There was a moment of lingering silence after my grand pronouncement where everyone waited for something to happen. Sleazebag was the first one to react, though it was more so a response to the behavior of the other two than towards anything I'd said. "The fuck are we standing around here for? Go."

And with that, the trio scurried back out of the diner. I followed after them at a slightly more leisurely pace. Along the way, though, I realized that the single worker on shift had finished with part of the order. Wow, that was fast. He was standing there a bit awkwardly, clearly unsure whether to draw attention to the fact that they were about to leave all the food they paid for behind.

There was no point in wasting it, right? Slowing down right before the exit, I silently snagged as much as I could off the plastic tray with my bare hands, flashing a hasty thumbs-up as I did so. Having to carry several waffles and a biscuit in my bare hands was pretty annoying, but it wasn't like they had syrup or anything on them yet. I obviously couldn't just take the reusable plastic tray or wait for him to package it for takeout, so I made do with what I had.

By this point, I was starting to wonder how far we'd have to go to get to where Monstergirl was causing trouble, as well as how we'd do it. I realized fairly quickly that the answer was 'by motorcycle.' Ooh, looks fun. All three were already revving up their engines and preparing to take off. There was a slight problem there—I didn't have my own bike, and I was not going to ride with Sleazebag.

I made that perfectly clear by giving him a thumbs down when he cockily beckoned me over. Shrugging, he started up his own bike and roared off after his two subordinates. Well that's kind of annoying. I would still manage, though. I could run fast.

So run I did. Those same leaping strides soon turned into leaping glides, as my sharp, metal wings caught on the air and helped me skim along above the ground for a bit longer—which was honestly super weird. I still hadn't devoted any time to properly testing out flight, and it still seemed like there was absolutely no way wings like this should support anything, let alone something like me.

But I already had proof that they could, and the slide 'skimming' effect already starting to happen continued to prove it. Somehow, undoubtedly by an intrinsic, esoteric effect of my alien biology, they could grant me true flight. So, even as the trio gained greater and greater distance on me with their motorcycles, I really put my mind to work on the problem.

Look, you've already established that this shouldn't work according to normal physics, but it definitely does. Clearly, that means there's no point in limiting yourself to ideas that make engineering sense—because there aren't any. After forcibly putting myself in that overall mindset, I started by thinking about the overall structure of my wings and what conclusions I might be able to draw.

The thing that jumped out first was the fact that, while the wings were overall rather skeletal, they did have an analog to feathers. Those 'feathers' were essentially, long, narrow, flat blades that tapered to a needle-like point. And, while they were spaced such that they did overlap each other slightly, their very nature contributed to the skeletal, low-lift impression. I didn't know exactly how many there were on each wing—at least a couple dozen, I'd guess—but they were definitely large and sparse enough to be easily countable, should I actually bother doing it.

All that being said—they were still there in the first place, which meant they were likely needed to accomplish something. Another, related thing I'd noticed long before this moment was that they were a lighter, silver color—a third material, essentially, and unlike the darker metal covering most of my body, they contained zero Adamantite. My theory, then, was that they were akin to hair, nails, or, well, real feathers in the sense of being 'dead,' so to speak. That theory was strengthened as I found myself struggling to move them individually.

My wings were both easy and shockingly intuitive to move as a whole, but the individual blades? Not so much. As I continued to run after the disappearing motorcyclist, I was about to give up and try flapping like a bird—right up until I felt something clench—and every single feather began to violently vibrate.

The fuck? It wasn't a painful sort of tension, and in fact, it didn't feel like something that would ultimately lead to some sort of Anathema RSI condition if I continued doing it. At the same exact time, I came to a sudden, lurching stop. Holy shit.

I hadn't stopped on purpose, or even because I'd gotten distracted. I stopped because moving forward was suddenly extremely difficult, and it was because my wings were massively resisting any significant motion. Holy shit!

They weren't trying to push me backwards, either—no, they were simply stuck, as if the rapid vibration of the individual 'feathers' was somehow latching onto the air itself with an iron grip. I had no idea how that could possibly work, but then, I didn't really need to. The answer to the question of 'how do I fly with these' was suddenly obvious.

Relaxing the tension that was causing them to vibrate in sync like that, I spread my wings forward—and then I snapped them back while setting them to vibrating again for just a fraction of a second before relaxing again. The entire sequence of motions took less than a full second, but the results spoke for themselves. That single, massive beat of my wings sent my entire body hurtling up and forwards.

I wouldn't stay airborne for long—already, I was arching back down to the street, and I'd maybe cleared two stories at the highest point of my ascent. But now that I knew what to do, sustaining it proved to be fairly easy.

I felt like I was finding the right rhythm after just several more beats. The comical lack of lift was actually a blessing, as it allowed me to knife through the air with a tiny amount of drag relative to my weight. That wasn't to say it was trivial—it definitely took more effort than walking or even running. You know, I feel like I'm starting to understand why pigeons always wait until the very last moment to fly out of the way of a car. The fact that it came 'naturally' didn't make it a low effort activity.

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Right now, though, it was more than worth the extra exertion. I wasn't just keeping up with Sleazebag and his buddies—I was catching up, and I was doing so quickly. By the time I was directly overhead, though, it looked like they were already slowing down and getting ready to approach the actual destination. For just a few, terrifying seconds, I worried that I didn't know how to land—but I realized it shouldn't be too hard. I already knew I had what was effectively a built in parachute.

