal, which…I dunno about you guys, but I feel that would give me major dysphoria."
"Aww, it's okay, Dipper. I'm beefy enough to cover for the three of us." —Ellie says, cheekily flexing her rather impressive bicep.
Nico glances at her. "How are you holding up, by the way?"
She shrugs, making sure to keep her hands on their bodies. "Invisibility comes as naturally to ghosts as breathing does for humans. Sharing that invisibility is a little more like breathing on purpose — I have to focus on it now, but it's not exactly straining. I can keep this up for hours, don't worry about me."
"Noted." —he says. It's not quite as convenient as Annabeth's cap — and certainly not as powerful and terrifying as his Lord Father's Helm — but virtually limitless invisibility-by-contact will certainly be an asset to their team, such as it is.
…and isn't that something to consider. Noted loner Nico di Angelo, filing away important information for the team of supernaturally inclined teen heroes he's supposedly leading. It's not like he can't picture himself working alongside his peers, of course — wouldn't have helped avert the apocalypse twice if that was the case — but such alliances are always temporary, short-lived. Nico has never been a permanent fixture at either Greco-Roman demigod camp, and he doesn't think that'll ever change. Even with his closest friends, and perhaps, if he's a little too cynical about it, with his beloved boyfriend, Nico always feels like his relationships exist on borrowed time — like any day now, he'll come up from Hades smelling like the fires of the Phlegethon, or accompanied by decaying undead and the sickly sweet perfume of rot that follows them, and everyone will suddenly remember he's the freaky Underworld kid with the sun-averse skin, the permanent bruises under half-dead eyes, and the barely tolerated, widely feared god of the dead for a father.
It's a conscious, Herculean (Heraclean?) effort he makes every day not to give in to pessimism. One he doesn't necessarily win every day. He's trying, though, and at least for now, that'll have to be enough.
Minutes go by, until the aforementioned tin cans make another pass around the block, still seemingly unaware of their presence. "These Knights must have some kind of alternate detection method." —he muses. "Something that can at least somewhat pierce through the magic of the Miraculous, even if it doesn't pinpoint their target. They would've moved on by now if they didn't have some way of picking up on it."
The armored foes prowl the street beneath them every three minutes or so, towering over the people parting the sidewalks for them, seemingly unconscious of their actions, and definitely blind to their true nature — the fading Mist, still holding strong enough for this particular situation. According to the dossier he skimmed when this all started, the two knuckleheads are high-ranking Forever Knights — some kind of ancient organization devoted to keeping Earth free of anything not quite human, magical or otherwise, often by means of summary extermination. They've clearly updated their gear from the days of swords and sorcery — the olden days, at least, now seemingly encased in something resembling a worn automaton, the kind of armor that's all the rage with mortals these days (and a not-insignificant number of Hephaestus kids), probably owing to the fame and fortune of the so-called Iron Man.
"They look so…obvious." —Ellie notes. "What, combat exoskeletons don't merit the attention of New York's Finest these days?"
"There's obviously some kind of Veil manipulation going on." —Dipper says, narrowing his eyes at her. "Which I…y'know…speculated about…not even thirty minutes ago?"
Ellie winces. "Sorry, dude. I, uh, kinda tuned you out when you started going on and on about your uncle with the journals and the…uh…I wanna say, polygamy?"
"Polydactyly. The Author — y'know, my Great Uncle Ford — was born with six fingers on each hand." —Dipper corrects, with the tone of someone who's both very used to being ignored, and maybe starting to get a little fed up with it. "Also, that was at least an hour ago, which, ow."
"Oh, shush. You had Nico to argue with, seemingly forever, about Cupid of all things."
An involuntary shiver runs through Nico's back, once again, at the mention of Lady Aphrodite's loathsome, Roman-brand spawn. "An argument you'd know is way past over, if you'd been paying attention to me." —he says, resentfully. "I do not want to talk about the Lord of Desire — or whatever stupid carnie Dipper met passing himself off as a Roman god — any further."
