She couldn’t shake that dim memory of the nameless man she’d killed on the night she got her powers.  She hated Marquis in a way she couldn’t articulate, and if the memories that recurred every time she crossed paths with him were any clue, it was somehow tied to that.

It’s not even really his fault that she hates his guts. But it’s not her fault either. It’s an unfortunate coincidence, one that would go on to haunt her as she was tasked with taking care of his child.

She wondered if it was because she liked him on a level.  Was her psyche trying to protect her from repeating her earlier mistake?

Hmm, perhaps.

“Little close for comfort, Brandish dear,” Marquis spoke.

Oh, has she been subconsciously getting closer to finishing him off as her thoughts went on?

She looked down.  She’d unconsciously pressed the blade closer.  When she lifted it, she could see the burn at the base of his throat.

Ow.

…I love the calmness of him speaking up about that.

I wonder if he feels pain? Immunity to pain would be a reasonable secondary power for someone who regularly manipulates his bones to come out through his flesh and skin.

“Thank you kindly,” he spoke.  There was a trace of irony there.

That cultured act, the civility that was real.  Marquis was fair, he played by the rules.  His rules, but he stuck to them without fail.  It didn’t match her vision of what a criminal should be.  It was jarring, creating a kind of dissonance.

I know, isn’t it great?

That dissonance was redoubled as she looked at the forlorn little girl.  Layers upon layers, distilled in one expression.  Criminal, civilized man, child.

I mean, text-only alliteration is nice and all, but this kinda makes it sound like she’s saying he’s a child.

Maybe “Criminal, civilized man, loving father.” would work better?

Then again, Carol has more pressing things to consider than how her thoughts might be read if written down.

“Yes,” Marquis said.

“The motherfucker has a kid?” Lightstar muttered the question, as if to himself.  “And she’s, what,  five?”

Timeframes! That would put this event at about 11-12 years ago.

“Six,” Marquis answered.

10-11, sorry.

Six.  Vicky’s age, then.  She looks younger.

Did they adjust her age down to make things harder to track? That would explain why Marquis says she’s seventeen and Amy says she’s sixteen. Though “it’s shortly before her birthday and Marquis didn’t know that” would explain it almost as well.

“She’ll go to her mother,” Lady Photon decided.

Dead? Missing?

“Her mother’s gone, I’m afraid.  The big C.  Amelia and I were introduced shortly after that.

Ouch.

About a year ago, now that I think on it.  I must admit, I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I’ve enjoyed all my crimes combined.  Quite surprising.”

So that would be why the Brigade didn’t notice this whole thing long ago. For example by realizing Marquis was taking time off from evil to take care of a baby.

His daughter, Brandish thought.  The resemblance was uncanny.  The nose was different, the brow, but she was her father’s daughter.

The idea disturbed her.

FUCK.

Amy felt like Carol didn’t really like her that much, or something along those lines. This is why. Amy looks like her father, and her father’s looks reminded Carol of her trigger event, so Amy’s looks do the same thing by extension.

Damn, that stings.

Marquis chuckled.  “You could say that.  The most precious treasure in the world.”

No, seriously, this response is even more perfect if Amy was an “illegitimate child”.

“Somehow I missed the news report where you stole that,” Lady Photon replied.

I like the dramatic irony in this scene. We the readers know what Marquis was protecting, and it makes him seem a lot more human here than he does to the Brigade.

It also allows for lines like this one.

“Stole?  No.  It would be better to say a devoted fan and follower gave her to me.”

Ahaha, nice.

“Her?”  Brandish asked.  But Lady Photon was already reaching for the door, pulling it open.

A girl.  A child, not much younger than Vicky.  The girl was brown hair, freckle-faced, and clutched a silk pillow to her chest.  She wore a silk nightgown with lace at the collar and sleeves.

Aww, little babby Amy.

It looked expensive for something a child would wear.

Nothing less for Marquis’ precious little.

She let him fall, and then pressed the sword to his throat.  If he gave her an excuse, she would finish him.

Take a deep breath.

She stared down at him.  That long hair, it was such a minor thing, but there was something else about him that stirred that distant, dark memory of the lightless room and the failed attempt at ransom.

Ah, fuck. Whether he actually was involved back then or he just happens to remind her of it, this isn’t good. For him.

Her skin crawled, and she felt anger boiling in her gut.

It took some time for the others to recover, getting their bearings and ensuring their wounds weren’t too serious.

“What were you so intent on protecting?” Manpower asked.  “This where you stash your illegitimate gains?”

…maybe. Was he married to Amy’s mother?

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

Here he goes again. And he’s got style when he does it, too!

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

So what’s different this time?

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

Oh, she’s checking out what he was defending.

Or rather, whom.

Marquis emerged between her and the closet door.  She plunged the sword into his shoulder without hesitation.

Oh, hi there. Yeah, he really doesn’t want her going in there. And certainly not thrusting her blade in there.

She could smell his flesh burn, the wound cauterized by the same energy that formed the blade.

“Damnation,” Marquis muttered the word, sagging.

Pfft. That’s certainly a way to swear.

So the truth here is that Marquis was defeated not because he wouldn’t hurt women, but because he was protecting Amy at the cost of having to break from his usual tactics.

Let’s finally get back to the bone zone!

In the seconds it had taken her to deal with the blindfold, Marquis had trapped Lady Photon, binding her in a column of dense bone that had likely sprung around her from the floor or ceiling.

Once he gets a good amount of bone going, this power is really strong.

From the glow that was emanating through the barrier, she was apparently trying to use lasers to cut her way out.  She was strong enough to do it in one shot, but she couldn’t do that without risking shooting a teammate if the shot continued through.

Ahh, right.

That left Marquis to duel with Manpower, striking the hero over and over with a massive scythe of bone that extended out from his wrist.

Bones and scythes? Classic combination.

Not usually like this, though.

Manpower was strong, and he was durable thanks to his electromagnetic shield – sparks flew as the scythe hit home over and over.  Even so, the hero didn’t try to fight back.

Why? To avoid punching Marquis through a wall? Or maybe to avoid shattering more of the bones?

It took her only a moment to realize why.  Each swing of the scythe was calculated so that if the movement followed through, it would strike either the crippled Flashbang or Lightstar.

Oh! Devious.