The Impossibles
Copyright© 2025 by Dragon Cobolt
Chapter 16
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 16 - Bryant DeWitt is a normal kid in an abnormal world - a world of superheroes and villains, where magic and technology rub shoulders. He never *expected* to get superpowers - but when he does get cosmic powers, what he super double never expected was to learn that his boring family is actually The Impossibles - each one with unique powers and abilities, each famous in their own right! Now, Bryant has to learn on the go as he's tossed into the (surprisingly erotic) world of superheroics!
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Fa/Fa Fa/ft Ma/Ma Ma Fa mt ft Mult Teenagers Consensual Reluctant Romantic Gay Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual TransGender Fiction Superhero Aliens Extra Sensory Perception Robot Paranormal Furry Vampires Were animal Cheating Sharing Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter BDSM Rough Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Nudism
Do I want to do anything with the fact I might be my girlfriend’s mom’s lesbian awakening? Nova Nine thought. He had time to consider it as he drummed his pen (for note taking) against the desktop of the plastic desk he sat at, in full costume, while next to him, Starfleet perched on her desk and spoke cheerfully to Kid Legacy, Legacy Girl, and Leggo the Wonder Dog.
“No, no, you need to still think about orbital dynamics, I don’t care how your flight powers work-”
Bark bark!{br}
“Yeah, for a normal fight, against another metastatic flight object, sure, but-”
Bark!
“Except what happens when you take out the daemon reactor, huh?” Starfleet shook her head.
“She’s got a point,” Kid Legacy said, frowning as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Legacy Girl, who was nakedly not paying attention and instead looking at Nova with wide eyed shocked. Kid Legacy frowned. “LG.” She kept staring. “LG!”
Bark!
“Huh? What? I don’t have X-Ray vision!” Legacy Girl stammered, jerking her head over to look at her cousin’s time displaced alternate universe clone’s son’s clone, who glowered at her. Her cheeks burned, while Starfleet scowled.
“Gross, stop checking out my brother!” she said.
“It’s just...”
Nova lifted his head, then shot Legacy Girl a frown. She blushed even more.
“S-Sorry!”
Leggo the Wonder Dog, whose cape and little collar combo marked him as part of Legacy’s extended and whacky family, bit his owner’s cousin gently on the wrist, shaking his head playfully, while Legacy Girl flushed and stammered sorry sorry sorry over and over.
“As I was saying,” Starfleet said, firmly, her palm opening with a whirr and a click, revealing a small holograpic projector, which she used to display the complex array of hoops and rings that any self respecting orbital dynamic projection would represent. “While anyone using metastatic flight isn’t going to need to worry about angular momentum or atmospheric drag, say you take out one of the big ships by blowing the reactor. Now, every component it throws off is going to become an orbital chunk that we have to worry about. We don’t want to kessler cascade-”
“What if we just threw them into the sun?” Legacy Girl asked, raising her hand. “Like, grab the tip and spin around and throw it at the sun?”
“How many boosters do you guys have?” Starfleet asked.
“Uh, ten?” Legacy Girl said.
“Eleven, last time I checked,” Kid Legacy said, grinning. “That’s with no physics.”
“Lucky...” Starfleet grumbled. “Do you know how hard it is to make and maintain a coherent force field for when I have to grab stuff falling out of the air?”
“Technically, I do use tactile telekinesis-”
“Well, but you don’t have to think about it, I do!”
The door to the classroom opened and, alongside two other slightly harried looking capes who were clearly running late, in came the man everyone was waiting for. The conversation bubbling in the room died down while the USAF officer smiled at the gathered collection of colorful crusaders and said, cheerfully: “Hello everyone, sorry for keeping you waiting. Hopefully, this won’t be too onerous.” He nodded. “I’m Colonel Bowers, United States Astroforce. I’m here to ensure that the upcoming battle goes as smoothly as possible. If you wouldn’t mind, uh, taking your seats?”
Starfleet wriggled into her seat as the Legacy family dispersed. Even Leggo the Wonder Dog got into a desk. The only issue Nova was running into was that the cape that moved into the seat ahead of him had a Mohawk of silvery glass that blocked part of the view of the white board at the front of the room. Colonel Bowers smiled kindly, leaning against the desk that was normally occupied by the community college teacher.
“So, uh, who here has been through an Event before?” he asked.
Some hands raised.
“Anyone handled Darkthornn before?”
Those hands lowered, save for one that remained up. Colonel Bowers jerked his chin at the hand that remained up. “Which front did you serve in?”