"I'm telling you!" —Dipper insists. "Maybe he wasn't like the Cupid you met, but he must've been the real deal. He had the bow and the little wings! He literally called himself 'The Love God'! His powers definitely worked! Gods can change personalities on a dime, right? I read something about it in—"
"The Sanctum's library. We know." —Nico grits his teeth. "And anyway, that's not exactly how it works. They simply contain too much within them for the limited human understanding of personality to cover everything about the way they can act." —he explains. "Gods are many things to many people. So they are many people, even as they remain recognizable singular beings. Regardless, this 'Love God' you swindled out of a few potions sounds more like some stray cherub with a talent for alchemical brewing and identity theft than an actual deity — a deity, I'll remind you, I have actually met." —he says.
Much to my ensuing horror and lasting trauma, goes unsaid.
Dipper must see the discomfort in his scowl, because he visibly backs off, looking a little deflated. "Oh, well. I guess he was a little underwhelming, for a god. At least Time Baby looked the part."
Nico already feels a headache coming, and the regret of a question he must inevitably ask — something that has unfortunately become tantamount to a running gag since putting this damn team together. "…what in Hades do you mean, 'Time Baby'?"
Sat on the floor of her uncomfortably large new room, Zoé awaits Jessica's response, having spent the last thirty minutes nervously rambling about what happened the night before.
"So." —Jessica begins, after an awkwardly long silence.
"So..."
Jess sighs. "Just…let me get my thoughts in order. To summarize: you found a small, wooden box last night after taking a shower."
Zoé produces the open octagonal box with the strange pattern painted atop the lid from her bag. "The box in question."
"…and when you opened it — which seems bonkers to me, by the way, opening an unknown box that you must've known your dad didn't leave there for you because he wasn't home before or after you entered the shower, but maybe I'm just paranoid — a bright orange light burst out of the box, and turned into some kind of magical creature in the form of a bloodthirsty little fairy."
"Well, first of all, you know this apartment is Audrey's. Call me naive, but…weird little fancy box, looking like it'd contain some kind of jewelry, total lack of contact…I thought maybe she'd left it. Or more likely, had someone leave it there for me. I would not put it past her to have someone sneak into our apartment without our consent." —she defends herself. "Second, and like I already told you, she's not a fairy — she called herself a 'Kwami'." —she reminds her. "Said her name was Vesppa."
Jess spares her a pitying look at her foolish, vanishing hope for the thinnest shred of motherly love. She's one of the few people who know better than to give her that kind of grief, and wisely avoids commenting on it. "Right. And this 'Kwami' gifted you some kind of wasp-shaped jewel, which was also in the box, and as soon as you touched it, it turned into a navel piercing?"
She nods. "Yeah. By the way, can I show you something weird?"
Jessica grins. "You know I'm always up for weird."
Zoé blushes a bit in regular, not-crush-related embarrassment. "Well…y'know how I used to be an outie?" —she asks. Jess nods, so she lifts the hem of her printed tee before she can think twice about it, revealing her navel. "…I guess being chosen for a magical navel piercing made me an innie."
"Whoa. What the heck, that's so cool!" —Jess gasps, leaning forward to examine her newly shape-shifted belly-button. Zoé's blush gets worse, now for sure from crush-related embarrasment, but Jessica's too preoccupied with closely observing her midriff to notice.
"I have the piercing holes already, too. Healed and everything." —Zoé points out. "Freaked me out this morning while I was changing for school, not gonna lie."
"That's wild, Zo." —she admits. "Okay. I'm like, 70% convinced, so…seal the deal. Bring out the murder fairy."
"…promise you won't scream?"
The Lakota teen gives her an unimpressed look. "Zoé. C'mon. Remember who you're talking to. You already know I'm a puncher, not a screamer. Or a…runner…away-er."
She winces, absently rubbing her left arm, frequent victim of Jessica's horror movie reactions. "Yeah, well, fictional monsters and murderers and an actual magical creature with a lust for violence are a little different." —Zoé says. "Fine, then. Promise you won't punch me?"
"Sure, I promise." —she drawls. "I make no promises about punching something, though."
