Dashing Devil Omnibus 2: Books 4-6, page 137
“And for you?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“It’s just plain old possessiveness when it comes to us.” Mindy smirked. “Not that any of us are going to complain.”
Boyd knew himself well enough to have identified another reason. It was likely the result of having a harsh childhood. Once he’d learned how kids were supposed to be raised, he hadn’t been bitter about not having a childhood. Instead, a childhood became something sacred that deserved to be protected.
“And the rest of the reason?” Boyd asked.
“I also know what it is, but only because I kept your nightmares from you last night,” Mindy replied. A cautious tone entered her voice. “Which I only did because you were sleeping with Laura. You don’t typically thrash about or even toss and turn during a nightmare, but I assumed you wouldn’t want to risk it.”
“Thank you. No. I would rather not,” Boyd agreed readily.
“You’re welcome,” his darkest love replied. “That said, I think it would be best to let your subconscious present you with the rest of the reason those kids’ deaths are going to stick with you for a good while. I could just show you last night’s nightmares, but by pulling them away from you like I did, I didn’t allow them to fully form.”
Boyd frowned.
“How about this? Tonight, we’ll have you cuddle Silvie and the rest of us will form a separate pile off to one side. That way, you can dream without worrying about hurting anyone. Silv will love it… a small part of her misses being your complete support structure. Getting to soothe you through a nightmare will probably feel like old times.”
Boyd’s frown deepened.
“Kuh-he! No, my little shit.” Mindy giggled at his response. “It isn’t an issue that needs to be addressed. When I said a small part of her, I meant a very small part. Silvie is overwhelmingly thrilled to be walking the path you are on with you.”
“Okay, good.” Boyd relaxed back into the comfort that was Mindy. “She’s felt pretty happy, so I would hardly know where to start.”
“We are all happy.” He could hear the smile in Mindy’s voice. “And each of us is looking for a way to support you right now. Speaking of which, I believe Tinker has a movie viewing set up for us. Something about… sand?”
“Dune.” Boyd chuckled. “We’ll be starting with the original, but she’ll want us to watch the remakes at some point. I guess they actually did a good job with the remakes of this one, but the first one has some elements that make it like the original Star Wars movies. It should be well worth watching.”
“How long are they?” Mindy asked, still somewhat skeptical.
“Long enough that we won’t be watching them all in one sitting,” Boyd replied. “But before we go back to the others, how is Laura holding up? In the interest of transparency, I am asking both as her team Captain and a concerned… significant other?”
The uncertainty in his title for the woman reminded him that he needed to have another ring made—a ring and a bracelet, or a necklace…
He had some thinking to do.
“Laura is doing fairly well,” Mindy said, then clarified, “she’s doing better than you. She already had the best coping mechanisms in place to deal with loss and death—long before her Hero training started. She will be fine to continue her training, starting tomorrow.”
Mindy paused, knowing it was a sensitive subject. “Tinker is ready to start, too.”
Boyd sighed and made a mental note to enjoy today as much as he could. Putting Laura through that training had been rough. He knew he would need Mindy’s help to keep a straight face during his little inventor’s turn.
Chapter 27
Dashing Devil’s heart raced as he fought for his life in the streets of Glorith. His team and allies were locked in their own fierce battles, but he could feel the weight of their collective struggle bearing down on him. With every blow, every dodge, every move, the stakes got higher.
The heat of battle engulfed him, each strike and parry pushing him to his limits. This conflict would not end quickly or neatly, but Dashing Devil was determined to emerge victorious at any cost. At least there were no innocent civilians to be caught in the crossfire, but that was little comfort amidst the nearly overwhelming sense of danger screaming at him over his Bonds.
The cacophony of chaos surrounded him. Alarms screeched in unison with deafening crashes and impacts that shook the ground. Shards of glass tinkled as they bounced off the hard concrete, adding to the symphony of destruction. Through it all, the faint hiss and crackle of unseen fires could be heard, like a distant thunderstorm approaching.
The Powered Criminal he engaged with was a formidable opponent, almost as large as him and just as powerful. The man’s movements were fluid and quick, like the unholy love child of liquid and lightning. The criminal effortlessly dodged Devil’s crimson fists, retaliating with counterblows that left the demon reeling. It was as if this man had been born to fight him, his body a perfect weapon honed for battle against the demon.
Dashing Devil was tough, and he wasn’t out of the fight yet. He hadn’t even used half of his arsenal and he had his team backing him up—if he could change the situation for one of them, they could return the favor for him. Right when he began to look for another option, his opponent delivered a devastating body-blow that sent him flying.
He crashed through first one wall, then a second, and found himself standing in a school locker room. It was just like the ones he recalled seeing… had it been on a viewscreen? But everything was deathly silent. Even the lights that sparked overhead made no noise.
The big demon found himself standing over two young, broken forms, connected by a long metal pipe that pierced them both. Just like he remembered from the fight the other day, the older sibling ended up on top of the younger, trying to shield them from harm with their body.
