There's this very ugly...

...thing.

Cool. Once he gets home he is so going to morph that.

Current surroundings of giant spiky ash monster thing?

A destroyed-looking city.

...same location a year ago?

Could plausibly be New York in 1993.

...he is invisible and inaudible and a mile above that smashed-up city.

The scale model probably did not prepare him for this.

There's the heat. Even from that high, he can feel it, emanating from the destruction, from the giant spiky ash monster thing. There's a clear trail of destruction, starting at a literal hole in the ground and moving towards where the over forty-five-feet-tall monster is. But even if that path is where there has been the most destruction - completely leveled buildings, melted rock and metal, a trail of ash and charred bodies - the monster clearly has reach, for a large radius around it is variously destroyed, too. Toppled buildings, people, dead or severely injured, fissures on the ground large enough to swallow trucks whole.

The behemoth points a "finger," for lack of a better word to describe it, at - is that a flying person in black spandex? - and lightning shoots from the tip of that finger to hit that person, breaking several laws of physics on the way. The person somehow survives, though, and flies straight into its center of mass, punching it with enough strength to send it stumbling a couple of steps back.

There are many other people in costumes and masks around, although with very few exceptions they seem to be trying to keep a certain minimum distance from the creature. Many of them are focusing on evac, but another number is actually engaging with the attacker in a multitude of ways - high-tech laser guns, forcefields, giant blades, rays of light shot from their bodies...

For a few seconds he is stunned and horrified and confused and then - 

- okay, not to leap to conclusions, but Ash Monster does not look friendly -

- Ash Monster is on Mars. So is Fëanáro, a little higher up to escape the heat, wings struggling to keep him aloft in Mars' far less substantial atmosphere. 

Hello? he says. Can you breathe in these conditions, I can take you somewhere habitable for you -

It doesn't respond to osanwë. It looks around, then up. It claps, and the ensuing sound wave is vastly stronger than it ought to have been.

Ouch. 

He gets flung through the air a bit and tumbles, orients himself by teleporting right-side-up again. His ears are ringing. He is annoyed.

And he has healing and there were people dying back on Earth -

Pop. Back to shattered New York.

Most of the costumed people are efficiently continuing to evacuate. Some are flying around, probably trying to look for the disappeared beast.

Are there injured people anywhere?

Yyyep, lots of them, the masked people are definitely not enough to rescue everyone, they're having to prioritize.

Well, he doesn't. He can teleport to them as fast as he can see them, tap tap tap tap tap tap some might be dead and he can't resurrect them without his peal but even on his own he can heal the ones who are living tap tap tap tap

Lots of people are dead. But also lots of people have radiation poisoning, or extensive internal injuries, or third-degree burns all over their bodies.

(Among the injured people there's this girl, being carried by a person who - isn't wearing a costume, they just happen to be entirely made of the essence of the color white.)

Tapping people is faster than checking if they're injured. Tap tap tap tap tap. He taps the girl and the person made of the essence of the color white and he's all out of people he can see so he goes visible and says to either one of them 'where's the nearest hospital I've got healing'.

He looks about the same age as she is, maybe seven, and exceptionally pretty, and with absurdly long neatly braided hair and very large batlike wings, blue, stretched out to a wingspan of eight or ten feet.

She blinks at him. "You don't have a mask?" she asks, sounding like maybe she's in shock.

The white person, however, points in a direction, and says, "Follow the capes."

Flap flap this is slower than teleporting but he doesn't know where he'd be teleporting to. ...does everyone have a mask? Yeah, everyone has a mask. He makes himself a mask, why not.

Everyone has a mask, most also have variously colored snazzy costumes.

He will soon see a mass of these people flowing in the direction pointed by the white person. In the distance he can make out the shapes of hastily-but-professionally assembled tents, the kind that might be erected to serve as makeshift emergency rooms during wartime and can be quickly abandoned if need be.

It's crowded enough it'd be inconvenient to have to be invisible. If he tries to dart around tapping people is anyone going to get in his way?

Quite the opposite, as soon as they notice just what his taps do they'll start coordinating to be out of his way and make sure as many people as possible can be accessed by him, prioritizing by how grave their injuries are.

Looks like they've had some practice with this.