Zoé smiles fondly, then takes a deep breath. She digs into her mailman's bag, and fishes out the crystalline object from one of the inner pockets. It is unnaturally cold to the touch, as if it reviles the warmth of life and joy. She then deposits the item in her best friend's awaiting hands.
Jessica stares at the wasp-shaped navel piercing in her palms, expression carefully kept blank. "Is…something supposed to happen now?"
Zoé groans. "Vesppa, that was your cue!"
Nothing happens, so she pokes the bag a few times until something within stirs, a low, angry buzzing briefly filling the room. "…ugh, did you completely ignore what I said about not revealing your secret to strangers?" —a tiny, vaguely-female-but-mostly-gremlin-sounding muffled voice finally says.
Jessica frowns, searching for the source. "Who the hell—?"
"Hey, Jessica's the furthest thing from a stranger to me. And yeah, I did ignore most of what you said, on account of you apparently being a bloodthirsty, megalomaniacal little goddess who scared the bejeezus out of me, made me trip on my own towel, and fall on my naked butt — which still hurts, by the way." —Zoé grouses, resentful of her sore tailbone. "Now, come on, cat's out of the bag already."
Tiny grumbles follow, and then Vesppa makes herself known, phasing out of Zoé's pack and flying up to her friend's face. Even though the initial shock has long since passed, the creature's appearance still makes her heart race, just a little bit. The hostile orange skin, the bold, pitch black bands, the obsidian sclerae and glowing red irises, and even the small but no less threatening pointy teeth on a vertically arranged 'mouth', if one could call it that. It reminds her of those so-called 'murder hornets' in Asia — which, knowing the Kwami is allegedly about as old as the universe, may in fact be patterned after her, rather than the other way around.
To her credit, Jessica doesn't startle — her eyes merely widen in surprise, then narrow incredulously as she takes in the tiny, floating goddess. "Hello, human." —she says, spitting the word out like it's a slur. "I am Vesppa, the Kwami of Subjugation. Not that you should know this, but…I have chosen Zoé Lee as the newest Holder of the Miraculous of the Wasp, which grants the power to dominate friends and foes alike. Bask in our awe-inspiring presence, mortal, and know that her soon-to-be-claimed might will swiftly achieve domination over you, your fellow humans, and all life on this puny planet!"
Jessica takes a moment to answer. "…well, if your goal is 'domination', I really don't get why you picked Zo." —she says. "The only reason she's not a straight-up pacifist is that she's read up on too many revolutionary movements to pretend that peaceful protests and strongly-worded letters will solve every problem with society."
Zoé preens at the notion of being known.
Vesppa waves her off with a tiny, sickle-shaped arm. "I can work with that. I am a patient, deathless being, and the wealth of my power is hers to use as she sees fit." —she says. "I may not know the exact reason why I chose Zoé, but I never would have granted her the Miraculous if she didn't have the capacity for subjugation in her soul."
Jess snorts. "I feel like you could say that about most humans."
The Kwami gives her a pleased, toothy grin that looks entirely out of place on her plushie-like body. "Correct, mortal!"
"Oh, don't encourage her." —Zoé grouses.
"Talking to me, or the evil fairy?" —Jess asks, rhetorically. Concerningly, Vesppa doesn't seem at all offended about being called evil. "Anyway. Not that I really doubted you, considering the messed up world we live in, but y'know. No choice but to believe you now."
"Okay, so…what do I do?" —she asks.
Her best friend takes a considerable moment to think, then shrugs. "I mean…do you have to do anything? You told me that you need to say some kind of incantation to actually use that power, so if you're scared of it, just…don't say the magic words and you'll be fine, right?"
Zoé sighs. "Well, despite Vesppa's concerning love of violence, she did make it clear that the Miraculous was created to be used for the greater good." —she says, and the Kwami nods, sagely. "She says the power would be mine to use as I see fit, right? Super strength, being invulnerable, flying…"
"It does sound tempting." —Jess admits.
"Sure, but that's not what I mean. It's about paying it forward." —she says. "We may have lost our apartment, but we're only alive because the Avengers fought off the aliens and the Hulk literally dug us out of the rubble. If I can use this Miraculous to become a hero like them…I should, right?"