“China,” the punk looking girl with glowing, green flames for hair said. “Mostly on the coast, stopping the tidal waves from the cruiser impacts.”
Colonel Bowers nodded. “Well, fortunately, you will all be in the space front for this upcoming Event,” he said. “Each of you is capable of surviving, operating, and acting in space with high mobility and unpredictability.” He hesitated, noticing that the guy with the surfboard in the right front corner had raised his hand. “Yes, Cosmat?”
“Uh, why is he here?” Cosmat asked, jerking his thumb at Nova. Nova blinked, spreading his hands.
“What?” he asked.
“Doesn’t that kid have the Omni-Spark in his chest?” Cosmat asked. “No offense, dude, but that’s exactly what Darkthornn wants. If he’s in the space front, isn’t that the front lines? Darkthornn just needs to grab him, yank out the spark, and then he’s, like, omnipotent, man?”
Soft murmuring – including a grumbled ‘oh fuck off, surfer dude’ from Starfleet – filled the room, while Colonel Bowers lifted his hand, forestalling the conversations.
“The Allied high command has been through this with N to 1st level intellects,” he said. “The best place for Nova Nine is part of our orbital defenses. At least to start with.” He smiled, wryly. “While he may be the biggest target, he’s also got one of the best defenses and the enemy will have a relatively low opinion of his abilities.”
“So, I’m a big shiny flag?” Nova asked. “To soak shots while everyone else does actual work?”
“Precisely,” Colonel Bowers said.
“Huh,” Nova said.
“Now, everyone, quiet down. I know you’re not used to military discipline, but save your questions until after the lecture,” the colonel continued. “We’ve been collecting intelligence on the Tormentium fleet and metahuman assets.” He paused. “For lack of a better term. This intelligence is what I’m here to give to you. After this, we will go over the basic battle plan, but, be aware that this plan is going to be modified as the enemy engages with our forces. But ... lets start with the bad guys.”
He moved over to the whiteboard, reached up, then yanked down a screen, then pulled out a remote. The projector hanging in the corner of the room failed to turn on.
Colonel Bowers sighed.
Nova, Starfleet, and three other supers in the room all turned and pointed at the projector. Nova wasn’t sure if his molecular realignment, Starfleet’s nano-repair ray, or Cosmat’s cosmic powers hit the projector first, but whatever happened, it was quite possibly the most repaired projector on Earth in that moment. The Colonel hit his remote control and the projector turned on as the lights turned off, plunging everything into shadows – save for the mohawk shaped shadow on the screen, cut by the cape sitting ahead of Nova.
“ ... sorry...”
Shuffle shuffle.
The projector showed a grainy image of a Tormentium ship. Nova had never thought that a spaceship could look so evil in real life – but it turned out, no, the naval yards of Cenetaph could add that many spikes to a ship and still have it be spaceworthy.
“This is the front-line cruiser of the Tormentium fleet, reporting name Spikeyboy,” Colonel Bowers said. “We’ve identified the primary beam cannons here, here, here, and here.” He pointed at several spikes that jutted from the prow, stern and aft of the ship. “Each has a roughly hundred and eighty degree firing arc. We’re still not sure on their range and their tracking time – it’s highly unlikely that their tracking is faster than a class four dodge, which all of you should have.” He paused. “Anyone here under a class four for dodge?”
Two hands lifted.
“Okay, stay at maximum ranges from the SBs until we get an energy reading. Don’t want you to think you can tank it and then get vaporized, right?” Colonel Bowers smiled. “Now, the SBs have additional point defense weapons here, here, and here. The only major weak point in their overlapping fields of fire are these arcs.” Red cones and blue spheres appeared on the image, drawn there by some studious ship-nerd in either the UNN or the USAF. Or, hell, maybe the Brazilians or the Chinese or Indian astronavies. Nova wasn’t sure and, honestly, didn’t care. He was just glad that they weren’t going into this in the blind, panicky scramble that his parents had had to fight Darkthornn last time.
“The main guns are going to be primarily aimed at our ships, but the point defense weapons will track faster, and hit lighter. The tactical approach recommended is, if you’re a hyperbody or hyperspeedster for you to maneuver the enemy ships into disadvantageous positions.”
Hand raised.
“Yes or throw them into the sun, if you’re strong enough.”
“Yes!” Kid Legacy hissed, his hand dropping.
“Now, the SBs are going to be supported by several different kinds of frigates and torpedo boats. These are under three broad types, with the reporting name of Fangjerk, Uggobuggo and Losership.” He put the three different variations up. “The FJ appears to be primarily built around a single central battleship level cannon. This means that they’re extremely vulnerable from their sides, but extremely dangerous from the front and- yes?”
