Chapter Seven
I watched the end of the fight from my smartphone, having returned to the shore where my clothes and phone were left—into which I immediately changed, because the diving suit had turned into absolute rags.
The media helicopters that arrived at the battle scene a few minutes after my flight were broadcasting the whole action live on the Internet. So the whole world could enjoy the show. And it turned out to be a grand one. Soon after the Immortal and War Woman, the rest of the Guardians joined the fun. Darkwing, who was essentially an ordinary human with various technological gadgets, was about as effective against the monster as the fighters from the ro-ro ship's own escort group. However, he perfectly understood this himself, and therefore, immediately upon arrival, focused on helping Red Rush evacuate the people. A little later, the Martian joined them; having poked the monster once, he realized that he could not oppose it with anything—neither confuse such a large and stupid monster with his appearance, nor bind it with his own body—and also focused on support. Still, although the Martian people possess highly outstanding abilities, they are far from Viltrumites.
But Aquarus and Green Ghost showed themselves much better. The former shone in his native element, and by creating powerful underwater currents, greatly complicated the opponent's life. And the Ghost constantly flew into the monster's head in her intangible form and raped its brains, making its movements chaotic. Hmm, this ability of hers could help even in a fight with Nolan... actually, it's even strange that the Ghost didn't manage to escape from my father in her past life. There are two options here: either my father killed the ghost before she became intangible, or he has a special trick in store for such opponents.
But the main striking force in the battle undoubtedly remained the Immortal and War Woman—only these two could inflict any significant physical damage on the opponent. The Immortal was just very strong and durable, while knowing how to fly—however, all the Guardians except Rush knew how to do that—and War Woman swung her mace very qualitatively; her attacks were even weightier than the Immortal's blows.
And yet... even with the combined efforts of the whole team, the Guardians could not quickly defeat the monster. And, don't get me wrong, I was glad about this. Not about the failures of the hero team, of course, but that I wasn't mistaken in my initial assessment of my own strength. It's not that I'm such a wimp—it's just that the monster we encountered was truly terrifying. Otherwise it would have been very unpleasant, especially for my self-esteem, if they had taken out the opponent in a jiffy, to whom I couldn't oppose anything.
But finally, after almost half an hour of battle, the monster was defeated and after another combined attack went to the bottom, and the battered heroes—especially the Immortal and War Woman, who had experienced the full heat of the monster's tentacle embraces—left the scene victorious. Although I had some doubts about whether the Guardians really managed to finally lay the monster to rest... they never did pierce its skull. However, the underwater people probably must have something like their own defense agency that will check the remains; after all, they have lived side by side with such creatures throughout their history and should have developed healthy foresight.
Now, having calmed down a bit and thought over what happened, I realize that I acted somewhat recklessly—especially when I allowed myself to get distracted in the fight with the beast, without even properly checking how deadly it is. But the chance to meet such an abnormally powerful monster... in all my past life—the part that I remember, naturally—I can count such strong opponents on the fingers of one hand.
It's a pity, of course, that I never achieved my goal, and this whole mess turned out to be somewhat pointless, but it could have been worse. The media cameras didn't have time to film me, so besides Oleg, no one could really get a good look at me. Plus, I assessed my strength against a real opponent and can compare myself with the best superhero team on the planet.
And... they are not as bad as I thought. Well, I mean, it was obvious before that the best of the best should be a significant force, but still—my father killed them all at once, without receiving a scratch and without giving himself away in any way.
I wasn't informed much about what they managed to find at the site of their death in the past world, but now I'm practically sure that my father took them by surprise with a sudden attack. The Immortal and War Woman are strong enough to inflict serious damage even on a Viltrumite, Red Rush is incredibly fast, and the Ghost is intangible, damn it—acting in tandem, they could have given Omni-Man a worthy fight. They shouldn't be discounted.
And now I need to think about how to return home: the damn suckers left bruises on me that you can't write off as a street fight. Carefully examining my reflection, I realized that for the next couple of days I would have to give up any revealing clothes. Fortunately, the battle wounds were not too serious—they will heal in a couple of days—and could easily be hidden by clothes.
"You're quite a tough kid," suddenly sounded from the side, exactly at the moment when I was craning my neck, trying to see the biggest mark on my back.
"What the..." flinching from the surprise, I turned to the voice. "You..."
Leaning against a large stone stood a tall, skinny guy of typical Slavic appearance: somewhat high cheekbones, brown eyes, red hair cut almost to a buzz cut, dressed in a closed red suit with a hood, which was currently thrown back.
Red Rush in person. Still somewhat battered and flushed after the fight with the Kaiju—although he didn't get into the fight himself, it's hard to even imagine how many kilometers in total he ran while pulling out all the passengers. But how did he track me down?
"That thing was chewing on you for almost a minute, and you, I see, are right as rain," the speedster chuckled and sat down on another stone a few meters away from me, doing so so fast that even for me it was almost like teleportation.
"Showing off?" I smirked at this posturing.
And in a language native to both of us, which clearly surprised my interlocutor.
"Can't do without it..." he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, also switching to Russian. "I think you wanted to talk to me."
"So you did notice me?" Unexpected.
"Yeah, at first I thought I imagined it, and then you joined the fun; by the way, thanks for that, you arrived right on time," he held out his hand to me. "My name is Oleg."
I shook the calloused palm with crooked fingers. The hand of a man accustomed to hard physical labor since childhood. So he didn't always have his power, he managed to taste a hard life... I didn't know.
