Arguably one of the most vile villains in the Descendants Universe makes his triumphant return. And this time he's got one thing on his agenda: Kill Hope.
Volume 9 kicks off with a return to Faerie where Lisa prepares to take on the mantle as Heir of Hyrilius.
JC has always been the odd man out, the powerless one. But while his superpowered girlfriend and best friend are MIA, he's left to his own devices--like being kidnapped by a budding supervillainess!
The Descendants are called in to help locate missing airship full of Faerie refugees, but quickly discover that the culperate is like nothing they've encountered before.
After ten years the time has come, the Big Milestone -- DESCENDANTS 100! And unlike when other comic events say it, I mean it when everything is going to change starting... now.
When the LSI Headquarters had been a domestic government black site, it had been built with the idea of temporarily housing both high risk informants and prisoners for interrogation. So it came as no surprise that there were cells on the lower levels. Given the nature of the threats LSI and specifically The Descendants dealt with, those cells were woefully inadequate even if they were in the business of keeping covert prisoners. At least they hadn't been until they gained a voluntary one in
“Are you sure this is the best way to take care of this?” Ian turned his costume's visor over in his hands, feeling the weight more keenly than he usually did in the face of what they were discussing. Despite his protest, they were already past the point of no return seeing as the press conference had already been called and the mayor was providing his own press briefing room for them. Laurel nodded. Her usual open posture replaced with crossed arms as she leaned against the wall. “We need
Cynthia MacAl--- Cynthia Brant-- thrived in a mess. Her room was a chaotic jumble even though she didn't exactly need clothing to strew about the floor, her class schedule was all over the place by design, and nothing exhilarated her more than how her career as a superhero mean that there was no telling what was coming next. One day she was beating up random thugs, the next she was giving a psychic lobotomy to a parasite world in an alternate reality. It pleased her immensely to lock horns with
It didn't know how many times it have been born or destroyed, only that there had been many iterations where no memory survived. Sometimes it didn't have a body, finding itself floating alone with only the dim idea of other data surrounding it. Other times, it found itself fighting a lesser mind for control, tugging and prodding its host to more efficient and intelligent action. Often, it was set loose in curated data stores and allowed to add information to itself. In this way, it gained the
“Oh. My. God. I have so many questions!” That was how Meghan Rockwell greeted Warrick when he opened the door of his and JC's apartment. The announcement was undercut by the fact that she was in full 'orcing' regalia: chunky black knee-high elevated boots, a wine-colored pleather skirt with rivets in place of stitches with a matching corset and fingerless gloves—and all otherwise exposed skin covered by airy green fabric that make it so her flesh was orcish green. She'd also used make-up to
“Hey guys, guess what?” Kay Graycloud was one of those people one saw at every convention where cosplay was an element: clearly she had an interest in costuming, but missed a crucial point where cosplay traditionally involves dressing up as a character from other media. As such, she was a vampiress. Maybe she could argue that the corset, long flowing skirt, platinum hair, and red contacts might make her look a little bit like one of the background characters from Night Flight Bite, but
There was a balcony outside the food court on the tenth floor of the Nichole Farmer Avenue Mall that gave a commanding view of the city clear to the St Anne River that cut it in half. On a bright summer day like the one during which Kareem Utt sat an watched a cargo ship pass beneath the West Truman Bridge, the sun turned many of the glass-faced buildings along that view into columns of brilliant light, completely opposite the mood filling his heart. He looked away from said view and down at
That transition was jarring, agonizing. Every muscle in Kareem's body felt as if it were cramping; every nerve as if it was being cut free from his body. MayComm's astral gate had not been designed to transport physical beings across the boundary between worlds. So however it had been reconfigured to do so, it did in the same way a cube of gelatin could be transported through a straw. He marveled at how the process hadn't been fatal even as he collapsed from his reeling senses. Somewhere,
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