“Who ... named these ships, man?” Cosmet asked, cocking his head in the quiet.
“I don’t know,” Colonel Bowers said. Then, grinning, he said: “Still, it’s better than whatever name the Tormentium must have given them, eh?”
Starfleet leaned over, whispering to Nova. “I bet they gave them names like Murder class and Genocide class. Tryhard assholes.” She shook her head.
Nova was not so sure.
He had done some reading, in his spare time between restocking defensive bunkers, curing cancer, and breaking laws that he tried to not think about when in a room with half a dozen telepaths and quasi-telepaths. Darkthornn didn’t exactly rule over a nation with people. It was better to think of Darkthornn as being a singular being, surrounded by skin cells and white blood cells and muscle tissue and nerves. It was just that, in his infinite un-mercy, all those constitute parts had souls, minds, hopes, and dreams.
And Darkthornn crushed all of them. Utterly.
Nova couldn’t stop thinking about that. Lord Darkthornn could have automata.
But he chose to instead have slaves.
Nova started to take ferocious notes as Colonel Bowers broke down the weaknesses and strengths of half a dozen Tormentium ships – ranging from kilometers long battleships capable of razing entire planets, to nimble snubfighters that were piloted by a single terrified Tormentium strapped into a coffin and plugged into a neuro-feedback system. He was taking one last note as Bowers said: “That handles the Spacey elements of the Tormentium forces. Now, we’re onto their metahuman capabilities. The first thing to run down is the footsoldiers ... I’m sure you’re all familiar with these.”
The image that snapped up was of a snarling, spandex clad gargoyle creature wearing dark green, with yellow stripes, and carrying a huge, bulbous looking firearm.
“This is the Metronite Daemonica Infantry, or a Metron for short. This image was captured during one of our earliest engagements with Tormentium forces in the 1970s.” He clicked and an autopsy showed up, with a dead Metron being opened up, the brightly colored organs within being removed by men in hazmat suits. “A Metron is the basic infantry of the Tormentium invasion. Ten times stronger than a normal human, tough enough to shrug off small arms, and capable of flight, they have thermal vision, enhanced hearing, scent, the works. They have a singular purpose, and that is to kill in service of Darkthornn.”
He frowned. “This is what a Metron looked in the Invasion of 99.”
The same rough build, but with darker camo patches, added metal armor, and a huge number of combat pouches, for carrying extra ammo. Someone had also strapped a big fuckoff knife to the hip.
“And this is the spy cam footage that we smuggled off Cenetaph two days ago.”
Click. The Metrons that were marching aboard the bulbous, egg shaped invasion transports were sleek, deadly creatures of armored chitin, glittering claws, glowing eyes. Gone was the garish spandex – they were like elemental forces of pure evil.
“The Metron mark III, based on our long ranged observations and PSYINT, have roughly the same capabilities as the mark II, save that they have replaced their carried ranged weapons with heat ray eye vision, possibly inspired by Legacy...” The Colonel glanced away from the projection to the darkened room – his eyes searching out Kid Legacy and Legacy Girl. They were both even more quiet, and Nova could hear Legacy Girl drawing in a short, sharp breath. “ ... and sonic screamer attack.”
“But they’re the same level of toughness?” The green fire haired veteran called out.
“Unknown, expect them to be sturdier, and hit them harder accordingly,” Colonel Bowers said. “However, the Metrons are going to be assisted by the Pantheon of Cenetaph. There are six known metahuman assistants to Darkthornn – entities who are not as potent as he is, but serve him. Three were created by him, his so called sons of Dyskord, Stryfe and Toxsyn.”
Images flashed up. A big burly brute of a creature, no necked, scabby skinned, blazing red eyes. Strength radiated from his muscular body. A whip thin creature of leather straps and mummy bandages, surrounded by a halo nexus of chains. A bubbling greenish ooze of a man, more shape than actual being. Pointing at that, Starfleet called out.
“Whoa, whoa, we need to get Sloppy Joe something so we don’t get any friendly fire incidents.”
“ ... Sloppy Joe?” Nova asked, in the sudden silence.
“That’s already been taken care of,” Colonel Bowers said. “Though, good thought.”
As he said that, Starfleet leaned over, projecting a small hologram behind a cupped palm. Nova had never seen a metahuman who was entirely made of glittering acid and floating, undifferentiated organs, all contained within a skeleton of crude PVC pipes and force fields, but ... now he had. He whispered. “Oh my god.”