"Mark. And I couldn't just stand aside," I answered with an essentially standard phrase. "But to be honest, this was my first experience..."
"I thought so..." the speedster chuckled.
"Yeah..." and that was hurtful; it's not like I was intentionally playing the rookie, I just underestimated the opponent.
"By the way, what were you doing there?" Oleg asked as if casually.
"Just, swimming," I shrugged.
"In the middle of the Pacific Ocean?" the hero didn't believe it.
"Well, I... am kind of testing my powers, checking how deep I can dive," I generally told the truth. "How did you find me?"
Oleg pointed a finger at the sky, where, looking closely, I noticed a tiny dot of a drone. Bitch, I should have flown away from there faster, and zigzagged in the process.
"Darkwing's drones. He was tracking the monster from the very beginning of the fight, and sent one after you."
Damn... and this guy can already figure out my identity, and then recognize Omni-Man in my father. Although, following this logic, he should have also found out the second identity of Omni-Man himself in exactly the same way, and therefore known about my existence for a long time. So it all comes down to Darkwing's foresight and paranoia.
"Basically, we were afraid you were seriously hurt. Look how your suit got shredded," he continued, nodding at the remains of my diving suit.
They were worried about me, then... well, it's not that it couldn't be true. I've become somewhat too distrustful because of my father. These are the Guardians of the Globe, after all—they really are altruists who banded together despite all their differences and the politics of their countries. I'm the same myself, after all...
"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk about," I took the chance to change the subject. "Could you tell me who I can order a sturdier suit from? Mine is completely torn."
"That can be done," the guy easily agreed. "I know several: in Russia, in Canada, in China, in England, in the USA; and each calls himself the best in the world. It will probably be easiest for you with Rosenbaum—he lives nearby and will give a good discount for a newbie with talents like yours."
Damn it... that's exactly the only one who definitely doesn't suit me.
"Um... let's go with a Russian master instead." I don't think my father knows Russian and has ever ordered a suit in Russia.
"Are you sure?" I nodded. "Then we'll have to take a run, and I need to go home anyway."
---
We had to run—in my case, fly—not only across the ocean, but then also across the whole of Russia, from Vladivostok to Moscow. It took us twenty minutes—it could have been faster, but I, although belatedly, still decided not to reveal all my power. At the end of the journey, I even acted as if such speed was too much for me, to which Oleg only chuckled with superiority—he definitely wasn't running at even a quarter of his maximum.
The endpoint of our journey turned out to be a luxurious and extremely picturesque estate near Moscow. Not only was the plot surrounded by a forest on all sides, but the main building was also beautifully overgrown with vegetation. In the dim moonlight—we are on the other end of the Earth relative to my home, the difference is almost twelve hours—this place seemed creepy. It didn't look at all like Arthur's modest shop, and if the owner earned this house by selling suits, then her services are clearly not cheap, and I currently have no source of income. Yeah, I should have thought about this in advance...
"Oksana is not very sociable and doesn't like sunlight," Oleg recounted as we approached the gates. "So you're in luck, she's most likely awake."
"Just don't tell me she's a vampire..." I cast a glance at the mansion, which would perfectly pass for Dracula's estate as it would be shown in the movies. "Or a witch."
Oleg contacted someone through a completely modern electronic security system, and we were allowed to enter.
"Haha, don't worry so much," the guy chuckled. "She's not evil, if you don't provoke her. And don't touch anything here, or you'll accidentally catch some curse..."
Oh, there's clearly some story hidden behind this, I can hear it in his voice.
Walking through the dimly lit corridors, we went down to the minus second floor, where the owner of the estate was already waiting for us.
She was a very tall—I barely reached her chest—and thin lady of about thirty-five, very beautiful and with the cold and tenacious gaze of a predator. And it wasn't hard to guess exactly which predator, because four additional chitin-covered limbs grew out of her back. And these legs, judging by how they moved, were quite functional.
The new acquaintance answered to the name Oksana Fyodorovna and, after Oleg introduced me as his colleague, asked to voice the requirements for the suit. It turned out that the Russian Spider-Woman, unlike her comic book counterparts, knows how to spin webs, and can give them a variety of properties. And this spider silk of hers turned out to be, in some aspects, even better than the fabric Rosenbaum uses for his suits—and the best example of this is that Oleg still wears equipment of her production, although he is perfectly acquainted with Arthur. But there was a catch: this silk turned out to be very highly specialized. Thus, Oleg's suit was perfect for heroes with speed-type abilities—it almost completely eliminated air friction and was incredibly elastic—but you couldn't fly into outer space in such a thing.
Only I had too many requirements for the fabric. As a minimum, I needed exorbitant durability so that the suit wouldn't tear from any of my blows, and resistance to extreme temperature drops so that the fabric wouldn't lose its properties when flying into space. Elasticity and low friction wouldn't hurt either, but, as they say in Russia, I had to roll up my lip and limit myself to the maximum possible durability and heat resistance at which the silk could still be comfortably worn.
Then we discussed the design, fortunately I had already figured everything out here, and at the end Oksana named the preliminary price of her services...
"I think we can fit into a hundred thousand," the woman told me, thoughtfully rubbing between her fingers a silk thread that she herself had secreted during the discussion from a gland on an extra arm.
"A hundred thousand what?" I clarified.
"Rubles, of course."
Internally I sighed with relief, although externally I tried to remain calm—this is even cheaper than Arthur charges—which is quite fair, because his suits were more versatile and withstood equally well most of the elements and loads that I encountered.