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Interlude: Mask of Ice
🕑 Added 2025-10-29 08:41:48 +0000 UTCThe town of Sekiu was dead.
It was more of a village than a town, really. The kind of place that lived on tourist traffic and hosted more RVs than houses. People who lived inland drove out to Sekiu for fishing, diving, and kayaking. Officially, it was a “census-designated place.” Its permanent residents had numbered in the low double digits. Then Echidna came along.
Messages left by the dead described an atmosphere of terror. Coordinated attacks on power lines, phone lines, and other pieces of communication infrastructure ensured that all contact with the outside world was cut off before anyone in town knew what was happening. Neighbors went missing. Anyone who tried to escape ran afoul of the monsters stalking the woods and lurking beneath the waves. The nightmare lasted for three nights. By the time anyone outside Sekiu noticed its issues and bothered to check up, every human soul had been taken by the Queen of Beasts.
Sloppy, Striga noted as she executed a writhing mass of human faces and grasping limbs. Her spear cut through transmuted flesh and gave mercy to the Catastrophe’s latest victims. Vanguard should have been alerted the moment contact was broken. We could have dealt a serious blow to Echidna’s stockpile with the right timing, not to mention the lives we could have saved.
Echidna had left one beast behind as a sign of Vanguard’s failure to protect the people of Sekiu. It could be interpreted as a challenge aimed at Striga, but more likely it was a message for the various news organizations that would soon descend on the dead village: Striga failed. Vanguard failed. Your heroes can’t protect you.
Anyone who thought the Catastrophes to be mindless avatars of ruin were fools; the champions of Jupiter were well-versed in engineering propaganda. Photographs of Sekiu’s corpse would become ammunition for Vanguard’s various opponents. All as the Jovians planned, no doubt.
Perhaps, if she exerted her influence in the right places, Striga could use this disaster to implement stricter policies within the various organizations that Vanguard relied upon to notify them of potential witch activity. But that would cost precious time and resources, which might be why Echidna had committed this atrocity in the first place. In an attrition game, the Jovians would always hold the advantage.
Still, the aggression was unexpected. Athena’s model of Echidna required tuning. Yet another task to add to the list.
“Excellent work as always, Ms. Lane,” said a white cat with tufts of pink fur along its chest, ears, and paws. It wore a collar of stone, and it stared up at Striga with gold-pupiled, silver-irised eyes.
Rhea, emissary of the solar faction of Jovians. “Our premier talent scout,” it had once introduced itself. A liar like all the rest, pretending itself invested in a meaningless war. Striga’s spear flashed and she cut the cat in two. That, too, was meaningless. The sundered halves of the projection melted into light and reformed.
The dark spirit looked unaffected, though its ear flicked in annoyance. “Violent and rude,” the not-a-cat chided. “You should have been a witch.”
“Slave to Jupiter,” Striga greeted her opponent. “Why do you sully my eyes and ears?”
Rhea sighed dramatically. “As I’ve told you many times, Ms. Lane, I have no idea what this ‘slave to Jupiter’ business is about. The planet Jupiter is gone, remember? And I certainly haven’t seen any evidence to support your silly ‘egregore’ hypothesis. Must you insist on being so hostile to your benefactors while our mutual enemies—the sidereals and their witches—plot and scheme in the shadows?”
Striga’s hostility to the Jovians had been exposed years ago as part of a ploy to gather more information on their designs and capabilities. She had proven to her own satisfaction that the Jovians were incapable of rescinding a power they had granted, and that their understanding of their own pawns was far from incomplete. They made mistakes. That meant they could be beaten.
“What do you want, Rhea?” Striga asked calmly. The body of the fleshy gestalt was still deflating beside her, its vital fluids seeping into the earth. “I think we’re long past games. Speak plainly or be ignored, as I have other matters to attend this evening.”