“Joe likes it that way,” Starfleet whispered back.
“Why!?”
“Dyskord is the eldest and, ostensibly, the strongest,” Colonel Bowers was saying. “Known powers are super strength, super toughness, super leaping, and of course, he can survive in space. Stryfe is a chainkinetic and magician, primarily dark magics.” He sighed. “I know that she will not be in the space engagement, but Impossibles? Can you please ask your sister Corvi Magpie to refrain from stealing anything off Stryfe while he’s dead, alive, or incapacitated?”
“Uh, we’ll do our best!” Nova said.
“Yeah, Corvi just does stuff, sometimes,” Starfleet said.
Colonel Bowers nodded.
“What is chainkinetic?” One of the other capes asked.
“He can manipulate chains, with his mind,” Colonel Bowers said. “However, uh, that’s actually a good question – the chains do not have to be literal. He can manipulate and adjust conceptual chains. Relationships between individuals, connections between concepts, that kind of thing.”
“ ... oh...”
“We’ll have magicians of our highest arcane ranking working on battling him in conceptual space, but if anyone can get close enough to kill him early in the fight, that would be a huge boon,” Colonel Bowers said, then shook his head. “But, finally, uh, Toxsyn, the youngest son, is ... well, he is a creature of pure toxic malevolence. There are rumors that he can spread even non-physical diseases.”
“Like ... super ... AIDS?” Cosmet asked.
“Basilisk hacks,” Starfleet groaned, then thumped her head into her desk. “I fucking hate basilisk hacks.”
“Cognitohazards too,” Colonel Bowers said. “He is possibly the most dangerous, which is why our current plan is to saturate bombard where he shows himself with long ranged, unguided, magiboosted fusion warheads.”
Everyone considered that.
“Sounds good to me,” Legacy Girl muttered.
“Now, the other three metahumans are on his Council of Despair and, as far as we can tell, are non-Cenotaph natives.” Bowers tapped the remote and three more faces appeared – each one was grainy, at a distance, and clearly taken through a long angle lens. “First, we have Miss Malydie.”
The woman looked...
Nova cocked his head.
He leaned over to Starfleet, hissing.
“Does that look like Mom to you?”
Starfleet narrowed her eyes.
Miss Malydie was standing to the left of Darkthornne, dressed in a black, voluminous dress that had a very low cut V-top, with a broad brimmed hat that was edged with a razor blade, and wore long, deadly looking finger-nail extensions that, themselves, glittered. She had Mom’s figure, and Mom’s features, save that she wore glasses and was, of course, standing next to the galaxy’s most feared dictator godbeing.
“ ... she kinda does,” Starfleet said.
“What is that, Impossibles?” Colonel Bowers asked.
“Uh ... is ... Miss Malydie, uh, kinda look like Lady Luck to you?” Starfleet asked, holding her finger out – the tip unfolding to reveal a projector, which shone a perfect copy of Lady Luck’s face, in her domino mask, next to Miss Malydie. Colonel Bowers looked at the two, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Huh,” he said.
“She kinda does, doesn’t she?” Cosmnet said.
“How did our analysts miss this?” Colonel Bowers said. “Uh, hold here for a moment.”
Five minuets later, Lady Luck came into the room, and as she came into the room, she wheeled a woman in a straight jacket, with a bite guard, her body strapped to a frame that was built into the dollie. The woman was only a few years older than Nova was, slender and brown haired and cute as a button and, also, on the fifty dollar bill. The former forty fifth president of the United States peered through her restraints at the photographs, while Lady Luck scowled over the dollie, her cape fluttering behind her.
“What the fuck!?” she exclaimed.
“Oh, that,” Madeline Deinhardt said. “It’s irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant!?” Lady Luck snarled. “There’s an exact duplicate of me.”
“She’s not exact,” Madeline said. “She has a slightly different nose, her lips are bigger, her breasts are a different cup size – they’re triple Ds, you’re merely a double D, her hips are a few inches narrower, and she wears a completely different costume.” She shrugged. “I didn’t think anyone would even notice the similarities.”
“Bull,” Lady Luck said, immediately, while Colonel Bowers turned back to the image, narrowing his eyes at it. “What are you planning, Deinhardt?”
“Oh, just because I’m the smartest girl in the world and always have some kind of scheme, I have to be planning something?” the restrained supervillain said, giggling.
“Wait, she did the intelligence analysis?” Starfleet asked.
“I was consulted,” Deinhardt said, cheerfully.
“Did you name the ships?” Starfleet asked.
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