...good? He is not going to start crying, just because he's never actually seen anyone die before or seen a problem that wasn't solvable on a much better scale than tap-tap-tap doesn't mean he is going to start crying, everything is horrible but tap-tap-tap isn't even emotion-powered and he doesn't need to sleep and he can just keep. on. going.

He will be too late for some of these people.

He will get them back when he finds his peal. (He will keep tapping people. This place is ugly and everyone here is ugly and the costumes are ugly and he will keep tapping people. Why aren't they singing, people are dead, they should be singing. They are human and he knows humans can't sing, but still, they should know better somehow.) Tap tap tap tap.

Lots of tapping. But eventually he'll be done. A fit young man in white-blue spandex and a mask covering his eyes floats over to him, takes him in - wings, outfit, mask - and asks, "Do you speak English?"

"Yeah." He wraps his wings around himself, tightly. 

He lands. "Where are you from?" he asks, as gently as he can.

"You won't have heard of it. I can't resurrect people - how many people died, it was a lot of them and I can't resurrect people -"

"No, unfortunately you can't," he agrees, "but you saved a very many people today, many more than we otherwise would have been able to."

He's shaking. "Not good enough - I need to tell people where I am - I need to be somewhere pretty - do you know somewhere pretty I could go -"

"Not anywhere nearby - I have to ask, did you trigger today? Do you have anyone taking care of you?"

"Not - they're not here. They're looking for me but they're probably not going to find me for a while -" He unfurls his wings. "Can I have a hug?"

"Of course," he says, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

Hug. He probably shouldn't tell the first huggable stranger he sees everything he can do but he is pretty woefully out of his depths here so - "I can make things. That's my main power, the healing's just a - side effect. I can put New York City back if you want."

And this is the first time the man expresses surprise. He opens his mouth to say something to that when a shadow passes over the sun and there's a loud boom outside, and the ground shakes as if...

...as if a large spiky ash monster had landed a few miles away from New York.

Even from that distance, the impact is strong enough to topple some more buildings, and the next thing they know there's a fast, huge ash cloud emerging from the site, which probably does not bode well for the continued survival of the human species in North America.

Oh no oh no oh no oh no ten miles up for a better vantage point and he teleports the ash monster thing to where he first landed in this dimension which is vacuum for lightyears around that has to be far enough doesn't it -

- back to Earth, ash clouds are not really the sort of thing best teleported but he is going to do it anyway -

Who knows if it's far enough, here's to hoping. The ash clouds are vast - the monster was a pretty sizeable meteor - but Fëanáro's fast enough that he can... mostly... contain the damage.

Other costumed people will help, naturally. A man with a dark green costume, a cape, a hood, and a mask is onsite and doing something to the clouds - they're spreading much more slowly than they otherwise would, and mostly vertically rather than horizontally.

That'll make them easier to teleport away. Which he will do. ...he's not doing this sloppily because it's ash, is he, he's doing this sloppily because he is in a complete blind panic and everything is terrible. 

He makes himself a space Silmaril on a chain around his neck, a stunted one because demons can't make minds. 

He feels steadier. 

He puts all of the ash he can see really really far away in space. He's trembling too much to stay in the air by flying so instead he teleports himself back into place every wing beat. Ash. Space. 

It takes a while. It was a lot of ash. But eventually that lot of ash will be gone, and the huggy stranger will be there.

"Are there more hurt people -"

"Yes - the impact caused some more destruction which reached a few more cities -"

Cling. Sob. "I can - I don't have to sleep I can fix them -"

He hugs Fëanáro in a very fatherly way, even though he can't be older than twenty-five. "Are you sure? You've done so much already, you're so brave, it's okay if you stop, we can deal."

He stops clinging and looks up at him. He looks - confused. "No," he says. "It wouldn't be okay at all, people'd die."

"We can save them. Behemoth's gone, however that happened - was that you, too? - and if he doesn't come back, we'll be able to save most of them."

"That was me, I've got a teleport, the first time I put him on Mars and the second time I put him in intergalactic space lightyears from anything and light-eons from here. ...so it's my fault for not doing that the first time, that he came back at all - did he come back faster than light, do you know -"

"He wasn't faster than light, Mars is three light-minutes from here and he took longer than that."

