“There’s no way in hell I’m going to be subservient to some washed up, powerless loser.”

Atlas turned the corner to the living area of the penthouse just a fraction of a second before another cacophonous, sharp smash! cut through the air.

In an instant, he was nearly nose to nose with Hera Vidar.

She was significantly more intimidating up close than she had been from the glass box at the Sparring Grounds. Her eyes were wide and wild, with her fists curled and bloodied at her sides. He had never seen rage as clear and blistering as this. The expression on her face could only be described as bloodlust.

They had given him what he wanted, then. His chosen three.

It felt less like a blessing, in this moment.

Miron and Dajana were looming near the corridor, with Izar, Ace and Senka nearby. Senka loomed in front of her taller sister with an expression as tense as he’d ever seen it.

Hera was only an inch shorter than Atlas, but she didn’t suffer a moment for it. Her pale hair was tightly braided against the curve her skull, taut where it was twisted from her scalp and into an elaborate knot at the base of her neck.

A vase was shattered at her feet, vaporized into a thousand infinitesimally small pieces. It clearly wasn’t the first one she’d thrown. It almost certainly wouldn't be the last.

Atlas glanced down at the floor, then back at her. “You mean me?”

Hera took a step in his direction, one brow quirked and the other furrowed and angry. Blood was beading out of her fists and down her wrists, slow and thick. “Of course I mean you. Is there anyone else here as useless as you are?”

"Yeah, probably."

“Hera,” Izar warned. His voice was low and chastising, but not surprised. “Atlas is the one who chose you for Last Bastion. Show him a little respect.”

A little ironic, Atlas thought. For you, of all people, to suggest that.

“I don’t show respect that isn’t earned.” Hera reached out and fisted Atlas’ pajama shirt in her fingers, pulling him close. It was an unnatural strength. Her nails were sharp and biting against his skin. Strangely so. He could feel the slow sleep of blood into his shirt. Whether it was hers or his he couldn’t tell. “And you haven’t earned shit.”

Ace and Senka were moving before he could say a word.

But Atlas thought faster than they could move.

He didn’t think this half-plea would work. He scarcely knew he was doing it, or what it might accomplish. It was instinctual, more than anything.

But like a marionette on a string, Hera’s body seized and jerked to an immediate, lurching stop. Her hand went limp, and Atlas dropped back to his feet.

“I see you’ve figured out another aspect of your Skill.” Hearing Phi’s voice cut in was reassuring to him, now. Strangely so. “You can control all aspects of the ‘game’ so to speak — including its players.”

Phi trotted out with a twitch of her tail, her eyes solidly orange. The flickering numbers were gone, replaced by a steady, solid glow. She looked over at Ace with a pleasant little chirp. “I have made improvements to my processing function. Is it less unsettling?”

Zig laughed, something sharp and mean, as he trailed in behind her. He didn’t seem concerned. Maybe Hera was more bark than bite. “It’s somehow worse. But nice try, kitty cat.”

Phi wound through Atlas’ legs, then tilted her head at Hera. She was still frozen stiff, her eyes bulging and angry. Whatever had happened to her, she was fighting against it. “You may want to release her, Atlas. You have grabbed her by the Skill, and it will make moving very difficult for her.”

Atlas took a breath, and tried to focus.

Hera tumbled backwards and crashed into the furniture. She scrambled back to her feet, staining the end of the ivory couch red as her nails tore through the velvet. “Are you serious?”

“I would suggest not trying that again,” Phi purred. Atlas wanted to laugh almost as much as he wanted to take a swing. He knew, for the sake of the team, the anger was an impulse he’d need to try and suppress for now. Not that he was doing a great job right now.

“What the ever-loving-hell are you?” She spat. “And who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“I am an extension of your team leader. His Skill.” Phi's eyes went back to blue. She’d clearly learned whatever she wished to about the new members. “I can independently process information to assist. I help him evaluate and implement his abilities.”

“I don’t take orders from him.”

Atlas, more confident now that he had an easy way to disarm Hera, crossed his arms. “Technically, you do.”

“I would rather die than listen to a word you have to say.”

It was Atlas’ turn to quirk a brow. “Then why are you here? Surely you are literate. You knew I’d been assigned to Last Bastion, it’s all over the news. I’m one of the only S-Classes on the continent. Who did you think would take over?”

The velvet made a violent, tearing rip! as Hera curled her fingers.  “You’re a senior hunter in name only. You’ve never even been on a real Portal break when you weren't being babysat.”

“Oh? And you’ve never been in an S-Grade. Let’s keep listing things we haven’t done.”

Zig snorted behind him. “Hera, you’re not going to out-asshole Atlas. He’s been practicing way longer. It was never going to be a fair fight.”

As fun as it was to be rude, again — after a week of watching his mouth — he did technically need to win all three of these people over eventually.

Atlas cleared his throat, and looked between the three new members. He gathered all of his patience.

“I’m Atlas. Yes, that Atlas. I know you’ve probably heard a lot about me, and my Skill, and mostly what it can’t do.”

“Anything,” Hera muttered from the remnents of the furniture.

“It has, clearly, awakened. No, I don’t really understand why. Yes, I plan to work on it before we go into places with things that want to kill us. No, I don’t particularly care if you like me very much, as long as you don’t try whatever that was. Any questions?”

Miron, skittish and shorter than Atlas remembered, poked his head out from behind Izar. “Did you really pick us? I don’t understand why you chose me.”

Atlas scratched the back of his head. “Yes, I really picked you all. As for the why — I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

Dajana wrinkled her nose and looked witheringly at Atlas. “Don’t act like we’re dumb. You obviously picked me because you thought Senka and I would be compatible on a team.”

Atlas blinked at her. “Surely you don’t think that. You obviously don’t get along, you have an inferiority complex a mile wide.”

Izar glared at him.

Atlas smiled, lazy and placid.

Ace cleared his throat. “Well, I, uh — I made us all breakfast. Maybe we can call the cleaning staff to help us deal with the…things…in here…and can go enjoy it while it’s still warm?”

Only Miron seemed interested. The other two were too busy leveling Atlas with their most withering, disapproving glares. 

Senka returned to his side. It was a quiet show of support that he would have to thank her for, later. Her and Ace, both.

“It would be wise to eat,” she said. Her manner was as even-keeled as ever, even in the face of the violence and chaos. “We will likely be called to training later today. So that they may evaluate where we need to strengthen our skills.”

“What Skills,” Hera snarled, stalking past the two of them and towards the kitchen. It was progress, at least, that she didn’t throw anything else on her way by. 

“Wash your hands,” Atlas called. It was a habit, the venom. “We don’t want blood on the table runner.”

A third smash sounded through the penthouse.

“You gotta reel it in,” Zig said, but he was laughing again. “You’re going to cost them a fortune in ceramic and glass alone.”

Miron and Dajana and Ace followed Hera, Miron tossing several glances over his shoulder on his way by. Izar went close behind.

“Great start,” Izar mumbled. Atlas gave a shrug.

“Better than I expected,” he said honestly. “No one needs real medical attention. Blood was contained to the living room. And no one said anything they can’t take back. I consider it a success.”

Izar shook his head and continued past.

“After you,” Atlas told Senka, and she stared at him for several seconds with fathomlessly dark eyes before she finally returned to the dining room.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Zig told him with a smile. “You’re just as bad as you were back then.”

Atlas shoulder-checked him, picking at his torn and stained shirt with a frown. “Whatever. I’d rather lose a shirt than a finger. At least she didn’t punch me in the face.”