Forty-two
With no way to go but forwards, Cyclone steeled himself and followed Intrepid and the rest of the team into the ventilation tunnels. The first Stromlings they encountered looked typical enough. Purple complexion, red eyes, tools for arms. Mine workers with construction gear, maintaining equipment along the tunnel walls. The Future Dimensioners smashed them before Cyclone could care. Not that he cared.
Except the further they proceeded, the more he noticed the Stromlings looking more Nexus Force in their appearance. They carried swords or guns and wore armor. Passing the fallen, Cyclone identified emblems, Sentinel, Paradox, Venture, Assembly. As greater numbers of guards intercepted them in the tunnels, enough to bypass Future Intrepid and Charles that Cyclone raised his wormholer to defend himself, he saw these Stromlings had distinct faces.
They were now fighting Maelstrom Dimension Stromlings. Minifigures working for the Maelstrom, willingly or not. The influence of chaos had corrupted them.
When Cyclone aimed his weapon at a Stromling Samurai, he thought of Kate. Heâd left her on Avant Gardens, comatose and injured. He hoped she was alright. He needed to succeed in this mission and prevent the Maelstrom Dimension from killing her again.
And him.
And everyone.
The Stromling Samurai moved quicker than he expected and Cyclone squeezed his wormholerâs trigger too late to hit its fast moving form, the energy bolts striking the wall instead. As the Stromling moved to strike, Cyclone leaned back just enough to dodge the katana slicing for his neck, before another set of katanas cut off the Stromlingâs arm, whipped back through the air, and smashed the Stromling. Armor clattered to the floor.
âWatch yourself.â Edgar said, before he ran ahead to relieve Intrepid from a duel with an infected Daredevil.
 You should use your powers, a voice in his head said. The hair on Cycloneâs neck pricked when he realized it was Allison telepathically talking to him. She stood well behind him, out of the combat, or guarding the rear. He hadnât really kept track of her.
âI donât know how.â Cyclone hissed. He thought of Kate again, and how sheâd overextended herself saving Luke. âI donât-â
 Trust in yourself, the voice told him.
 Cyclone nodded. He could use his powers with reservation. What good were they if he didnât try?
 He breathed deeply, but he felt the connection with his Imagination so suddenly that he realized it was truly a part of him, unlocked, accessible.
 And he was aware of his capacity.
 Like dipping his toes into water, Cyclone called up the slightest amount of his Imagination to lighten his feet. He instantly felt stronger and faster. He steadied his wormholer and aimed it ahead, past Intrepid and Edgar, Future Luke and Mara, and Charles and Future Intrepid currently locked in combat with a Maelstrom squad of Brick Furys, or mechanized Stromlings.
 He ran past his teammates and lifted the wormholer like it was a feather. Then he brought it down like an anvil on the first Mechlingâs shoulder plates. Sparks erupted as the chainsaw cut, the Mechâs legs buckled, and it smashed after Cyclone lifted the blade to slash the next Mechling, and the next one. He moved fast on his feet like a lightning bolt dancing between targets, slashing and cutting and spinning with the whirring destructiveness of a hurricane. Or a cyclone.
âGood job.â Future Intrepid patted Cyclone on the shoulder when he came to a stop over the last Mechling's empty shell, the Stromling in it smashed. His wormholer idled down to a purr, and he wasnât even breathing heavily.
 Iâve discovered my powers. Cyclone thought. It was his voice, not Allisonâs.
<ac_metadata title="Chapter 42"> </ac_metadata>