The cat watched Striga silently with those bright silver eyes. “Of course,” it said after a moment. “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your rendezvous with that adorable roommate of yours. What was her name again? Rachel… Emily, right?”
Sophia was too practiced at the great game to show her real emotions. Her hands did not stiffen, her shoulders did not hunch, and her expression did not shift to reveal anger or fear. The mask she had so carefully cultivated was that of an icy maiden, a cold-hearted heroine who would always do whatever was necessary to achieve her goals. She would pursue the salvation of humanity without any weakness of sentiment. That was what she pretended to be.
The mask of ice—the mask of Striga—hid the panic in her heart and the hatred in her veins. “I believe I just told you that I have no interest in games, Rhea. Yes, her name is Rachel, as you have surely known for years without ever bringing her up. That you do so now suggests your understanding of her has changed. Something has led you to think you can use her against me, yes? What harm to me are you threatening, cat?”
Striga was very familiar with the Jovians confronting her over Rachel, but never in the true timeline. The Jovians had only ever acted against her precious roommate in timelines where Sophia’s actions revealed the depth of her feelings for Rachel. Sophia’s heart was armored, invisible to the perceptions of the Jovians. So long as she never said the words out loud, she could love Rachel from afar. So long as she never told Rachel how she felt, they could stay living together. The Jovians could not be allowed to know that Rachel was her sole vulnerability. Her reason to keep fighting.
Where had she gone wrong? Was her plea for a date night too transparent? She had constructed her wording to maintain plausible deniability in the eyes of both Rachel and the Jovians, but those were two of her biggest blind spots; Rachel by choice, the Jovians by the design of their mantles. Striga had hammered Athena to her purposes and constructed a model of the Jovians through indirect analysis, but it was incomplete and imperfect. Had they seen through her? Did they know?
The entirety of Striga’s chain of speculation was processed and set aside in the scant instants between her speech and Rhea’s response. Possibilities were assembled and prepared for. Athena whirred in the back of Striga’s mind, eager for the challenge.
Rhea said, “We would never seek to harm or inconvenience our bravest of knights. You are the heroine of the world, Ms. Lane, and we are truly grateful to you for your many services against the servants of the nefarious sidereals.”
The cat was laying it on thick. Striga speculated that dark spirits like Rhea yearned to express their hungers, trapped within the mask of the helpful mascot animal. In a sense, Rhea’s fencing with Striga—though constrained by an insistence on maintaining the lie—was a chance for it to show more of its true personality through heavy sarcasm.
“In that spirit,” Rhea continued, “we offer you a gift. And what better gift for Lady Athena than the gift of knowledge?”
The tension spiked in Striga’s calculating mind. She knew exactly what knowledge the emissary meant to impart. There was no way to evade hearing it without making the Jovians more suspicious—more convinced of their assumptions. Striga would always choose knowledge, even puzzled from lies, no matter the harm it potentially represented.
The mask of ice said, “Tell me.”
“Rachel Emily is in love with you.”
Striga blinked slowly. She tilted her head. And then she laughed. “That’s your big revelation? Oh, please. I’ve known that for years, you pest. What, has it taken you this long to figure that out?”
Play it off. Don’t let them think that this is a knife. You don’t care that the Jovians know how she feels about you, because you don’t feel the same way. You don’t care about Rachel like she cares about you. She’s just a pleasant distraction. You are the mask of ice.
“That girl is incapable of hiding how she feels. It’s kind of cute, really. A bit of normalcy in my very abnormal life. Yes, of course I knew.”
“It did indeed seem impossible,” the cat purred, “that one of your fine perception would miss such an obvious crush. Therefore, we had always assumed you kept the girl at arm’s length to avoid feeding that crush… without breaking her heart in the process. The maintenance of a desirable entente, as it were. But then you invited her out on a date. How interesting.”
Going to the aquarium together is not a date, she almost lied. Arguing the matter was pointless. The more effort she spent to convince the cat, the more obvious her feelings would be. A different tactic was required.