Jessica purses her lips, fiddling with one of her large, dangling beadwork earrings as she ponders the question. "I don't know if it's that simple." —she says, finally.
"…isn't it?" —she asks, confused. "They didn't ask for permission or think twice about throwing themselves between us and them. They just used their powers and acted like heroes. Why couldn't I?"
"Not saying you couldn't. Honestly, I think you'd make a great hero, if you really wanted to. Maybe you're a little lacking in the confrontational side of things, but you've got the heart, and that's half the battle. I'm just saying you wouldn't be an Avenger. Think about it: how many superheroes have existed in the past seventy years or so, since Cap put on the hat with that silly 'A' on his forehead? How many of them have received even a fraction of the support from the public and the government that the Avengers seem to take for granted? You might not even be considered a hero, but a vigilante, instead — and I'm sure I don't have to remind you just how many of those have been the target of huge manhunts and disinformation campaigns." —she says, rather like it's a personal issue for her.
Unfortunately, she knows exactly what Jess means. New York City may be the self-proclaimed world capital of vigilante justice, and some of those street-level heroes have even been publicly celebrated, Key of the City-style, and yet there have been periods where those same well-meaning outlaws became hunted — at times, even more so than the criminals they fought to protect New Yorkers from, the legality of their actions aside. Daredevil, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, both of the Iron Fists, Spider-Man, Cloak and Dagger, White Tiger, The Shroud, Silhouette, Night Thrasher, the Punisher…
…alright, maybe the Punisher is kinda nutso, but that's beside the point.
Zoé's expression must get a little too glum, because Jessica stops herself from venting. "I'm sorry, Zo. Your intentions are good, but…it's not enough to just have powers and try to do good with them, these days — you'd have to deliver, constantly and provably, and any mistake you make wouldn't be handwaved away by S.H.I.E.L.D. or Tony Stark's legion of lawyers. You'd be on your own — a fourteen year-old with magic powers she doesn't understand or even know where they came from."
"She needs but ask." —Vesppa points out. "With very few exceptions, I am free to respond to any question she might have — not just about the Miraculous or us Kwami, but anything I might have knowledge of, as a fragment of Creation."
"Fragment of…?" —Jess balks, then shakes her head. "Nevermind that. You having the knowledge doesn't mean she'll always know what to ask about. And that's ignoring the practical half of my concerns; what if she gets defeated by a supervillain? What if she gets arrested by the police, or S.H.I.E.L.D.? I don't suppose you'd break her out of prison."
"I would eviscerate all who stand between Zoé and I." —Vesppa states simply. Judging from Jess's pursed lips, she believes it just as much as Zoé does. "Although…I suppose the Guardians might object to such bloodshed."
"Who are they?" —Zoé asks.
"Servants of the Sorcerer Supreme. Mortals charged with safeguarding our jewels while we are…ugh, vulnerable." —she grouses. "It is rather strange that they've not made an appearance yet. They are typically obnoxiously punctual about such things. Perhaps they've all been slaughtered in the centuries since I became dormant."
The hopeful glee with which she says this makes her stomach churn, just a little bit.
Jess crosses her arms. "Noted." —she says. She chews on the corner of her right thumb nail, seemingly unconsciously. "Look. I know I sound like I'm trying to prevent you from doing this. And maybe, gut-level, I kinda am. You're my best friend, and…well, I've lost two too many loved ones already. If I'm gonna see your name on the news, I want it to be because an indie film or music project of yours took off, or because you're taking over your dad's comic strip — not because they found you dead, dressed in wasp-themed PJs, with your guts hanging out in some dank side alley."
"How delightfully visceral." —Vesppa says, approvingly. "But I would never let it come to that, of course."
"The point is," —she continues, glaring daggers at the Kwami. "I would hate myself if you got hurt because I didn't warn you about the dangers. That being said…I'd like to think I know you pretty well, Zoé. Even if I maybe missed some pretty important things over the years." —she says, pointedly and somehow amusedly. Zoé feels her stomach doing a sommersault, but Jessica doesn't go any further than that, at least for now. "And I think you'd probably hate yourself if you didn't at least try."