The once magnificent, iridescent butterfly wings that extended from the back of the older sibling were crumpled and tattered. It was as if they had been ripped and torn by some unknown force. Despite their deplorable state, they attempted to flutter feebly as the young woman raised her head.
Piercing, swirling iridescent eyes glared up at the big demon, filled with a mix of despair and hatred. “You let him die,” Daisy hissed, her voice filled with bitter grief. “You were supposed to save him.”
Young Connor lay under her, his once bright and curious eyes cold and glassy as they stared, unseeing, up at him. The light that had once shone in them, the spark of life and adventure, now extinguished. Such a young life, with endless potential and a future full of promise, had been ripped away before he could fulfill any hopes and dreams.
Dashing Devil, the Hero who was supposed to keep him safe, had failed Connor. The failure was like a deep cut, a wound that would never fully heal. Instead, it would fester and serve as a haunting reminder of what could have been.
“You might as well have killed us yourself,” Daisy accused him, her voice a mix of vitriol and resignation.
When it became too difficult to keep her head up, glaring at him, it dropped forward. Vibrant strands of pink, orange, blue, and yellow hair—like the luminous shimmer on a soap bubble—cascaded down to hide both her and her brother’s faces. It was clear that Death had claimed them.
Grief and despair hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to lift. It pressed down on him, forcing him to one knee. The weight of guilt threatened to crush him.
Dashing Devil froze on one knee in the locker room, the gravity of it all squeezing his heart. He found it suddenly difficult to breathe as Daisy’s accusation pierced him, each bitter word a shard of glass cutting into his soul.
He hadn’t protected them. Hadn’t saved them. He had failed.
The image of young Connor’s lifeless eyes haunted him, silently accusing him of unnamed shortcomings. Boyd’s mind raced back to the decisions that had led him here, the choices he had made, and the potential consequences he had weighed in making them. Regret washed over him like a tidal wave, drowning him in a whirlpool of what-ifs and could-have-beens.
The big demon’s fists clenched in frustration and self-condemnation. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so blind to the danger? Just because he couldn’t see any civilians didn’t mean they weren’t hiding, out of sight.
The burden of guilt bore down on him with crushing force, threatening to break him under its omnipresent burden. As Dashing Devil fell to his hands and knees beside the lifeless bodies of the siblings he’d once called friends, a wave of despair crashed over him. The weight of his failure was overwhelming; it suffocated him.
And then, as if to add insult to injury, a thick, tar-like blood began to pour from the Bakers’ wounds. It oozed and bubbled up out of the gaping hole in their torsos, coating the ground beneath them before enveloping Devil’s legs in its sticky grip.
He felt its cold embrace climb up his legs, seeping into his skin and staining him with recriminations and anguish. The viscous, tar-like blood oozed up his body, clinging like a smothering second skin. As it did, an increasing weight and stickiness dragged at him, as if it were trying to pull him down to the floor. With wide eyes, he watched in horror as it continued to climb higher and higher until it engulfed his whole body.
Devil let out a guttural growl of defiance and despair as it slithered up his neck and then in his mouth and up his nose, coating his throat and choking him. He gasped for air, but the tar filled his mouth and smothered him, leaving him struggling to breathe.
Boyd bolted upright in the bed, panting with shallow and rapid breaths, his arms crossed defensively before his face. He found a very concerned-looking set of bright, silver-flecked blue eyes staring at him from only a few inches away.
“Are you okay, Darling?” Silvie’s sweet whisper was filled with worry. “I know Mindy said that you would have nightmares tonight, but that seemed like a particularly bad one.”
Nodding weakly, Boyd managed to get out, “I’m okay… I think... just a nightmare, my love.” His voice was a rasping croak.
He pulled back his arms to stare at hands that were still felt sticky with the remnants of the tar-like blood that had covered them. They were clean. The sensation was both eerie and unsettling, a physical manifestation of his guilt and regret—one he could feel, but couldn’t see.
A purple fog filled his vision for a moment and then the sensation was gone.
‘I let you experience the dream in full because it will help you identify why this has affected you so deeply—despite all your training. But your hands are not stained with the blood of the innocent; I won’t let you feel like they are,’ the mental version of his darkest love gently explained, though her tone hardened at the end into a promise.
He sent her his thanks, but still shook his hands to clear them of the illusionary substance anyway. Boyd’s mind still reeled from the vivid, haunting dream that had gripped him so tightly. Remnants of guilt and regret lingered like a ghost, swirling in his head and haunting the recesses of his thoughts.
His silver-haired love leaned into him and watched with a concerned look etched onto her delicate features. Her bright eyes searched his for signs of distress that he might still be hiding. Normally, he would have found the beautiful figure of his love in a tight camisole with her barely-there thong enticing, but not at that moment.
Boyd’s chest still felt like it was compressed by the weight of guilt from the nightmare. The images of failure and loss were still bright and fresh in his mind. The sensation of suffocating in the thick tar-like blood that had threatened to consume his being clung to him like a lingering echo.
He knew that this wasn’t just a simple nightmare. It was a reflection of his inner turmoil. His subconscious had manifested his fears and doubts in a terrifying form.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced around the dimly lit room. He found they were in his cavern-inspired sleeping quarters. The simulated moonlight that burned within the ceiling was dimmed lower than its already low standard so as not to interfere with their sleep.