Striga sighed. “I don't have time for this, Rhea. Not your accusations, not your games, and not your lies about who you serve. Let's lay all our cards on the table and discuss this like adults. You think you've found a chink in my armor—an attachment I haven't severed—which you can threaten with words and witches until you force some kind of concession about my activities against your agenda. An agenda which, I am fully aware, would result in the most dangerous and destructive of the egregores claiming the throne of the King in Yellow.”
Rhea’s tail flicked. “We do not pay attention to the idle fantasies of horror writers and their fans. We simply hold concern for your well-being, Ms. Lane. It would be terrible if you were to experience the loss of someone close to you. Who knows what you might do to prevent such an outcome? Perhaps, in the face of such looming tragedy, knowing it could still be prevented, you might be more willing to listen to our long-ignored guidance.”
Striga smiled without warmth. “You’re wrong about that. I find Rachel to be charming, entertaining, and a breath of fresh air in my busy life, but if you put her in danger, I'll let her die. I won’t pay ransom or negotiate my ideals for the sake of some… pleasant distraction. And if you think hurting someone I care about—anyone I care about, no matter how deep or how shallow—will throw me off my game enough that you can try to sneak a victory past my sight, then you must have forgotten what happened in Seattle. Perhaps you should ask Phage why she doesn’t come to my state anymore.”
The cat’s tail flicked again. “Is that your final answer, Ms. Lane?”
“Put a gun to her head,” she said coldly. “See if I flinch.”
Silently, Rhea tilted its head. Then, without another word, it walked away and vanished.
Striga did not slump. She did not sigh. The Jovians were always watching. The mask of ice could never leave Striga’s face.
She replayed the conversation in her head, searching for mistakes. She reconstructed Rhea’s participation and fed it to Athena in a manner the mantle could process. She tried not to panic about Rachel’s safety.
In that exchange, Striga had committed the grave sin of weakness: she had chosen the path more likely to protect Rachel over the path more likely to harm the plots of her enemies. The true path to victory, Athena insisted, would have been leaning into the assumptions of the Jovians and allowing them to think they had won something. If they had believed that Striga’s feelings for Rachel were intense enough to restrict her behavior, they would have extracted concessions. They would have constructed their plans around being able to control Striga’s movements and decisions.
And then, at the critical moment, Striga would have broken her word and ruined their plans. With the right timing, there was almost no limit to how much she could have disrupted the Jovians’ endgame. All it would have cost was Rachel.
They’d kill her, of course, if that path was chosen. They would have to, to avoid showing weakness, even if they believed that Striga had lied to them about her feelings. Maybe Striga could have saved Rachel in that timeline. But she doubted it.
Not when she’d failed so, so many times before.
This was the path that posed the least risk to Rachel’s life. If Striga had played her part right, the Jovians would be reconsidering their approach. They were too careful to act without as close to perfect information as they could get. But there was always a chance that she’d gotten something wrong. Athena was not infallible, and neither was Striga.
She finished her survey of the village and flew back to Vanguard’s fortress in the Olympic Mountains, scheming all the while. The Citadel welcomed her.
In her office, Striga updated her map of Echidna’s movements. The holographic projection lit up a blank white wall in perfect color. The Queen of Beasts had been busy all across the Pacific Northwest, but her activities were concentrated in the state of Washington. When all the new pins were entered, Striga clasped her hands behind her back and paced.
A knock on the door was swiftly answered. Herbalist stepped into the room, closing the door securely behind her, and came to stand by Striga’s desk. Her eyes flitted to the map and narrowed. “There’s been another?”
“Sekiu,” Striga answered. “Echidna was thorough. There were no survivors, but documents on-site suggest the abductions took place over three days. She cut communications and penned them in, then picked them apart. Public relations will have to be handled carefully; this was an attack on our image. I’ll schedule an appearance for myself later, but I want softer faces on the scene now. When the reporters swarm that dead town, I want them to see grief, horror, and conviction on the faces of Vanguard’s first responders. Send in Blue Team.”