"I want to." —Zoé finds herself saying. "I really want to try. I want to prove to myself I can do something like this."
Jessica gives her a smirk, but Zoé can tell it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, if that's the idea, how can I possibly stand in your way?"
"…and if I can't…I want you to have it." —Zoé all but blurts out.
She can almost feel the temperature dropping.
Jess frowns, and a pregnant pause follows. "…I doubt it works that way, Zo."
"It does not." —Vesppa confirms. Zoé's stomach drops, but the Kwami is not done. "At least, not if the Guardians involve themselves — they would never allow such a transfer to take place. But they are not here, and I scarcely value their contributions — I care only about my Holder's desires. If Zoé wants to name you her successor, I have no objections — though I would heartily insist on staying with you and keep trying, no matter how long it takes for you to reach your noble goals, Master."
"That's…surprisingly heartwarming." —Zoé admits.
Vesppa does a little mid-air bow. "It is both my duty and pleasure to be your Kwami, Zoé. Be yourself, make no apologies for it, and you will be more than worthy of my power. I ask for nothing more from you."
"See, the murder fairy wants to stick by you." —Jess drawls, evidently thankful for her intervention. "You don't get to pawn it off on me. If a hero is what you wanna be, then a hero is what you're gonna be."
Zoé snorts. "That easy, huh?"
Jessica smiles softly. "You're the kindest soul I know, Zo. If that doesn't make for a good superhero, I don't know what will." —she says, then smirks. "Besides, I don't know if you knew this, but I am absurdly wealthy. I'm sure I can abuse that privilege to help you out somehow."
"Please don't." —Zoé says, witheringly. "But…thank you. If I've got you in my corner, what could possibly go wrong?"
"So…does your sword have a name?"
Nico blinks, turning towards Dipper, who's staring intently at his sheathed blade. He's started to zone out, which is a reflection of how much he just isn't built for stakeouts. "It does not." —he says, after a moment.
"Oh. Too cool for that sort of thing, I guess?"
He blushes, kind of embarrassed. "…no. Some demigods do name their chosen weapon, or come to possess one already named. One of my friends wields a blade named Anaklusmos — Riptide being the closest translation." —he says, a small smile making its way through his usual gloom. "It's a relatively common practice in the magical world, from what I understand, since names inherently carry some amount of power, and you definitely want every advantage you can get in this messed up way of life of ours. I've just…never stopped to figure out one for mine."
"Sounds like someone skipped session zero." —Dipper drawls. At Nico's quizzical look, he cringes. "It's a D&D thing? Session zero is when you do all the setup for your role-playing character — background, class, race, and all the trivia you wanna define for them. Weapon names included."
Nico hums. "I'm only vaguely familiar with D&D. The Apollo cabin tried to run a game, once, I think. It was before my time, but apparently, half the fictional monsters in that game have a Greco-Roman origin or inspiration. A bunch of demigods calling these creatures by their names over and over is, magically speaking, just about halfway to a summoning ritual, so after about a dozen spontaneous monster attacks and several dead demigods, Chiron banned table-top RPGs from camp."
Dipper whistles awkwardly. "…that's a bummer."
Ellie snorts. "What, the banned game, or the murdered kids?"
Nico shakes his head, morbidly amused. "It can be both." —he shrugs. "Y'know, Strange insisted that the Sanctum's defenses were impenetrable, so we wouldn't have to worry about me accidentally summoning a bunch of monsters. Maybe you could run a game for us, assuming we don't all die in the next few hours."
He could swear Dipper's pupils get as big as a cartoon character's. "Oh, boy, would I!" —he gleefully retorts, then pauses. "Oh, but…I guess we're kinda banned from the Sanctum."
"I dunno about you guys, but that's a good thing, in my book." —Ellie says, shivering. "I swear, I saw a slimy tentacle slither into a crack in the wall and I do not think the logical explanation there is that Strange is into hentai."
Dipper snort-laughs, seemingly mortified. "Oh, God, the psychic wounds you just inflicted."
Nico narrows his eyes. "I gather that it's not a good thing, but…what's hentai?"