"...okay. Um. Can we -" steadying look at the Silmaril - "your world is horrible and awful, no one's more than blinked at the wings and the healing, you can fly, you're not the person who's usually in charge of Earth in 1994, I think this timeline's a lot different, can you tell me what's going on -"

"I'm not in charge of Earth," he says, setting the 'usually' and 'timeline' parts aside for the moment, "and I'm not sure how much you want explained. I'd assumed you'd triggered recently - I don't think I've ever heard of you before - but if something else is going on..."

"Something else is going on. Who should I tell about it."

"- Hero, probably, although Library of Alexandria or myself aren't poor choices, either, and the PRT should probably be informed, as well."

"...okay, where are they, how often do things like this happen, is there anyone who won't mind if I read their mind to check that they're not lying to me about stuff -"

This really surprises him, given the way he pauses. But he explains: "This happens about once a year, although maybe now no longer if Behemoth doesn't come back. Hero and Eidolon are probably helping more people, Library of Alexandria might be organizing evac efforts and some cape teams. If it's true that you can read minds, that is - astounding, and terrifying, and I'm not sure you'll find many people who would be willing to be read. We all have our secret identities to protect."

"Yeah, I know, I haven't been doing it, I won't do it without permission." He won't tell them how to stop him either, though. "I can - okay, so there are parallel dimensions. Lots of them. And most Earths have different magic systems, and I just got here today so I don't know anything about yours, and lots of magic systems aren't transmissible but some of them are so I have powers from  different ones. I can read minds, I can teleport, I can go invisible, I can heal, and I can make stuff. Any stuff, I could make a black hole if I wanted, but I don't, promise."

Oooh boy. Either he's speaking the truth or his trigger was really really traumatic and he read lots of fiction. Legend's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. "About twenty years ago, people started getting superpowers like the ones you've seen. Six years ago, we - Hero, Eidolon, Library of Alexandria, and I - founded the Protectorate, to give heroes a direction in life, and stand united to better the world.

"Then, two years ago, Behemoth appeared. This was his third attack, and mildest so far - thanks to you, probably. With powers like that you could - change the world." Save the world.

"Yeah, I know, I landed and conjured a newspaper and saw it was 1994 and even before I knew you had a giant ash monster attacking I was thinking I could get you up to the 22nd century. I still can, just, the meantime was more horrible than I was expecting. ...my name is Epic. That sounds like it'll fit fine."

"It will. How are you feeling?"

"Um. Sad, freaked out, I need to write a letter home, I keep having to remind myself it's good I landed here, I'm trying to think what's most important to do first and I don't know - debating whether to make some people to help me -"

"You said your home was another - dimension? How did you get here, and how will you return? And what do you mean by 'make' some people?"

"So dimensions are adjacent to one another, and I can teleport between any two adjacent dimensions. There was a transport accident and I ended up in a dimension that wasn't adjacent to any of the two hundred that my home civilization - knows of. So I'm stuck here until someone finds a path between them and us. I told them I was here so they know to look, but it could easily take years, if we're unlucky it could take decades. 

And I can make arbitrary matter. People are matter. I can't make some kinds of people - can't make humans - but I can make some people from my home civilization. It's really unethical to do that without permission but this world is kind of an emergency."

Much more than you think, kiddo, he doesn't say. "This year we started the Wards project, aimed towards younger parahumans, to provide guidance and a path for them to walk. You're not quite like the young parahumans we have in mind, but we have quarters and provisions which you could perhaps use while you figure out what you want to do?"

"...arbitrary matter. I don't need quarters or provisions but I'll go somewhere where I can be around official people and they can help me think where to start - uh, usually I'd start by curing malaria, do you want me to do that? Or I could still put New York back."

"It might be unwise to do anything in most of Africa and South America, but how do you plan on doing that? As for New York, it might be best to wait until evacuation's complete and structural damage can be calculated and accounted for."

"I can do it with a wide-scope biofilter if you're not attached to any species that hadn't been catalogued by the 23rd century or I think I can just flood everything with sterile male mosquitos? I would have to look it up. What's wrong with Africa and South America?"

"Most of Africa's dominated by warlords, and South America's villains are backed by the government while the heroes are the resistance against the dictatorial governments."

"Yeah, that's the kind of problem I'm bad at. Okay. I should make myself somewhere pretty and think.

I need, like - Boots doesn't usually tell me to do things and she definitely wouldn't wish I was home safe instead of fixing a world that needs it, or act like she wished that, I'm really bad at being parented, but I need someone to point out problems with my ideas and be proud of me and help me get things I need, does the Wards have - that?"