Keeping my wings spread, I steadily amped up the amount of vibration, bringing my descent into a gentle, almost floating glide. I touched down gracefully—an exceptional landing for what was my first attempt, I'd say. That was important, because I wanted to maintain a good first impression with these—fuck, I don't even know. Whatever they were, I knew I wanted to look confident and imposing.

I also realized that our destination was—a barbershop? What? No, really, it was a 'nice' strip mall area, and I was pretty sure—yep. Someone went flying through the front glass of the barbershop, skidding across the ground before rolling to her feet. Hey, wait a minute. It wasn't Monsterirl. It was yet another person who'd seemingly copied my look, only this time, in a completely different context.

She was a Tier 2 Guardian, not an Anathema—and that put us on roughly equal footing, even before mentioning the fact that she was also decked out in a similarly styled suit of half medieval, half science fiction armor. The main difference—aside from the more minor details—was that hers was way lighter in color and shinier, as well as the fact that she lacked wings.

Wait a minute. I started to remember something from a week or more ago—a-ha, that's it! Even though I couldn't see Knockoff anymore, as she'd barely hesitated before rushing back into the damaged shop, I recalled my bizarre encounter with some random gang members on my way home from the incursion I was partially responsible for starting on the university campus.

The two regular humans I'd encountered then had quite literally put their hands up before I even realized something was going on. At the time, it seemed like they got me confused with someone else—presumably another 'Guardian' working with a rival gang. From what I just saw, there was a very high chance that it was this other, Tier 2 Guardian. After all, she was even about the same, unimpressive height that I was.

"Is she also on your side?" I asked Sleazebag, in reference to the Knockoff audibly battling something deeper inside the shop.

Glancing at me, he nodded once. "Yes."

I shrugged. "Okay, good to know." Then I ran into the shop as well. I made sure to fully 'retract' my wings at the same time, since I figured they'd be more of a nuisance in such tight quarters than they would be useful. And still, I wondered why it was even a barbershop. Money laundering, maybe? Whatever the reason, it wasn't very hard to locate the source of the disturbance.

Monstergirl was in the process of repeatedly and methodically getting her shit kicked in by Ms. Tin Can, to the point that I'd almost feel bad for her—metaphorically speaking, of course. With the way things were currently going, I started to wonder how Tin Can even got thrown out into the middle of the street in the first place. Then, as I continued to stand around and watch, Monstergirl grabbed one of the deeper shadows in the already dark building—yes, grabbed—and then yanked.

Well that's certainly interesting, I thought as I watched the other Anathema in the barbershop yank the literal darkness out from under Tin Can's feet, toppling her over like an absurd, magician's tablecloth trick gone wrong. Then, before my very eyes, Monstergirl proceeded to rapidly spin the detached shadow into a sticky rope like she was a fucking fairytale weaver or some shit.

The longer I looked at her, the more I realized she gave off major bug vibes. Those fuzzy 'horns' weren't horns—they were antennae. That realization, combined with the nonsensical shadow bullshit, jogged something loose in my memory. She's a lurker.

Lurkers were one of the Anathema types that straddled the line between common and rare. Uncommon, one might say—the creatures that were still widely known to the general populace, yet weren't likely to be found in any given incursion. As the name suggested, they were oversized bugs that liked to lurk in dark places and trap people. The overall form, if I recalled correctly, was something like a cross between a spider and a centipede—optimized generic nightmare fuel, basically.

I also noted the fact that Monstergirl already had a solid handle on a more esoteric ability related to her type. That kind of pissed me off, since it had taken me way longer to manage anything 'external' like that. Regardless, it was now pretty obvious how she'd managed to stay so slippery and even get one over on Tin Can at least two different times. As I watched, she spun the solidified shadow-rope around like a toy sticky hand, splatting it against the far wall and yanking herself all the way across the room.

I couldn't help but note the way the 'rope' immediately melted back into the shadowy corner of the room. At the same time, the nearest proper shadows to her original location started seeping back into the weirdly non-dark patch like spilled ink. God that's so trippy. The non-dark area was a strange enough effect on its own—not so much illuminated as not shaded at all, like a low quality viewpoint 'render' in a 3D modeler, including a disorienting lack of any real color.

Regardless, the fact that she'd borrowed the existing shadow made it pretty obvious how we needed to actually fight her. Somehow, she'd still failed to notice me at this point—which was good, because it made it easy for me to just walk over and flip on the nearest light switch.

And holy cats, I apparently lucked out and found the switch controlling the brightest, most overbearing set of lights, because I effectively flashbanged the entire place, including the three people in it. Tin Can, who was just then in the process of getting to her feet and reorienting herself, cursed and stumbled over one of the barber chairs. Meanwhile, Monstergirl fell off the ceiling with a ridiculous, startled yelp.

I, meanwhile, merely strode purposefully towards where she'd fallen, blinking the lingering spots out of my eyes as I did so. She was starting to get up, so I kicked her in the face as hard as I could. Which was pretty fucking hard, actually. The bitch quite literally did a half flip off the ground, smacking back down on her back. And, at that point, I was already on top of her, pinning the slippery skank down with my massively increased weight.

I heard and felt Tin Can come to a stop somewhere beside me. "Wait, did turning on the light—"

"Yes," I snapped at her, not breaking eye contact with the other Anathema glaring up at me, "now go get your friends and see if anyone has a Goddamn flashlight."

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