Ellie blushes green. "Goddamn, dude, I forget you're from the fifties."
"From the thirties, actually." —Nico retorts, almost on reflex.
"Whatever the decade, you're old as hell." —she shrugs. "And thus not very well informed on the finer points of modern pornography, I guess."
Now it's Nico's turn to blush.
"Oh, hey, the friend is finally leaving." —Dipper notes.
Thanking all the gods, above and below, for the welcome distraction, Nico turns his attention back to the street below. Indeed, the brown-skinned girl in the ponytail walks out of the apartment building, glancing every which way — their roof included, for some reason, even though she doesn't appear to have the gift of Clear Sight — before hurriedly walking away, presumably to the nearest subway station, passing none the wiser right by the Knights.
The Knights, which keep tirelessly patrolling the street in the exact same pattern as before.
"What in Hades are they waiting for…?" —Nico muses. "I was sure they'd react as soon as the mortal left."
"Nightfall, maybe?" —Ellie suggests. "Fewer eyes on them?"
"What for? They're already exploiting the Mist to be ignored by mortals. Even if they confronted the girl and a fight broke out, most people would instinctively run, even if they can't see them as tall and bulky knights in actual shining armor." —he shakes his head. "No, this must be something else."
Dipper hums, taking a sip of Code Red that one of Ellie's duplicates fetched for him that's probably gone stale by now. "They could be waiting on orders from their superiors."
Nico absently turns the skull ring on his finger. "You said you knew everything about them, Dipper. What's the deal with these Knights? I'd never heard of them before skimming Strange's reading materials."
"I honestly didn't even get that far." —Ellie shrugs.
"That's surprising. All the stuff I've read about them basically pegs them as the scourge of the magical world." —Dipper notes. Ellie snickers, which the budding paranormal researcher rolls his eyes at. "Anyway — though I didn't say I knew everything, just that I'd studied up on them — the Forever Knights were founded about 1,500 years ago, but their origins can be traced all the way back to Ancient Greece, and maybe even beyond. Their whole mission statement is to eradicate anything 'unnatural' from the Earth — gods, monsters, aliens, extradimensional creatures, etcétera. Them and their allies are the reason creatures of myth like dragons are practically extinct, the reason all the magical realms isolated themselves from mortals and from each other, and, of course, the reason mundane humans can't naturally interact with the supernatural — with some obvious exceptions, obviously."
"So…before they got up to their murderous nonsense people could see the magic in the world?" —Ellie questions.
"That's what I've gleaned from the texts I've read, yeah." —he says, sounding forlorn, seemingly sad not to live in such a world. Nico doesn't exactly see the appeal, but then again, he gets to both experience the wonder of magic and the daily threat of bodily harm from some of its worst creatures. Privileges of being a demigod, he supposes. "Ancient cultures weren't simply superstitious, they lived alongside most of the things they believed in. But between the rise of organized religion and the Knights's crusade, they're just myths and legends to us, these days." —he says. "Well, more to us than to you, of course. Needless to say, these guys are bad news. But they haven't really been active in a few decades, I don't think. At least, not that the Masters have noticed."
"It seems to me like the Masters miss more than they notice." —Nico says, annoyed. "Or, at least, they did under the previous Sorcerer Supreme."
Dipper winces. "I never met her. I think Weirdmageddon happened while she was in charge, but we only ever talked with some of the lower rank adepts. She seems…divisive, from what I've heard the Masters gossip."
"I had never even heard of the Masters before Strange approached me. I don't see eye to eye much with him, but I'd say he's more than right to be frustrated at her 'hands-off approach', and the state of the world she left him with." —Nico grouses.
Ellie hums. "I dunno, I don't exactly trust authority figures like that, so I'm not too broken up about not having her help me. If she'd shown up to help me fight a ghost, I think I'd just be worried about any ulterior motives. And you know someone of that caliber is gonna have ulterior motives."
No stranger to the machinations of powerful magical beings, Nico happens to agree. "So…what do you think Strange's are?"
"Hmm…I think he's out of his depth." —Ellie muses. "And he's using us as life preservers, just to stay afloat."