That meant Harmony, Bulwark, Thunderclap, and Invicta. A team carefully constructed to guarantee certain personality conflicts that would drive its members to improve without creating such wedges between them that they failed to trust each other in moments of need. Striga had been cultivating their team for some time, both as a unit under her command and in the eyes of the media. They were bait.
“Harmony will take point in an official capacity, but Thunderclap is who we want in front of the ambush reporters. We’ve trained them to expect that she’ll be an easy mark, so it shouldn’t require a push. Thunderclap’s raw emotional responses should sell how seriously we’re taking this matter while Harmony sculpts the narrative with her formal training.”
“Should Invicta be assigned elsewhere?”
Striga shook her head. “No. Mars won’t spend her on a game of public opinion. Sending us a champion bearing his Greek counterpart was a taunt, not a serious attempt at infiltration. He knows he’s only getting one use out of Invicta before we get rid of her.” Striga paused, then added, “Besides, I haven’t given up on turning her yet. Granting her a leadership position she wasn’t prepared for has done wonders for personality and her connection to Blue Team.”
Herbalist nodded. “Then, is there anything else you’d like me to care of before you retire for the evening?” Herbalist had been briefed days ago that this evening would be a private one, strict enforcement, and she hadn’t questioned the order.
“Yes. Send a message to Firewatch. Have her lean on her Coterie connections and spend any favors necessary to secure the support of Minotaur and her people before the organization holds their next vote on the matter of Echidna.”
Firewatch was one of Striga’s captains, tasked with managing operations in Oregon. Herbalist was the captain for Washington, and the last was Legionary in Canada.
“The other two will be trickier,” Striga admitted, contemplating the Coterie’s leadership. “I considered sending Legionary to make trouble for Sister Nature, but I don’t believe that will be necessary. If Lilith, Minotaur, and Harlequin are all in favor of action, the Coterie will comply with their wishes. To do otherwise would invite a schism in their ranks.”
“Which our enemies might want,” Herbalist pointed out. Striga knew that, of course, but part of Herbalist’s role as her closest advisor was to voice the obvious. Sometimes a mind running too fast can outthink itself.
Striga smiled. “Yes, let’s hope they strive for such an outcome. The time has come to clean house. All loyalties must be ascertained.” The hint of emotion fell from her face as quickly as it had appeared. “Even setting aside Echidna, we cannot afford to cut corners with Jupiter’s new seal. Lilith’s cooperation must be secured. The fact of her character is that she answers to a single lever. I expect Venus has been making promises to her for some time, but they remain only promises. We’re going to give Lilith one of the things she’s been pushing for since she helped found the Coterie.”
Herbalist raised an eyebrow. “In the current climate, that will consume a great deal of our accumulated political capital.” Bribes. Blackmail. Debts. Everything the Vanguard could get their hands on.
Striga sighed. “I know. I had other plans for those resources, but that can come after we save the world. If we’re going to induct Lilith into the conspiracy, we need her as biased toward us as possible. See it done.”
With a polite bow, Herbalist swept from the room and left Striga to her thoughts. Outside, the sun was beginning to set.
In the heart of her fortress, in the most defended room in the Citadel, hidden behind layers and layers of wards, Sophia Lane allowed herself a small smile. The burdens of the world still weighed upon her shoulders, but just for one night, just for a few hours, she was going to set that all aside.
I’m coming, Rachel. Let’s have a wonderful date.
Comments
ScubaSteve
Noooooooo…I caught up
Kaoticice
This date is absolutely going sideways right? I like how it is going to be a nice romantic moment between our two leads, observed closely by like 37 aliens and probably other unknown parties. Vora has done a very good job at somehow tying the fate of the world to the fate of a relationship between disaster sapphics
Clara
Oh no that sounds like a flag