He saw Raev, Tinker, Mindy, and Hope off in their own little pile on the far side of the massive bed. They were far enough away from the side of the bed where Silvie had curled into his chest that if he thrashed or rolled, they were in no danger. Their smart bed had prevented whatever tossing and turning he might have done from waking them. All four women slept peacefully, a bit of drool leaking from Tinker’s mouth onto the fox tail Raev had wrapped her up in.
“Was it about Connor?” Silvie asked, bringing his eyes back to her bright gaze.
Something in his expression made her frown and then explain, “Mindy told me you would probably have a nightmare about Connor, and suggested I talk to you about it, if you did. She said she would wake up if it was something unexpected, but she hasn’t stirred. Was it about Connor, Darling?”
Boyd just nodded, as the version of Mindy that lived in his head explained, ‘I figured you wouldn’t mind letting Silvie console you. Helping you deal with your nightmares is a part of her love language that she has missed.’
“Okay,” Silvie continued as she got on her knees facing him. “Moonbeam said we should talk about it, before you try to get more sleep. Would you like to go for a walk? I know you don’t want to wake the others, and while I can talk quietly enough not to disturb them, I know it’s a struggle to keep your voice down.”
Boyd nodded.
His gravity-defying love floated up to offer him a hand in getting out of bed. The smart bed helped again, allowing him to rise and roll out of the massive bed without disturbing the others.
Silvie tucked herself up under his arm and floated next to him as he tip-toed out of the room. When they made it into their private living room, the door slid shut behind them.
Silvie said, “I know you used to pace when you needed some time alone after a nightmare, so I think we should do that tonight. Just pretend I’m not here and pace until you are ready to talk about it. When you’re ready, tell me about the dream.”
She looked up at him. “Mindy gave me different stuff to talk about, depending on what was in the dream.”
Boyd wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, so he just nodded and let his silver-haired love lead them out into the Great Room where he’d have more space. Then, she turned him loose—sort of.
Silvie stayed under his arm and plastered to his side the whole time, but she let him meander wherever he wanted.
Boyd wandered down to the middle tier and started pacing back and forth, letting the guilt and other raw emotions the dream brought up settle into their proper places. Each step he took echoed in the large room, a rhythmic accompaniment to the tumultuous thoughts that swirled in his mind.
Silvie was a constant at his side, her presence a silent comfort.
When he was finally ready, Boyd told her about the dream in as much detail as he could remember. It came out in bursts of detail interspersed with the sound of his not-so-silent pacing.
“…and then I woke up,” he finished, heaving a heavy sigh. “But what does it mean?”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you about the blood-tar,” Silvie began uncertainly as she led them over to one of the many sitting areas that filled the middle tier. “Moonbeam didn’t say anything about something like that. But if I had to guess, it was your subconsciousness telling you that your guilt will swallow you if you let it.”
She frowned, then shrugged. “You should ask the Moonbeam who lives in your head about it, because our Moonbeam didn’t mention it.”
‘Not a bad analysis,’ the Mindy in Boyd’s head agreed. ‘It’s as likely as any of the other possible dream imagery translations I’ve heard.’
“She says you’re probably right,” Boyd translated. “Good analysis.”
“Aww, really? I thought it was pretty good,” Silvie replied in a much cheerier voice than she had used since he’d surfaced from his nightmare.
Which was why Boyd had offered the positive translation; he needed to hear Silvie’s bubbly cheer.
She guided him into a chair and then sat across his lap, leaning back into his arm and shoulder to look up at him before she continued. “But as for the rest of it, the fact that you saw Connor and Daisy in the place of those kids means that they have helped you understand civilians better.” She spoke in careful tones, though with her usual sweetness. “You know how many lives they’ve touched, how big of a loss the world would suffer if they were to die—and that’s with us keeping Daisy trapped out here. She touched a lot more lives back when she was a waitress.”
Silvie reached up and stroked his cheek with her soft fingers. “Because of Daisy and Connor, you know how much of a loss those two kids represent. You know that many people will miss them. How many other kids just lost their friend—in one or both of them? You know because you can compare them to people in your own life.”
Boyd rumbled his assent as he nodded, wrapping his arms around his silver-haired love.
“And that’s why the loss hit you so hard, Darling. It’s because you know just how much even a single, arguably ‘normal’ life is worth.” Silvie gently cupped his cheek and guided him to look her in the eye.
“This is why they trained us to avoid personal connections. It’s why they don’t want Heroes to have friends or close family. It makes the inevitable civilian losses too real for us. It’s much easier if we assume that they are all like us, ultimately having little impact on those we interact with. That’s also why the ways they trained you to cope with civilian losses aren’t working all that well. They only really work if you don’t actually care about people very much.”
Boyd sighed at the discovery of yet another brainwashing effort in his upbringing. If you wanted someone to care less about a group of people, you limited their interactions with that group. Most humans found it hard not to empathize with people they knew.