Nico snorts. "Having second thoughts already, huh?"
Ellie shrugs. "I wouldn't go that far. I'm enjoying the break from punching the ectoplasmic snot out of formerly living people on a daily basis, and I happen to like you and the nerdy chatterbox over here." —she says, nodding at Dipper and pointedly ignoring his protests. "Even Wong has a decent Spotify playlist, at least. But — and don't take this the wrong way, chief — I really doubt this shindig's gonna last very long. I don't love that the Ancient One couldn't be bothered to lift a finger to help you guys, but I do think it was probably reasonable for her to assume we could handle it on our own — because we did."
"Because we had to." —Nico corrects. "Or we would die, and the world as we know it would end. Many of us did die."
"And I'm sorry for the people you've lost, but think about it; how many more might've died if your enemies and mine got together, had a brainstorming sesh, and figured out they have common cause?" —she questions. "We've already started to see some of that, unless you're forgetting: we almost died multiple times because two of your gods teamed up with some of the Egyptians's enemies, with the backing of what's apparently the hot new nemesis for the Avengers. If we're teaming up, shouldn't we expect our bad guys to maybe try out the crossover strategy, too?"
"Well, you said it yourself. We're already seeing that, and I don't think our teaming up was the reason for it." —Nico argues. He's not even sure why — he's hardly the biggest proponent of this team idea, let alone his leading it — but he finds himself wanting to defend its merits. Gods forbid, he may be growing attached to it. "Both our wacky team-ups are symptoms of a crazier illness. You were there, you heard Hecate: that masked madman can somehow change the universe to suit his purposes, at a level that even the gods can't perceive unless they know to look for the signs. I don't think that's the kind of threat you survive on your own — if you can survive it at all."
"Um, guys…" —Dipper pipes up. "Not to interrupt your very concerning and, er, kinda bonkers discussion, but…I think the Knights went into the building."
Nico curses his distraction, turning his gaze back down to the street. Indeed, the armored foes are nowhere to be seen. "Are you sure?"
"Not really." —Dipper admits. "Didn't see them go in. But they've been making the rounds like clockwork all day, and they should be walking by right now. Putting two and two together…"
Ellie purses her lips. "So…go in, guns blazing?"
Nico frowns. "We just go in, for now. We don't want to hurt the girl. Zoé." —he says, trying to commit the name to memory — even though it brings back bad memories tied to a certain deceased Huntress of Artemis-turned-constellation. "Even if she's powered up, we don't know how powerful one of these Miraculous Holders can be, or if they're even in full control of their actions."
"Why wouldn't they be?" —Dipper wonders.
His frown deepens into a scowl. "Friendly to humans or not, a Kwami is akin to a god — and I would never trust a god enough to let them fuse with me, no matter how much power was on offer."
Ellie raises an eyebrow. "Damn. Even your dad?"
Nico snorts. "Especially my dad."
"Noted." —Ellie says, finally shedding the invisibility, rolling her stiff shoulders, and circling each of their waists. "Let's go."
The pull of gravity fades in an instant, as Ellie flies them down to street level. The apartment building is code-locked, but Ellie phases them through with ease. Nico prepares to face the music with the security guard at the reception desk — or, more likely, book it before he realizes they are performing a supernatural B&E — but the moment they touch down…something rather bizarre happens.
"Um…where did everyone…go?" —Dipper wonders.
In the blink of an eye, they are alone. The guard, the one or two souls milling around in the lobby, the people walking on the streets outside…everyone has suddenly vanished. Not just from view, either, as he can sense nothing more than the one and a half living souls beside him. Nico's eyebrows knit together; he approaches the door, trying to push it open, but even with his supernatural strength, it refuses to budge. He draws his blade, poking the deadly tip against the crystal, but it somehow does not shatter — doesn't even get scratched.
What's more, the sky outside, which should be a slightly cloudy sunny day, has been replaced with a literal black void.
"Did we just step into the Mirror Dimension, or something?" —Dipper muses. "But, no, I don't think this is what it looks like…"
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's the Knights's doing." —Nico grouses. "Let's move, you two."