"Yes," he answers, again without a trace of hesitation.

Cling. "Then I'll join."

He sighs and pats Epic. What's this world come to, that he must accept a child's help, that a child must suffer through these horrors to help other people - when they came up with the Wards idea he'd never thought they'd have to deal with children this young, this unprepared - and yet, can he throw a resource like this away? Of course he can't.

He decides, quite subconsciously, that he'll care for Epic as if Epic were his own.

A woman with a black costume and a tinted glass helmet floats towards them. "Who's this?"

"This is Epic. He's the one responsible for Behemoth's disappearance. Epic, meet Library of Alexandria, one of the co-founders of the Protectorate."

"Hi. ....do you want the actual Library of Alexandria, my power is that I can make arbitrary matter and 'the Library of Alexandria' was totally made of matter."

She is not Sherlock Holmes. She cannot pluck hints out of thin air to understand what's going on.

She is incredibly quick, cognitively, and has an eidetic memory, and has studied a lot about people and body language and microexpressions and what-have-you. She draws conclusions from this.

She looks at Legend.

"He can also teleport, heal people with a touch, go invisible, and read minds." He trusts she will get the necessary implications.

She does. She is also good at not thinking about things.

"And you can restore even things you've never seen?" she asks the boy.

"If it is made out of atoms and not smarter than a snail I can make it. It doesn't need to have ever existed but I need more detail if it didn't. Also I don't read minds without permission."

"He suggested restoring New York."

"Adding the Library of Alexandria to a restored New York could serve as a touristic attraction, if we can deal with the leftover radiation to rebuild."

"Eidolon will be able to come up with something."

"At home there's a way to do minds so I could do resurrection but I don't have a way to get it here."

"Home -"

"He is from a parallel dimension."

"- I see."

"And I believe I should take him to the Wards in Chicago." Is that a note of defiance in his voice? Perhaps. One could think there is a lot of subtext present, here. "Although he said he would like to build something pretty first."

"At home we call my species Elves and we don't do very well in human cities, they're not pretty enough. In general. I could live in one of your cathedrals but it'll be easier to just make myself something nice." He glances at the Silmaril. "That's why I made this - I'll write you up a list of things I can do as soon as I have time to calm down somewhere pretty and write my family. I don't want to miss anything and I bet I'm missing some right now because I'm sad and scared - also I tried asking the scary ash monster what it wanted and it didn't answer and there were people to heal so I left, I might try again now that I can try for longer -"

"If you can read Behemoth's mind that would be very useful."

"Do you want me to take you anywhere in particular? Or should we leave you be, until you're feeling better?"

"I can read Behemoth's mind but I don't read minds without permission, it'd be different if he were hurting people right now but having hurt people in the past isn't a good enough reason. And if you have a place you want me to go where no one will mind if I build a house that'd be good. I don't mind if you keep me company, I'm just going to build a house and sing for the dead people."

"We could go to Chicago, then, so you can be near the Wards building and the current Protectorate HQ."

"We're pretty sure, as far as ethical violations go, reading Behemoth's mind is very low on the list compared to figuring out where he came from and how threats like him can be stopped."

"I'm not a very good judge of character and I shouldn't just trust you just because you're the first people I met. If I have the whole story then maybe that'd be worth it but  - I'm really really magic, you'd have lots of reasons not to mention stuff -"

"The whole story is Behemoth appeared two years ago near an oil rig and killed lots of people, then a year ago destroyed São Paulo, and this year decided to have New York for a snack. You can check newspapers about this, with your powers, I expect."

He makes himself a data stick. "Okay. Do you want a ride to Chicago?"

"I should stay and help coordinate the last evacuation efforts as well as the teams helping the surrounding cities."

"If you can reach Chicago, your means of transportation sounds much better."

"I can reach anywhere in this dimension or any of its neighbors and I can take an entire planet along with me if I want - getting it to land in a stable orbit's hard, though - is the air above Chicago okay, I usually teleport there to avoid landing on people-"

"Yes, no one will be surprised if I appear with a teleporter now, the news about Behemoth will have spread. Your wings are a bit conspicuous, though, are they permanent?"

"I could cut them off and make them again next time I needed them. But I'd miss them."

"The problem with them would be keeping a secret identity."