I'M YOUR PUPPET; invincible

prologue

[prologue]

    The world is falling around her. Crumbling. It collapses around her breaking body, surrounding her in the destruction she aided in. She feels, then, that she is falling through worlds. As if she is tumbling through it; no one is fast enough to stop her descent.

    She pushes to her feet. Well, her knees and hands. As close as she can get. Crimson floods her vision, sticking to her skin. She lifts a hand, wipes it away. Feels how the warmth clings to her, staining the white fabric of her uniform.

    She stands, then. Rises fully to her feet, chest heaving. Her head falls back, tipped towards the sky with a heavy exhale. As if breathing for the first time in her life. She feels the wind brush against her skin, pushing her hair over her shoulders, sagging against her back.

    When she tips her gaze, lowering her chin, she finds the figure across from her. A woman dressed in white, brows arched. Brown hair, a darker shade than her own. She is lean with muscle, riddled with it. But she is painted in her own blood.

    "You're going to have to hit harder," Lightwalker dares to say. Risks a small lift of her lips as she spits out a wad of bloodied spit. "It takes more than a little punch to bury me."

    The woman smiles. It's unbridled and chaotic. It's terrifying, really. "And buried you will be."

    "What for?" The girl shrugs. Clenches her fists. "It is pure insolence or a lack of acknowledging my genetics."

    "Both."

    Then the woman is lifting from the ground, staring down at her. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowing into some semblance of a heartbroken anger. As if she were truly upset. Rattled by it, even.

    Lightwalked follows. Pushes off of her feet, toes skimming the earth for a final time.

    She attacks first. It is an entirely controlled punch, a throw of weight that comes crashing down upon the Viltrumite before her. She holds her breath, controlling every rise and fall of her chest as her arms wrap around the woman. As she pushes them higher, breaching the atmosphere.

    The woman struggles in her grip. It surprises them both.

    "You allow your arrogance to take control," she tells her. Spits it like venom.

    "No," the girl says. Not human in genetics, but in every way that matters. "Not arrogance. Stupidity, maybe. But not arrogance."

    Then they drop.

    It's sudden and fast, a flash of heat encompassing their beings as they fall through this surrounding world. It crashes around them, folding against the wind caconing them. It will not protect them or break their fall. It will do nothing but create a brutal force upon impact. It is, however, something they have both been trained for.