Operation: OnlyHeroes

Aurelia's POV

Elsewhere...

The first thing I feel is asphalt.

The second is ... plain numbness.

The third is the unmistakable sound of a kaiju roaring somewhere over the horizon.

I open one eye. The sky is pink and spinning. There's a bottle of ouzo in my hand and a parking-lot seagull judging me like Zeus himself. My armor's half-off, one sandal missing, spear nowhere to be found.

"Ugh," I groan, shielding my face. "If this is Elysium, it's overrated."

Then the ground shakes. The kind of quake you can feel in your teeth. I roll onto my back just in time to see a column of fire blooming over the waterfront.

Kaiju. Two of them. Of course.

Somewhere up there, All-Star's already playing Thor, fists glowing like miniature suns. I can hear the crowd even from here—sirens, cheers, chaos. He's glowing, radiant, righteous. I'm covered in dried booze and... jizz?

I squint toward the pub door. The bouncer is filming the fight on his phone. "Hey!" I shout. "Did I at least win the bar tab?"

He blinks at me. "You tried to pay with a drachma."

"Of course," I mutter, dragging myself upright. My head throbs like a divine gong. My throat tastes like sin and lightning. "Whatever. Did you catch anyone who gave me this... facial?"

"If I did, I would've done something to prevent it," he replied. "All I know is last night, you were thrashing the place with some frat bros, outdrinking both them and their abusive parents."

I blinked, then laughed. "Oh my Zeus."

I push myself up. The parking lot spins. I'm still glowing faintly; divine metabolism never really sleeps.

"Come on, Aurelia. Daughter of Olympus. Paragon of courage."

I take one heroic breath, spread my wings, and—

Face-plant.

Straight back into the pavement.

There's a brief moment of silence before the heavens themselves seem to sigh.

"Okay, maybe not flying yet," I mumble into the tar.

I roll onto my back, summon my spear—Thyella—and use it like a very judgmental crutch. The weapon hums, crackling with stormlight, probably wondering why its wielder smells like tequila and regret.

"Hey, lady!" The bouncer called. "You really going out there with no shirt on?"

A looked down my body and... Oh. Shit. They're really out in the open.

"Now you tell me?" I asked. I snicker to myself, point the spear at the sky with one hand, but did not cup the girls with my free arm. "Right, Zeus. You give your sons lightning bolts and your daughters public indecency charges." And maybe jumped up and down to make them bounce, trying to egg him on, "Real balanced pantheon you've got there."

The bouncer throws me a leather jacket. "At least pretend you're human," he says.

"Buddy," I snort, sliding into the jacket, "that ship sailed somewhere around the Babylonian Empire." The ground rumbles again. Distant sirens wail. "You know a place with clothes I could change into?"

He jerks a thumb toward the pub. "Lost and Found box behind the bar."

"Perfect," I say, dragging myself inside. The place smells like hops, regret, and old rock music. A broken dartboard hangs crooked over a neon sign that reads NO GODS, NO MASTERS. How poetic.

The bartender glances up from sweeping glass. "You're—uh—alive?"

"Unfortunately," I mutter, heading for the backroom. The Lost & Found is exactly what I expect: a graveyard of mortal fashion.

Then I spot them—denim ripped short jorts, the kind mortal women wear for scorching summers or to be objectively attractive to men(or other women or me), and a pair of scuffed thigh high mid-heel boots. Bless whoever abandoned you two.

I tug them on after taking off my panties, zip the jacket over what's left of my 'dignity', and catch my reflection in a cracked mirror: panda eyes, stormlight bleeding through skin, leather and denim clinging to divine anatomy.

Still immortal. Still hot. Still fucking hungover. Funnily enough, the box also had one pair of sunglasses.

On my to the battle, I'm still struggling to keep my balance, tripping and falling. A seagull screams at me. I scream back.

We both regret it immediately.

Then I see it—the bay, lit up in gold and red, two colossal shapes thrashing against the skyline. Kaiju. Both of them easily skyscraper-sized. And cutting between them, a streak of silver and light.

All-Star.

Golden boy himself, throwing punches like thunderclaps, chest glowing, cape shredded. It's a beautiful sight. Infuriatingly beautiful.

"Show-off," I mutter, staggering toward the chaos. My sandals slap the asphalt. Thyella taps beside me, each step sparking a faint shimmer of lightning that dances across the cracked pavement.

By the time I reach the edge of the waterfront, the air smells like ozone and salt and burning steel. The crowd has fled. Helicopters circle. Somewhere in the wreckage, I can hear the sirens of some convoy—and then, faintly, his voice, shouting something drowned by another monstrous roar.

"Don't die without me, poster boy," I whisper.

Then I plant Thyella in the ground. The sky answers. Thunder rolls across the bay, lazy at first, then gathering strength. My hangover burns away under the charge.

I take one breath. One heartbeat.

Then I start walking faster.

Each step steadies me. Each crack of thunder clears my head. By the time I hit the bridge, the storm has already found me. Lightning dances across my arms like veins of fire.

All-Star glances down mid-punch, disbelief flickering across his perfect face as I limp into the fray like a one-woman weather system.

"Long night?" he shouts over the roar.

"Long life," I shout back, swinging Thyella upward. "Need help?"

All-Star faces towards the kaijus, "The situation requires that I answer 'Yes, please'."

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