Mod Superhero - STUBBING AUG 17TH!

Chapter 7.78 - Across the World

Seraphina Veyr had been disgraced, shunned, and excommunicated. The former High Thaumaturge, former Overseer of Vault Alpha, was now in hiding.

She sat alone at the bar, hood pulled low over her face. Neither the demiplane nor the bar had a name. This particular demiplane was maintained by members of some twenty different guilds, but no guild claimed ownership. It was effectively neutral ground—a place to hide undesirable members until they could get new identities.

She didn't need the oversized hood to hide her face. No one would be looking for her here. But the hood did keep random mages from talking to her. Which was a bonus. There were too many lonely, disgraced mages in here for her liking.

The demiplane and all its structures, including the bar and her small bedroom, were a far cry from her stately chambers in the Vault. But as hiding places went, this one wasn't bad. There were a few other mages scattered around the bar. Most kept to themselves, but a few conversations rose and fell across the room. And the ale was good. Seraphina nursed her third pint and tried not to feel sorry for herself.

Seraphina had been at the height of her power. She'd had the Iron Choir, and one of the most powerful supers on Earth working alongside her. Mod and the Resistance had simply been too powerful. There was no one who could've stopped them, no one who could've saved the Vault, save for Paragon himself.

There was no shame in losing. ...At least, that was what she kept telling herself. Maybe with enough ale in her, she'd finally believe it.

She swirled her mug of ale, then took a hearty drink.

A tremor shook the building. Mugs and bottles clattered—some even fell from the shelf and shattered on the floor.

Seraphina felt frozen in shock. She stared at the trembling glassware as more fell from the shelf. All kinds of things were wrong with what she was seeing. The shaking demiplane was at the top of that list, followed closely by the glassware. Each piece should've been kept firmly on the shelf by magic, and none of the enchanted glasses should've broken when they hit the floor.

Seraphina held onto the bar with one hand and her mug with the other. The tremor didn't stop. If anything, it was getting stronger. Faces all around the bar looked up in bewilderment.

"Are we under attack?" someone asked.

As if on cue, an alarm sounded outside, but then it guttered out.

Seraphina leapt to her feet. "It doesn't matter. We need to get out of here. The demiplane is collapsing!"

~ ~

The man who had been Harold Kane walked across a downtown street. Until three days ago, he'd wanted to be a musician, but now he served a much grander purpose. Now he was one in a chorus of millions who spoke in a single voice.

Harold trailed a young woman named Monique Davis. She turned into an alley, unaware of the danger she was in. Harold followed, his pace increasing.

The Collective was expanding, and Harold Kane was doing his small part. Monique worked as a beautician out of her small apartment, and while she wasn't special, she had access to several clients that the Collective wanted—among those were two unregistered supers, one local politician, two teachers, and a bartender.

Harold was just a few steps behind her now, his steps easily matching hers. The alley was secluded enough, and assimilation would be quick enough that her neighbors wouldn't notice anything amiss.

A few more steps and—

Harold's vision wavered. A wave of nausea came soon after. He stumbled forward, then fell to the side, barely catching himself against the alley wall.